"Can I go back to the cracker? I think I preferred the cracker."Leo didn’t even look up from the closet, his hands moving through a row of suits with the speed of a seasoned card dealer. "The cracker is gone, Julian. Burned in the trash along with your dignity and that vintage Ferrari. Now, stand up. We have exactly twelve minutes before the next disaster arrives, and I’d prefer you weren't wearing a hospital gown when it happens."Raka groaned, peeling himself off the cold marble floor. "Twelve minutes? Who else is coming? Is there a line forming outside? Do I need to issue tickets for the 'Watch the Billionaire Have a Mental Breakdown' show?""Not a show. A funeral. Yours, metaphorically speaking," Leo said, tossing a charcoal-grey blazer onto the bed. "And stop calling yourself a delivery driver. If the board hears that, they won't just fire you; they’ll have you committed to a private asylum in the Swiss Alps. Trust me, the food there is organic, but the walls are very padded.""

"Try not to crash this one; it’s a limited edition," Surya said, his voice as smooth as the leather interior of the black-on-black Rolls-Royce Phantom."No promises, Surya. At this point, I’m just trying not to crash my own legs," Raka muttered, clutching a velvet pillow for emotional support as the car glided away from the penthouse.Leo, sitting opposite Raka, was currently vibrating at a frequency that could probably shatter crystal. He was frantically scrolling through a tablet, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of corporate despair."Okay, listen up," Leo barked. "The Thorne Global boardroom is a shark tank. But not the cool TV kind where people get money for sponges. The kind where they smell blood and start biting chunks out of your portfolio. Your father is the Great White. The other directors? They’re just piranhas with MBAs.""Comforting. Really. Do I get a spear? A cage? Maybe some heavy-duty chainmail?" Raka asked, looking out the window at the towering skyscrap

The elevator lights didn’t return with a flicker; they slammed back to life with a blinding, clinical arrogance that made Raka squint. The sudden hum of the motor signaled their return to the world of the living, and more importantly, the world of the judgmental.Suthida didn’t scream, but she retracted her hand as if Raka’s palm had suddenly turned into a hot stove. She stood up, smoothing her skirt with shaking fingers, her face transitioning from "vulnerable human" back to "corporate executioner" in approximately 2.4 seconds."That never happened," she said, her voice still a little breathless from the cracker-induced fire."The holding hands part, or the part where you almost died because of a snack?" Raka asked, pushing himself up and dusting off his trousers."Both. All of it. The darkness, the truce, the... the Fingerprint," she replied, staring at the elevator doors as they slid open to reveal a frantic Leo and a small army of security guards. "From this moment on, we are back

The air in the hallway outside the elevator bank was thick, not with the smell of floor wax and expensive perfume, but with the metallic tang of impending professional execution. Raka stepped out, feeling like a bruised prizefighter entering the ring for a final, unwanted round. Beside him, Suthida emerged with the grace of a panther, her expression so perfectly neutral it bordered on the synthetic. She didn't offer a glance, didn't offer a nod; she simply transitioned into the role of an uninvolved colleague, her stride brisk and purposeful as she moved toward the executive wing."The 'Elevator Collapse'?" Raka repeated, his voice raspy from the lingering sting of the spice. He adjusted his silk tie, attempting to reclaim a shred of the authority he’d felt bleeding away since he’d ingested that cursed, neon-orange snack. "It was a culinary miscalculation, Leo, not a systemic infrastructure failure. Don't be dramatic."Leo, a man who possessed the personality of a brick wall reinforce

The boardroom felt less like a place of commerce and more like a mausoleum for Raka’s professional integrity. As he took his seat at the head of the long, obsidian-topped table, the silence was suffocating, punctuated only by the low, rhythmic hum of the ventilation system. He felt as though he were walking into a trap he had helped set for himself, his throat still raw from the tactical error of consuming that spicy cracker.Raka looked toward the end of the table where Suthida sat, her demeanor a terrifying display of controlled efficiency. He watched her long, slender fingers dance across her keyboard, each keystroke a precise, deliberate click that seemed to echo through the expansive room. She didn’t look up. She didn't offer a polite nod of greeting, nor did she acknowledge that they had shared a harrowing experience just minutes ago. Instead, she was building a monument to his failure, and he was the one paying for the marble."You’re early," Raka said, his voice raspy, a remna