2
Kai
I woke up this morning at precisely 6 a.m., as I did every day without fail. My routine was strict, unyielding, and meticulously planned to the last detail. I had always been cold and calculating in my demeanor—traits that people often misconstrued as arrogance or indifference. But I didn't care what anyone thought. Let them think whatever they wanted; their opinions were irrelevant to me. My focus was unwavering, my mind sharp and resolute.
As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and planted my feet on the cold wooden floor, a familiar sense of discipline settled over me. The world outside was still cloaked in the gentle haze of dawn, the first faint light creeping over the horizon. I dressed quickly in my running gear—sleek, black, and functional—and stepped outside into the cool morning air. The streets were quiet, the city still asleep in the early hours, and I relished the solitude.
I began to run, my feet pounding rhythmically against the pavement, breath steady, muscles warming with each stride. The air smelled faintly of dew and earth, crisp and refreshing. But then, as if the heavens had conspired against me, raindrops began to fall—first a few scattered specks, then a steady, cold shower that soaked through my clothes in moments.
"Ugh… I hate this," I muttered under my breath, frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior. Why did it always have to rain exactly when I was running or exercising? The rain blurred my vision and chilled me to the bone, but I had no choice but to turn back. Every morning, I ran for at least an hour, finishing around 8 a.m., but today, drenched and shivering, I arrived home at 7.
I pushed open the door to my house and hurried to my private gym room—a small sanctuary I had built within the confines of my home. The gym was minimalist yet elegant, with state-of-the-art equipment gleaming under the soft LED lights. The walls were painted a deep charcoal black, reflecting my preference for simplicity and control. I changed into dry clothes and began my workout. For the next hour, I pushed my body to its limits—lifting weights, doing circuits, and testing my endurance.
At exactly 8 a.m., I stopped and wiped the sweat from my brow, muscles burning with exertion. I moved to the dining room, where the servant had already laid out breakfast. The room was expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the space with natural light. The décor was sleek and modern, dominated by black and silver accents, mirroring my personal tastes.
My diet was strict and disciplined, just like everything else in my life. Today's breakfast consisted of two perfectly boiled eggs, a slice of whole grain bread, and a cup of freshly brewed tea. I ate slowly, savoring each bite, mindful of the nourishment and energy it provided. Digestion was important, and I refused to rush even the simplest meal. By 9 a.m., I was dressed and ready to face the day.
I was twenty years old, yet I carried responsibilities that many twice my age had never known. I had already taken over my family's business—an empire built through years of hard work and sacrifice—and transformed it into something even greater. School was a thing of the past. I no longer studied; I led.
Today, I dressed in my favorite black suit, tailored perfectly to fit my lean frame. The fabric was smooth and matte, the cut sharp and commanding. I paired it with a black tie and polished leather shoes, exuding an air of power and precision. Black was my signature color, a symbol of control, mystery, and authority. It was woven into every aspect of my life—including the décor of my home, where black furniture, black walls, and black accents created an environment perfectly suited to my personality.
At exactly 10 a.m., I slid into the driver's seat of my sleek, black BMW. The engine purred as I started the car, and I felt a familiar rush of focus and determination. The drive to the office was swift and uneventful, the city's morning hustle just beginning to stir around me. As I pulled into the parking garage of my office building—a towering glass monolith that reflected the sky like a mirror—I felt the weight of the day settle on my shoulders.
Inside the office, I took my place in the large leather chair behind my mahogany desk. The room was expansive and impeccably organized—or so it should have been. My eyes immediately scanned the surface of the desk, and my calm facade cracked slightly. Papers were scattered haphazardly, files piled in disarray, and notes left carelessly across the polished surface. Disorder was an anathema to me.
I frowned and immediately called out, "Noah."
My personal assistant entered the room promptly. Noah was a man in his early forties, dependable and loyal. He had worked for my family for years and was well aware of the standards I upheld. Today, he wore a crisp blue shirt and navy trousers, his appearance neat but slightly less polished than mine. Handsome, yes, but in a subdued, unassuming way—certainly not a threat to my own carefully curated image.
"What the hell is this, Noah?" I demanded, my voice sharp and cold.
He winced but maintained his composure. "I'm sorry, sir. I was late this morning and didn't have time to organize everything before you arrived. I will fix it immediately."
I nodded curtly, knowing that pressing the issue further wouldn't yield better results. Noah was reliable, but even the best could falter. I watched silently as he moved swiftly to tidy the mess, sorting files and aligning papers with practiced ease.
Despite the order returning to my office, my mind was restless. At twenty years old, I carried the immense burden of leadership. The entire family business depended on my decisions, my vision, and my relentless drive. It was a heavy weight, one I bore without complaint, but it never ceased to press down on me.
Yet, amidst the cold steel of corporate responsibility, there was one part of my life I guarded fiercely—my little sister.
She was barely a year younger than me, but in many ways, she was the light to my darkness. Cute and bubbly, with a shy smile that could soften even my most hardened moments, she was the only person to whom I allowed myself to show gentleness. Behind her innocence, I knew, lay a complexity she hid carefully from the world. We were both scarred by the past, our lives twisted and tangled by circumstances beyond our control.
I kept her photograph on my desk—a small framed picture of her laughing, eyes sparkling with mischief and joy. Seeing her face gave me strength, a reminder that even in the coldest of hearts, warmth could exist. I smiled faintly as I glanced at the frame, the familiar comfort settling around me.
After a few minutes, the office door opened, and one of the managers, Lisa, stepped in. "Good morning. I've brought the quarterly reports you requested."
I looked up, gesturing to the chair opposite me. "Have a seat, Lisa. Let's go over them."
She sat, opening a folder. "The latest numbers show growth in the Asian markets, but Europe is lagging behind."
I leaned forward. "What's causing the decline in Europe?"
Lisa tapped a few notes. "Several factors, but mainly increased competition and regulatory hurdles."
I nodded thoughtfully. "Draft a plan to address these issues. I want proposals on my desk by Friday."
"Yes, sir," she replied promptly.
As she left, Noah returned with a fresh cup of coffee. "Thought you might need this."
I took the cup gratefully. The rich aroma was a small comfort amid the day's pressures.
I took the coffee. I was about to thank him but I didn't. After all it was his duty to give me the coffee. He wasn't doing anything extraordinary and I would not say thankyou to him for just following his duty. And besides saying thankyou makes a person weak.
That was my belief.