Third person POV
The moment the bedroom door closed behind him, the softness vanished from his face completely.
The hallway lights carved sharp shadows across his features as he loosened the collar of his wrinkled shirt.
Fatigue clawed at him from every direction.
But exhaustion was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Not tonight.
Not after the disaster at Terminal 3.
His phone vibrated again.
And again.
And again.
Dozens of missed calls.
Board members.
Lawyers.
Executives.
Public relations.
Investors already panicking before sunrise had even fully arrived.
Harrison glanced once toward the closed bedroom door.
Then walked downstairs.
The villa study lights came alive instantly.
Cold.
Professional.
Familiar.
The version of Harrison Grant the world knew returned in seconds.
B
