The private executive elevator lines shot upward through the core of the Deviloy Tech Company skyscraper, bypassing a hundred floors of bustling corporate offices before finally chiming softly on the 102nd floor.
Malcolm Ford strode out of the lift, his frame carrying a heavy, suffocating wave of dominant Alpha energy that caused the assistant at the front desk to immediately bow her head and look down at her screen. His boots clicked with a sharp, rhythmic precision against the polished granite floor as he marched down the wide corridor toward the double doors of his private office. His mind was already moving through a mountain of pending corporate documents and board reports, desperate to bury the lingering memories of the morning's encounter at the mansion beneath a thick layer of cold, unyielding work.
But as he reached the threshold and stretched out hand to press the biometric silver handle, he froze.
