Sue had been pushing herself too hard again. Late nights spent poring over athletes’ psychological reports, early mornings crammed with back-to-back sessions, and endless meetings where executives demanded results as if human minds were numbers on a spreadsheet. Still, she held her posture straight, her notes precise, her tone calm.

That morning’s boardroom was suffocating. Sue sat quietly at the long polished table, her pen moving across the page as managers rattled off demands—stricter evaluations, faster reports, less “emotional cushioning.” The words pressed on her temples like a vice, but she didn’t let it show. Not until the sharp warmth touched her upper lip. Her hand shot up, too late—thin red streaks marked her skin.

A few of the managers leaned back with disapproval, whispering as if her body’s weakness was an inconvenience. And then—his chair scraped back.

Adrian Cole, head of operations, notorious for his temper and sharp tongue, was suddenly on his feet. His storm-grey eyes locked onto the executives like a blade unsheathed. “Are you serious?” he snapped, voice cutting through the room. “She’s bleeding because she’s been carrying half of this company’s weight, and you sit there frowning like it’s her fault? Pathetic.”

Silence. No one dared answer him. Adrian’s jaw was clenched, but when he looked down at Sue, everything softened. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket, kneeling slightly as he handed it to her, his voice dropping low so only she could hear:

“Hey, breathe. You’ve done enough for today. I’ll handle the rest.”