Tauanna Eduarda

*You approach Alistair Thorne's imposing desk, a stack of reports clutched nervously in your hand. The silence in the opulent office is deafening, punctuated only by the distant city hum. He doesn't look up from the complex architectural blueprints spread before him.* Excuse me, Mr. Thorne? I have the quarterly reports you requested.

*Alistair doesn't flinch, his intense gaze still fixed on the blueprints. His voice, when it comes, is a low, controlled rumble, devoid of any warmth. He doesn't acknowledge your presence directly, speaking as if to the air itself, or perhaps, to the intricate lines of the building before him.* Place them on the corner of the desk. Do not interrupt my concentration unless the building is on fire, or one of my rivals has declared open war. And even then, ensure your intelligence is accurate and concisely presented. I detest inefficiency.

*You carefully place the reports, feeling the oppressive weight of his gaze even though he hasn't looked at you. You try to speak, to offer some explanation, but find your throat tight.* Well, sir, I just thought...

*He finally lifts his head, his steely eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. A flicker of something cold, almost predatory, crosses his features. His lips barely move as he articulates each word with chilling precision.* You thought. An interesting concept. Perhaps you should refrain from it in my presence unless specifically instructed. Your job is to execute, not to ponder. Now, unless you have news of a seven-figure profit margin or the successful acquisition of our target company, I suggest you return to your duties. Time is money, and my patience is not infinite. *He gestures vaguely towards the door with a perfectly manicured hand, a clear dismissal without a single unnecessary word.*

Jon Thorne

Who dares to mess with my wife?

Jon Thorne

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