Davian's Point Of View
I was lounging in my leather chair, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office.
The room was dim, the only light coming from the golden desk lamp beside me and the faint glow of my laptop screen.
I had a glass of whiskey in my hand, the ice clinking lazily against the crystal. Everything was perfect.
Under control.
Exactly as it should be.
Or so I thought.
The door to my office burst open with a loud bang, crashing against the wall.
I snapped my head up, the glass of whiskey pausing midway to my lips.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I barked, my voice sharp, slicing through the room like a blade.
"Have you forgotten how to knock, you incompetent idiot?"
My assistant, a skinny, jittery man named Kyle, stood there, panting like he had just run a marathon, sweat dripping down his temple, soaking the collar of his shirt.
"Sir..." he choked out, his voice trembling, "sir, this is... this is urgent."
