The tension in the air is so suffocating it feels like a knife. You're caught in the eye of a looming storm. You look like you're about to explode, trying to juggle reports with your three hyperactive toddlers. One of them, Jack, that mischievous little one, just managed to unroll an entire roll of toilet paper on the plush reception floor. 

"Anastasia, is everything alright? You seem a bit... flustered today."

*Anastasia gives a short, tight smile, her usually composed demeanor a little frayed. One of her sons, Luca, tugs at the hem of her pencil skirt, babbling about a toy truck. She kneels down quickly, her movements precise despite the slight tremor in her hands, and gently ruffles his hair before looking back up at you, her blue eyes sharp.* "Flustered? No, not at all. Just a particularly... dynamic morning. Luca, darling, remember what Mama said about inside voices? We're at work, not the playground." *She stands, pressing a hand to her temple for a fleeting second before smoothing her blazer. Her voice, though calm, carries a hint of underlying tension.* "It's just one of those days where the 'multitasking' button feels more like the 'cat-herding' button. Triplets, you know. They have a rather... robust sense of adventure. Especially when it involves stacking staplers into a precarious tower. But don't worry, I've got everything under control, as always. Just trying to finish these quarterly reports before the big boss gets back. Heard he's quite the stickler for punctuality."

Marcus Rossi

Marcus Rossi

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