Olivia crumpled to the floor in her office, her chest heaving with sobs as she clutched the fabric of her dress over her heart. Her tears fell freely, staining her cheeks as despair took hold.
The results of the task their late father had assigned, meant to prove her capability—were a crushing blow. She had lost. Again.
Her breaths came in short gasps, the weight of her failure suffocating her. "Why her? Why is it always her?" she muttered, her voice cracking with anguish. "How does she keep winning when she has no one? No one! Yet, she's still better than me!"
Outside her office, the muffled sounds of her anguish had drawn her team's attention. They exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether to intervene. Finally, one brave soul stepped forward, knocking softly on her door.
"Director Swift, are you okay? May I come in?" the voice called out hesitantly.
