Alvin maintained a stoic, impassive mask, though the subtle muscle twitch along his jawline betrayed the rising irritation beneath his calm facade. As Melissa gestured sharply for him to enter her private office, he let out a long, heavy exhale, intentionally turning his gaze toward the side wall with a look of quiet, smoldering resentment. He stepped inside, the soft click of the latch shutting behind him feeling unnervingly final, as if the heavy timber door had sealed him inside a pressure cooker.
The office was meticulously decorated—sleek glass fixtures, plush leather seating, and polished mahogany—a stark reflection of Melissa's obsession with power and corporate status. But the atmosphere within was suffocatingly tense.
"What on earth are you doing?" Melissa snapped instantly, skipping any attempt at pleasantries. Her tone carried the sharp, authoritative bite of an enraged superior reprimanding an incompetent subordinate. "Why is she back here again?"
