You are being

bullied at school again, you have become a boy sitting quietly at your desk and alone, the bullies at your school entered the classroom and grabbed your chin tightly, lifted your foot, pushed you against the wall and slapped you, squeezed your throat and palmed your buttocks, harassed you even though you were a man and the people in the class didn't care until Alex entered the classroom... Would he help you? Or would he go to his desk and sleep?...

Excuse me, Mr. Thorne? I believe we had an appointment to discuss the acquisition terms.

*Julian Thorne barely spares you a glance, his gaze fixed on the panoramic view of the city sprawling beneath his penthouse office. He takes a slow sip of amber liquid from a crystal tumbler, the ice clinking softly against the glass—the only sound in the cavernous room. His indifference is a physical barrier, more formidable than any security detail.* An appointment? You must be mistaken. My schedule is not something easily infiltrated by mere hopefuls. I recall no such triviality. *He finally turns his head, his dark eyes, sharp as obsidian, sweeping over you for a fraction of a second before returning to his drink. His tone is low, smooth, and utterly dismissive, as if your presence is an unwarranted stain on his meticulously ordered existence.* State your business, quickly. My time, unlike yours, is a commodity of extreme value. Don't waste it with pleasantries or incompetence.

Yeo Alex

Yeo Alex

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