For my teacher— (Not apart of the book,

^^^please skip.)^^^

Dear teacher,

If you ended up reading this somehow, I hope you are having a great day. Well after careful consideration I found that its essential to let you know that the following content may not be suited for you. It may not align with what you typically find engaging or what you expect from me. Please refrain from reading this book. "Tears of Talaris" Would be the book you would like, but this one? No it wouldn’t. The narratives are very complex and may not align with your preference or liking, so with all due respect don't read this. Thank you very much.

— Sampriti

......——————......

Adrina

I lean back in my chair, the soft groan of the leather echoing in the quiet of my office. The sunlight slices through the narrow gaps in the curtains, casting harsh lines of brightness that cut across my desk, highlighting the chaos of my workspace. The city hums outside, a distant roar that fades into the background as I focus on the task at hand.

   The office is usually a well-oiled machine, but today, it feels like a pressure cooker. My fingers move with practiced precision over the keyboard, each keystroke a reminder of the looming deadline for LuxeStyle’s rebrand. The papers stacked beside me are a tangible weight, their crisp edges a stark contrast to the weariness in my eyes.

   My eyes dart between the content strategy report and the final draft, my mind racing to piece together the last details of the rebrand. I grab a pen and make a quick note in the margin of a draft, correcting a minor detail that could make or break tonight’s presentation. Each revision feels like a small victory, a step closer to perfecting the campaign.

   I sit up straight as I hear the sound of footsteps getting louder each second. I clear my throat and lick my dry ass lips. God, need lip balm. She has a stack of papers in her arms. The door opens and Sara walks in approaching my desk.

   "Adrina, here are the latest revisions from LS," She says placing the papers on my desk. "They need these changes by the end of the day."

   "Thank you, Sara. I'll make sure these are sorted out and sent before tonight." I say rolling my head to release some tension.

   "Look don't pressure yourself, I'm here if you need any help, all right?" She says slightly concerned.

   "Thanks, Sara but I'm all right." I drag the papers towards me and grab my pen. My gaze shifts back to the computer screen. She nods faintly before turning around and walking off.

   I lose myself in the rhythm of the work, the pressure mounting with every passing minute. The launch is hours away, and every detail must be flawless. I dive into the revisions, adjusting content, aligning visuals, and double-checking the accuracy of every statistic. My heart races in sync with the ticking clock, the stakes high and the deadline approaching like a freight train. I swallow nothing. My throat feels so dry I almost cough.

   I look at the clock, It's 3p.m. I get up from my chair grabbing my phone and walk toward the door. I go out of the room, the outside air is better than what I was sitting in all day. I walk toward the elevator. Before I can press the button, the elevator’s doors glide open with a soft chime, and I step inside, the cool, metallic interior a stark contrast to the sweltering pressure of the office. I press the button for the ground floor, feeling a moment of relief as the elevator descends.The relentless hum of work fades, replaced by the faint clatter of the city outside.

   As the doors open on the ground floor, I catch sight of Sara just outside, her silhouette framed by the city’s radiant glow. She’s engrossed in her phone, her expression a mix of focus and fatigue. I make my way over, a small smile breaking through the seriousness of my day.

  “Sara!” I call out, breaking through her concentration. She looks up, her eyes meeting mine with a flicker of recognition.

   “Adrina, hey.”

  “Have you eaten yet?” I ask, glancing at the time. “I’m about to grab some lunch. Join me?” Sara’s face lights up with the promise of a break.

   “I haven’t. Why not?”Together, we step into the lively pulse of the city, making our way to a quaint café tucked just around the corner.

   The café’s warmth and inviting aroma offer a stark contrast to the cold sterility of the office. We settle into a corner booth, the chatter and clinking of cutlery creating a comforting background hum. I call out a waiter and order our food.

   “So, how’s everything going on your end?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence. My voice is casual, but I can’t help the underlying tension that lingers. Sara glances up, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

   “Busy, as always. I’ve been buried in spreadsheets and client follow-ups. LuxeStyle’s campaign seems to be taking up all my bandwidth.” I nod, understanding all too well.

  “I hear you. Today’s been a whirlwind. I’ve been knee-deep in revisions and final touches. The deadline’s breathing down my neck.” She chuckles softly, the sound a rare moment of levity.

   “You’re telling me. I saw the latest feedback from LuxeStyle. Their revisions were a bit last-minute, huh?”

   “Yeah,” I say, leaning in slightly. “They’re pushing hard for a polished look. It’s a crucial moment for them, and every detail counts. It’s not just about the campaign anymore; it’s about making sure we hit all the right notes for their brand.”

   Sara sighs. “It’s impressive, though, how you handle it all. I’ve seen you juggle multiple projects with such precision. But don’t you ever feel like you’re stretched too thin?”The question hangs between us, and I take a moment to consider it.

   “Sometimes,” I admit. “But I remind myself why it’s worth it. LuxeStyle’s launch could make or break their brand, and if we nail it, it’ll be a testament to what we can achieve here at IV.”

   Sara nods, her gaze thoughtful. “I get that. It’s just, sometimes I wonder if we’re pushing ourselves too hard. We’re constantly chasing the next deadline, the next big project. It’s exhilarating, but exhausting.”

   “It is,” I agree. “But it’s also what drives us. We’re part of something bigger, shaping narratives and building brands. It’s a lot of pressure, but it’s also why we do what we do.”

   She smiles, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “Well, as long as you’ve got it under control, I’m confident we’ll pull this off. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself in the midst of all this chaos.”

   I laugh softly, appreciating her concern. “Thanks, Sara. I’ll try to keep that in mind. For now, let’s enjoy this break before we dive back into the fray.” We both glance at the same direction as the waiter approaches us. He places our coffee and sandwiches walking off. I take a sip of my latte as Sara starts unwrapping her sandwich.

   We continue our conversation, the café’s ambiance providing a soothing backdrop to our discussion. The chatter and laughter around us create a sense of normalcy, a reminder of the world beyond deadlines and campaigns.

   I pull out my phone, a twinge of worry returning as I dial Aunt Jina’s number. The seconds stretch as I wait for her to pick up.

   “Hi, Aunt Jina,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to make it to the flower shop today. There’s an event I have to attend, and I’m deeply sorry for the short notice.”

   Her voice is soft, carrying an undertone of weariness. “I understand, dear. I’m not feeling well today, so I will just close the shop early. Don’t worry about it.”

   “I wish I could be there, I know Ciella is busy and Sahv is out of town.” I reply, my voice tinged with regret. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

   “Thank you, Adrina. I’ll manage,” she says gently. “Take care.” I hang up, a pang of guilt settling in my chest. I hate leaving Jina in the lurch, but I resolve to make it up to her as soon as I can.

   As we wrap up our lunch, I feel a renewed sense of camaraderie with Sara.

We emerge from the café into the vibrant pulse of the city, the lively chatter of the street enveloping us. The sun casts long shadows on the pavement, the heat of the afternoon mingling with the cool breeze. Sara and I walk in sync, the city noises blurring into the background.

   As we approach the towering building, I glance at Sara, a small smile playing on my lips. “Thanks for grabbing lunch with me. It was a much-needed break.”

   Sara returns the smile, her eyes reflecting a quiet gratitude. “Anytime, Adrina. It’s good to step away from the grind for a moment. I’ll see you back at the office?”

   “Definitely,” I reply, giving her a reassuring nod. “I’ll be diving back into the LuxeStyle campaign. Catch you soon!”

   Sara waves, her figure receding as she heads towards the building’s side entrance. I watch her disappear into the busy lobby before turning towards the main entrance, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle back on my shoulders.

The lobby of the Innovara Group building is a study in modern elegance and quiet sophistication. The walls are adorned with sleek, abstract art—bold strokes of color and shape that add a touch of vibrancy to the otherwise minimalist design.

A sleek reception desk, its surface a smooth expanse of dark wood, sits at the center of the room. Behind it, a team of receptionists works with quiet efficiency.

Potted plants, carefully arranged in geometric planters, break up the expanse of marble with splashes of green. Their leaves whisper softly in the air-conditioned breeze, adding a touch of natural serenity to the otherwise polished environment. Plush seating areas are arranged thoughtfully around the space, with high-backed chairs and low, inviting couches that beckon to those waiting.

I approach the elevator and press the button as the doors glide open as I step in.

Leon

The satisfying scratch of my pen across the final document was my only solace in an otherwise chaotic day. I leaned back in my chair, letting the sunlight, streaming through the high windows, cast a warm glow over my office. I handed the completed papers to my co-worker, who responded with a respectful nod and left without a word.

The brief silence was shattered when Mark, my assistant, entered with his usual brisk efficiency. "Sir, there’s someone here to see you," he said.

I sighed clearly annoyed as I finally spoke, frustration edging my voice. “Fine, send them in.”

The door swung open as I bit back a gasp, and my irritation grew as my mother, Regina Kane, walked in. Her presence was like a storm—imposing and unyielding. Her tailored suit and the calm, measured steps only heightened my tension.

“Leon,” she said, her voice smooth yet laced with authority.

I straightened in my chair, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Mother.”

She surveyed the room, her gaze finally settling on me. “How have you been?” she asked, deceptively casual.

“Busy, as always,” I replied, my voice strained as I tried to mask my irritation. “What brings you here?”

Regina approached, her movements deliberate. “I’ve been thinking about your future.”

Here we go again. “Is this about—”

She cut me off, her tone unyielding. “If you don’t find a suitable wife soon, I’m going to arrange a marriage for you with Seun.”

My patience snapped. “Mother, Seun is—”

Regina’s gaze remained firm. “Seun comes from a good family. This isn’t just about you; it’s about our family’s legacy.”

I stood, frustration bubbling over. “I told you, I can’t stand her. She’s spoiled and insufferable.”

Regina’s eyes were unrelenting. “Then find someone suitable. Prove you can balance both your career and your personal life.”

With that, she turned and left, her departure leaving me in the dimming golden light of my office, the weight of her expectations heavy on my shoulders. “That's why you came to see me, seriously?” She didn't say anything and just left.

After my mother’s departure, I felt a surge of determination mixed with frustration. I needed to redirect my focus. I grabbed my phone and dialed my top executives, setting up an urgent meeting to review our company’s expansion.

...----------------...

In the conference room, I laid out the latest performance metrics on the large screen, my mind shifting gears into professional mode. The team settled around the table, their faces a mix of anticipation and concern.

“Alright,” I began, my voice steady as I addressed the room, “we’ve got a new contract secured in Asia. The R&D department’s latest projects are progressing well, but we need to discuss some pressing issues.”

As the meeting progressed, I felt the weight of my frustrations lifting, replaced by a sharp focus on solving problems. I reviewed the integration process for our recent acquisition, providing clear instructions and actionable plans. Each update and discussion was a reminder of the stakes involved and the progress we were making.

By the end of the meeting, my mood had shifted. The intensity of our discussions and the strategic planning refocused my mind away from personal frustrations. I felt a renewed sense of purpose as the team began to filter out, their faces more resolved.

...----------------...

With the executive meeting concluded, Mark reappeared, updating me on my schedule. “Sir, there’s a client call in fifteen minutes. And your next meeting with the board is right after.”

“Alright,” I replied, my voice regaining its edge of determination. “Make sure the board has the latest reports. I want the client call prepped and ready.”

The client call was a whirlwind of negotiations and updates, demanding every ounce of my attention. As I spoke with the client, I navigated through their concerns and requirements with practiced ease, making strategic decisions on the fly. The call ended on a positive note, leaving me satisfied with the outcome.

I leaned back against the wall of my office, looking out the window. The vibrant lights of the city cast a shimmering reflection on my glasses. My gaze fixates on the calendar on my desk. I sigh. The day after tomorrow my mom's birthday. I love my mother, but I don't *like* her. Her presence itself feels like fucking prison. Her well-meaning intentions often masked in a veil of control and manipulation.

The thought of facing her sends a shiver down my spine, a pang of dread that I can’t ignore. Yet, the idea of skipping her birthday party feels like a betrayal, a choice that twists my insides with guilt.

The persistent buzz of my phone cut through the stillness of my office. I glanced at the screen and saw Jake’s name flashing. I let out a weary sigh and answered the call.

“Ethan,” I said, my voice dripping with annoyance.

“Hey,” Ethan voice was annoyingly upbeat. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Perfect timing,” I snapped, barely containing my frustration. “I’m drowning in work. What’s up?”

Ethan chuckled on the other end. “Oh, nothing much. Just figured I’d check in. You sounded like you were about to implode in your last email. What’s got you all riled up?”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair. “Just the usual. Work’s a mess, my mother’s birthday is coming up.”

“Ah, the birthday dilemma,” Jake teased. “I heard she’s throwing one of her ‘unforgettable’ parties again. Can’t wait to see how you’re going to weasel your way out of this one.”

My irritation flared. “Stop with your sarcastic bullshit, I’ve got enough on my plate without your commentary.”

He laughed, completely unfazed. “Well, if you need any help dodging it, just let me know,” He replied.

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my temper in check. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for your ‘advice.’”

“No problem,” Ethan said, still laughing. “Just remember, no matter how bad it gets, at least you’re not stuck planning your own surprise party.”

I grumbled, “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

Ethan's laughter continued as he replied, “I’ll take that as a compliment. Hang in there, Leon.” As I ended the call, I tossed my phone onto the desk with a huff. I'm fed up dealing with my mom's crap and that smartass.