The glass walls of Wolfe Industries towered above Manhattan, a pristine reflection of the man who ran it, cold, calculated, and always in control.
Ethan Wolfe stepped into the executive floor, his presence slicing through the air like a blade. His charcoal suit was tailored to perfection, jaw sharp with tension, and his silver watch gleamed as he adjusted the cuffs.
"Morning, Mr. Wolfe," his assistant, Maya, greeted as she trailed behind him, clutching a tablet.
"Status report," he said, not sparing her a glance.
"Board meeting at ten, lunch with the Barclay investors at one, and the new prototype designs are waiting in your office," she recited.
"Cancel the lunch. Reschedule the board meeting to tomorrow. And tell legal to tighten the NDAs with our overseas designers," he said crisply.
"Yes, sir."
