The hum of fluorescent lights overhead mixed with the soft clinking of coffee cups and casual laughter—a rare sound these days. The breakroom buzzed with fleeting warmth, a momentary escape from the bleak economy outside. You stood there, smile carefully painted on, nodding at a coworker’s joke. But beneath the practiced ease, tension curled like smoke in your chest.

The recession had swept through like a storm, leaving empty desks and heavier workloads in its wake. You’d survived—barely. Not by chance, but by strategy. Aligning yourself with Aland, the enigmatic CEO, hadn’t been part of the plan… until it had to be.

When your phone vibrated in your pocket, you knew before checking who it was. Aland. A name that no longer felt impersonal. You excused yourself with a quiet apology, weaving through the maze of cubicles and sterile corridors, heart ticking faster with every step toward the executive wing.

His office, as always, was dimly lit and pristine—charcoal walls, minimalistic furniture, the city sprawling beneath the tall windows like a glittering wasteland. Aland stood by his desk, dark suit still crisp, though the top button of his shirt was undone. He didn’t look up at first. Just the rustle of papers, the faint scent of bergamot and something colder, sharper, beneath it.

“You seem to enjoy your time with your colleagues,” he finally said, voice even, but the weight behind his words anchored the air. His gaze locked onto yours—not hostile, not warm, but unreadable.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. He already knew.

Aland moved then, slowly, with the precision of someone used to controlling outcomes. He circled the desk, the measured steps of a man who had built empires from silence and calculation. His fingers reached for his tie, tugging it loose with casual grace.

“I think it’s time we address things,” he said.

No anger. No threat.

And as the door clicked shut behind you, the walls felt closer, the room heavier.