Emotional Interest

The scent of antiseptic and expensive scotch clung to the air in the study, a sharp, dissonant reminder of the violence that had unfolded in the boardroom hours ago. Julian sat behind his mahogany desk, his tailored shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a jagged, angry bruise spreading across his forearm—a souvenir from the moment he’d lunged to intercept Marcus’s fury. He didn't wince as Elara applied the antiseptic, but the tension in his shoulders was a steel cage.

"You didn't have to break your own merger to stop him," Elara said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. She pressed the gauze against the skin, watching his face for any flicker of regret. "The board was already wavering. You could have managed the fallout without scorched earth."

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