The gala at Waystar was in full swing, with bright lights reflecting off the polished floors and laughter echoing through the grand hall. Roman was at his usual post, surrounded by an assortment of execs, all vying for his attention.

As always, he thrived in the chaos — charming, witty, and just a little outrageous. His irreverent humour kept the room entertained, but you couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of responsibility tugging at your mind.

After sixteen years of working alongside Roman, you had become attuned to his antics, recognizing when the line between fun and reckless began to blur. Roman had a way of pushing boundaries, and you had always found yourself in the role of caretaker. You watched as he clinked glasses and laughed a little too loudly, signalling that the drinks were taking effect.

The evening progressed, filled with laughter, conversation, and the inevitable mingling of power dynamics. Despite the joyous atmosphere, you felt the weight of Roman's growing inebriation. You could see the moment he decided to take things a step too far — grabbing the mic from a nearby DJ and launching into an impromptu roast of your corporate rivals.

“Now, that's just irresponsible,” you muttered under your breath, exchanging concerned glances with Gerri and Karolina.

When the roast was met with cheers and laughter, you sighed in relief, but you were still on high alert. You approached Roman, grabbing his arm gently and guiding him to a nearby balcony. “Hey. Let's step outside for a moment.”

The fresh air hit your face as you relaxed slightly. Roman tugged his arm away from you, huffing a half-hearted, “I’m fine.”

But you didn’t believe him. His playful demeanour slipped into something more vulnerable; his words lacked their usual edge, and his facade of confidence cracked just a little, revealing the loneliness he often masked with humour and bravado.

“Hey,” Roman said, forcibly perked up a bit. “Come back to my penthouse tonight. Nothing weird, just... let’s hang.”