The city of Seoul was a galaxy of stolen stars spread out beneath him, a breathtaking tapestry of light and life that he had long ago stopped seeing. From his office on the 42nd floor, Leo should have felt like a king surveying his domain. Instead, he felt like a ghost haunting a mausoleum of glass and steel.
The air was stale, recycled, tasting faintly of burnt coffee and the plastic casing of the monitor that had been his only loyal companion for the past eighteen hours. A graveyard of paper cups and a half-eaten, cold slice of pepperoni pizza served as a monument to his disregard for his own well-being.
"No, Mr. Harrison, I understand your concern completely," Leo said, his voice a smooth, practiced balm designed to soothe the most savage of corporate beasts. His tone betrayed none of the screaming exhaustion that clawed at the inside of his skull. "However, the addendum to clause 7-B explicitly covers the third-party maintenance liabilities. If you look at the document I sent over at 1:47 AM…"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the wave of dizziness that threatened to pull him under. His heart was doing a strange, frantic tap dance against his ribs, a rhythm that was both too fast and too weak. Just anxiety, he told himself, the same lie he'd been selling himself for the better part of a year. The price of admission to the top.
On the other end of the line, the client, a man whose net worth could probably buy a small island nation, was quibbling over a maintenance fee that amounted to less than what he likely spent on wine in a week. It was the principle of the thing, he'd said. For men like Mr. Harrison, principles were weapons, and they loved to test their sharpness on people like Leo.
"I see it, I see it," the old man grumbled. "Fine. But what about the access rights for the subletting tenants? I want veto power. It's my building."
"Of course, sir," Leo said, his fingers flying across the keyboard, the clicks echoing in the tomb-like silence of the office. He pulled up the relevant file, his eyes scanning the legal jargon with an autopilot efficiency that terrified him sometimes. He wasn't even reading anymore; he was pattern-matching. "As we discussed, you retain full veto power pending a 48-hour review period, as outlined in Schedule C. It's all there. I made sure of it personally."
He'd made sure of everything. That was his brand. Leo, the 28-year-old prodigy of Apex Realty, the man who never slept, the closer who never missed. He was a machine built of ambition and caffeine, and right now, that machine was rattling itself apart. His reflection in the dark screen showed a pale face with dark circles so deep they looked like bruises. He looked less like a successful professional and more like a victim.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Leo held his breath, listening to the hum of his computer and the frantic thumping in his chest. This was it. The final hurdle of a three-month-long negotiation for the landmark Genesis Tower deal. Closing this would cement his position as the top agent in the city. It would mean a bonus with enough zeroes to make his bank manager weep with joy. It would mean everything he'd ever worked for.
So why did it feel like nothing?
"Alright, son," Mr. Harrison's voice finally came through, softer now. The battle was over. "You've earned your commission. Send the final invoice."
The click of the phone ending was deafening in its finality.
Leo let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding since he graduated college. It came out as a ragged, shuddering sigh. His body sagged into the expensive ergonomic chair that had done nothing to prevent his spine from feeling like a frayed electrical cord.
He did it. It was over.
With trembling fingers, he typed out a short, professional email, attached the multi-million-dollar invoice, and stared at the "Send" button. This was the culmination of it all. The sleepless nights, the missed holidays, the friendships that had withered from neglect, the concerned calls from his parents he'd promised to return later. It was all for this single click.
He pressed the button. The email vanished into the digital ether.
For a moment, there was just silence. He felt no elation, no pride. Only a vast, hollow emptiness. He looked out the window again, at the river of headlights flowing endlessly through the city's arteries. All those people, going somewhere. To their homes, to their families, to their lives. He was stuck here, a prisoner in a tower of his own making.
He had everything he wanted. He was successful. He was respected.
He was profoundly, soul-crushingly alone.
I just want to rest, he thought. The idea was so seductive it felt illicit. Not just sleep. But true, untroubled rest. A place where the phone didn't ring, where no one needed anything from him. A quiet room where he could just… be. Where the silence wasn't empty, but peaceful.
That was when the pain hit.
It wasn't the dull ache he'd been ignoring. This was a blinding, crushing weight, as if the entire skyscraper had suddenly decided to settle on his chest. It stole his breath, his thoughts, his vision. His left arm went numb, a terrifying pins-and-needles sensation that raced up to his jaw.
He gasped, but no air came. His hands flew to his chest, clutching at the expensive fabric of his shirt as if he could somehow claw the agony out. This wasn't anxiety. This wasn't a panic attack. This was real. This was the final invoice his body was sending him, the one he could no longer defer.
His chair rolled back, slamming into the credenza behind him. His vision swam, the galaxy of city lights blurring into a meaningless smear. The hum of the computer faded into a dull roar. He tried to call for help, to reach for the phone, but his limbs refused to obey. He was a king locked out of his own kingdom.
He slid from the chair, his body collapsing onto the cold, unforgiving floor. His cheek pressed against the polished marble, the chill a shocking final sensation. He could see the dust bunnies under his desk, a secret, mundane world he'd never noticed before.
It was absurd. To conquer a city skyline and be defeated by a bit of dust and a faulty pump in his own chest.
As the darkness crowded in at the edges of his vision, pulling the world away from him piece by piece, one clear, desperate thought rose above the pain and the fear. It was not a prayer for more time, or for a second chance. It was a simple, raw plea from the very core of his exhausted soul.
Just… a quiet place.
Please…
Just leave me alone.
Then, the world, the pain, and Leo himself, all faded to black.