The bright lights of Oliver Wilde's office flickered in rhythm with the pulsing headache that had been clawing at him for hours. His hands gripped the edges of his desk, knuckles white, trying to stave off the painful thrum inside his skull. He closed his eyes, trying to push it away. But there was no escaping it—not the pain, not the memories that came with it.
His mind was elsewhere, stuck in a place he thought he'd long buried. His mother's cold eyes haunted him, the things she did, the manipulation and control she exerted over him in ways no one would ever understand. It was the kind of trauma that left scars no one could see.
A sharp inhale followed by an exhale didn't help, and neither did the mountain of work piling up in front of him. There was another breach in the security system, flashing on his screen in angry red text, another intrusion into the digital world that had become his escape.
"Damn it…" Oliver muttered, rubbing his temples.
