In the glitzy world of high-stakes business, Don Kaladin is the epitome of nonchalance-cold, calculating, and carefree. However, his carefully curated existence takes an unexpected turn when he stumbles upon the captivating art of struggling artist...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Kaladin towers; Don's cabin;
Don POV
I walked into my office building, a realm of glass and steel that echoed the cold efficiency of my demeanor. Ignoring the nodding greetings from my staff, I kept walking towards the elevator and fished out my key card to reach my floor.
The 50th floor of my massive office building. As the lift began its descent upwards, a sigh escaped as I lowered the sunglasses that concealed the aftermath of last night's overindulgence.
Vague memories lingered-the taste of expensive whiskey, laughter, and the presence of someone who addressed me as 'Sir.' I couldn't recall much about the mysterious blondie in my bed, except for his use of the title 'Sir.'
I had mentioned my kink for being addressed as such, but the details eluded me. Frustration simmered beneath my composed exterior; control was slipping through my fingers.
Despite the haze of my memory, one detail remained-I'd seen a face, that of a captivating young man, in the bar last night. His name sounding like sweet melody on my ears, Alex Pruitt.
A face that lingered in my thoughts as I immersed myself in the day's business. I walked into my office space, a realm of glass and steel where the hum of productivity masked the chaos within.
The towering skyline outside mirrored the cold efficiency I demanded within these walls. My tailored suit clung to the contours of my frame as I approached the colossal desk at the center of the room.
The room echoed with the soft hum of technology-the heartbeat of my empire. Ignoring the respectful nods from my staff, I sank into the plush leather of my chair. A glance at the towering skyline through the expansive windows framed my thoughts.
With a flick of my wrist, I activated the holographic interface, a web of data unfolding before me. Financial reports, strategic analyses, and projections danced across the display. My gaze, usually steely and calculating, softened as I delved into the intricacies of the business.
The world outside may have seen me as nonchalant, but within these walls, I was the architect of power. Every decision, every calculated move, had brought me to this pinnacle of success. Yet, a lingering emptiness gnawed at the edges of my carefully crafted empire.
Behind the tinted lenses of my sunglasses, I analyzed market trends and corporate maneuvers. Stocks rose and fell with the precision of a well-choreographed dance. The city's heartbeat pulsed through the financial channels, a rhythm I had learned to master.
As I sifted through data, my thoughts lingered on the allure of Alex and his big eyes gnawing at me last night. There was an unexpected beauty in the chaos, a vulnerability that resonated with the void I sought to fill.
The holographic display reflected not just financial data but the complexities of desires that simmered beneath my composed exterior.
As I was busy typing my headache and work away, my office door flung open and entered my one and only loyal staff member, my assistant, Leila McCarthy,
