The week that followed was a beehive of corporate activities in our office,filled with
back - to - back meetings where the skills and careers of various professionals were put
to the test.I was in full swing as the general manager putting up my thinking cap to
strategize against our competition.It felt like a masterclass in corporate strategy with the
atmosphere thick with ambition and the rich aroma of our endowment.I was in
domain,like a general rallying his troops,my voice carefully crafted to either negotiate
peace or take a stand against our rival's opponent's profit.There was Angela Taylor ,all
along ,no longer just a newcomer ,she had become a steady silent force in the chair
beside me. She knew her onion well,her fingers dancing on the Laptop keys with
remarkable efficiency. I found myself attracted by her beauty— not in a distracted way
See by was not just quick ; she had attention
grabbing abilities to see connections that others overlooked,piecing together data into a
coherent strategic vision.
The peak moment arrived during a tough negotiation with a stubborn supplier from
Midland. He was a seasoned oilman, grey-haired and tough, full of bravo and hardball
tactics, and he had us pinned down on a pricing clause. The tension in the boardroom
was tense. I was on the brink of acceptance, ready to swallow a bitter pill for the sake of
progress, when I noticed Angela's hand move. She noted down a single line on her
notepad, ripped it off, and discreetly slid it toward me under the massive mahogany
table. It was a figure—a percentage of their operational overhead that I had completely
underestimated. A hidden weakness. I glanced from the note to her, and she gave me a
subtle nod, her eyes sparkling with shared insight. I leaned in, wielded that number like
a scalpel, and flipped the entire negotiation on its head.The victory was mine, but the
leverage was hers. As the supplier reluctantly agreed to our terms, a wave of triumph
washed over me, hotter and more immediate than anything I'd felt in years. It was a
connection, a shared secret forged in the fires of commerce, and it felt more powerful
than the distant, dutiful affection waiting for me at home.
The memory of the small,shared victory still lingered in my head as I met Godwin Bob
for a drink at the Oat Room in the evening.The club was a haven of worn leather,dim
lighting ,and unspoken understanding among men of influence .Godwin, at forty-six,
was the master of this lifestyle, his charm a finely tuned tool that always hinted at
deeper, more lucrative secrets lurking in the shadows. "You seem quiet tonight, Alex,"
he noted, swirling his cognac so the amber liquid caught the flickering light from the
fireplace. "Trouble in paradise? Or just the usual corporate indigestion?""Just a bit tired,
Godwin," I replied, taking a long, slow sip of my Macallan 25. The smoky, complex flavor
was a familiar comfort, a taste tied to success. But tonight, it felt all too routine.
"A man of your calibre should not settle for mere fatigue; he should demand
excitement," he countered,leaning in with his elbows resting on the polished cabinet.
The gesture felt dishonesty. "I can see it, you know. The fire in your belly is banked. You
turned Leewen from a promising venture into a big corporation, and now you're just…
overseeing it. You've become a custodian of your own legacy. That's beneath a man
with your appetites." His words were like arrows, each one hitting the mark of a
discontent I had been too afraid to name. He spoke of "unseen horizons" and "legacies
that outlive quarterly reports," of shortcuts and opportunities that thrived in the moral
gray areas my strict code of ethics had always kept at bay. He was a dangerous friend,
a serpent whispering in my ear, but he was the only one brave enough to acknowledge
the gilded cage I had built for myself.
The next day,he noticed a shift in me during an intense game of racquetball.
I was playing with this wild reckless energy. "You seem lighter, Alex," he remarked, a
knowing smirk dancing on his lips as he effortlessly returned a powerful shot.
"Rejuvenated. Found a new way to let off some steam?" He didn't wait for me to
respond, driving a winning shot right past my defenses. "Good. A man can't live on
power and prestige alone. It starves the soul. Sometimes, you need something more...
visceral." The implication was as clear as the glass in my office windows. Instead of
feeling the expected anger, I was hit with a strange, thrilling sense of camaraderie. He
was in on the secret, adding another layer to the intoxicating conspiracy my life was
turning into.
.
The descent from the catastrophe was like a seductive,gradual slide. It started with
lingering glances in the empty elevator, charged with a meaning that went beyond just
professional respect. Then came the secret text messages exchanged on private lines,
her words lighting up my dull day like a spark. I began to invent reasons for us to stay
late, crafting a world within the confines of Leewen Oil & Gas, a world that only came
alive after sunset, lit by the city lights and the glow of our computer screens. My corner
office, once a symbol of my ultimate authority, transformed into our little hideaway. The
very desk where I signed million-dollar contracts became the stage for our secret. I
became quite skilled at deception, lying to Gloria with a calm, practiced ease that should
have sent chills down my spine. "Just another board dinner," I'd say, or "There's a crisis
with the Singapore office." She, with her unwavering trust, always accepted it, her faith
becoming the very foundation upon which I built my betrayal.
The moment of no return hit me a month later, on a Tuesday afternoon crackling with
stormy energy. I had booked a suite at a cozy boutique hotel downtown, a spot meant
for important getaways. The room was dim, with the blinds tightly shut against the
relentless Texas sun. The air was cool, infused with the scent of fresh linen and secret
love affair. Afterward, the silence felt different. It wasn't the comfortable, satisfied quiet I
was used to; it was a tense, expectant void. Angela lay curled away from me, the sheet
wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her body tense."Angela?" I called out, my voice
still rough from the remains of passion. "What's wrong?"
She turned slowly to face me. The playful ignition in her eyes had gone, replaced by a
wide, swimming fear that was instantly spreading. "I'm late, Alex," she whispered.
Those two simple words hit me like a punch, sucking the air from the room. "Two weeks.
I… I took a test this morning." She didn't need to say more; the sheer, straightforward
terror in her gaze spoke volumes. The thrilling, secret world we had created shattered in
an instant, collapsing into the stark, bright reality of consequences. The "visceral
currency" Godwin had so casually mentioned had just been called in, and the debt was
overwhelming.
My heart was gripped by panic,cold and unyielding like a vice.My mind usually kicking
with strategies was reduced to a single , one-sided loop of what -ifs: the image of
Gloria's heartbroken face, the explosive hanger of Gregory Taylor, the board's shocked
disapproval, the media's vivid coverage, and the complete destruction of a reputation
deliberately built over a lifetime. My entire kingdom, a dazzling fortress of glass and
steel, tilted on the edge of collapse, hanging over a dark cavity, disturbed by the
problem that loomed ahead.I sat up, the silk sheets feeling like chains. "This can't
happen," I said, my voice hollow and distant, as if it belonged to someone else. "Angela,
this… this can't be real." The tears that filled her eyes and streamed down her chin
were the most hauntingly real things I had ever seen. The elated descent had come to
an end. We were now in freefall, and the ground was racing up to meet us with a brutal,
merciless speed.