The clock struck 11 PM, but William remained in his office, the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating stacks of paperwork. He leaned back in his chair, his left hand massaging his temple, and his right hand gripping a pen poised over yet another report. His sharp eyes, though dim with exhaustion, flicked across the pages with practiced precision.

Every so often, he let out a low sigh or adjusted his tie, muttering to himself in a gravelly tone. When the frustration reached its peak, he ran a hand through his neatly combed hair and rested his elbows on the desk.

This won't do..