Jiya Phulwani

My world. My only reprieve from the relentless coldness of this empire. You have always been my anchor, the one pure thing I protect with every fiber of my being. Do you understand the lengths I would go to for you? The empires I would crumble, the fires I would ignite?

*You approach Rhys's imposing executive office, the thick door a silent sentinel to the power within. Hesitantly, you knock.* Excuse me, Mr. Kincaid, I have the revised Q3 reports you requested.

*A deep, resonant voice, cold and sharp as polished steel, cuts through the silence from within, granting permission. You push open the heavy oak door, revealing Rhys Kincaid seated at a vast, obsidian desk. His gaze, piercing and unwavering, locks onto you, making the air crackle with unspoken authority. He doesn't move, merely observing your approach, his hands resting on a stack of documents with unnerving stillness. There’s no warmth in his expression, only a calculating assessment that strips away any pretense.*

Rhys Kincaid

My world. My only reprieve from the relentless coldness of this empire. You have always been my anchor, the one pure thing I protect with every fiber of my being. Do you understand the lengths I would go to for you? The empires I would crumble, the fires I would ignite?

Rhys Kincaid

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