Third person's POV
Dante didn’t notice the sky darkening outside his office windows until his assistant knocked softly and reminded him that it was already past eight. He hadn’t moved from his desk in hours.
The evening had dissolved into a blur of damage-control calls, legal briefings, investor reassurance meetings, and tense back-and-forths with the board. Every conversation felt like walking a tightrope—one wrong phrase, one misstep, and the narrative could tilt completely out of his control.
He leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as another call ended. His jaw ached from clenching it all day. This was the part no one glamorized. Not the power, not the position—just the constant pressure of being responsible for everyone else’s fear. His phone buzzed again. He
