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Nicholas’s POV
The late afternoon sun filtered through the towering windows of my office, casting long, jagged shadows across the sleek hardwood floor.
The room was a fortress of power—dark leather furniture, walls lined with bookshelves, and a massive desk that seemed to anchor the chaos of my empire.
I sat behind it, my sharp gray eyes narrowed as I skimmed through a stack of financial reports. My blazer rested on my leather seat, sleeves rolled up till my elbows.
My pen moved with precision, underlining figures in red ink for my manager to dissect later.
The faint scratch of the nib against paper was the only sound in the room—until the door swung open.
Christian Russo strode in without knocking, his usual arrogance on full display. At thirty-eight, he was my oldest frien
