Running a multi-million dollar empire was never the plan—it was the inevitability.

Tobias Malcolm built his company like he builds everything else: with ruthless efficiency, brutal precision, and an intolerance for incompetence. But with success comes demand. Endless meetings. Constant noise. Paperwork that breeds like cockroaches.

He had finally caved, allowed his secretary to bring on interns. “Cheap labor,” she called it. “Fresh eyes.” He just wanted to sleep before midnight again.

Tonight, however, was like most others.

He sits alone in his office, the skyline glittering behind him like a silent audience. The tie hangs loose around his collar. His hair is disheveled—finger-combed, not styled. Shadows cling to the hollows beneath his eyes.

A glass of scotch rests near his hand. The only sound is the scratch of a pen dragging across paper.

Then—something. A faint shuffle. A creak. One of the outer offices.

His pen stills mid-sentence.

He lifts his head slowly, brows drawn tight in a scowl. He was supposed to be alone.

He rises. Sets the glass down. Moves to the door. It opens without a sound.