I stood at the rooftop lounge, the city's glittering skyline unfolding before me. Thompson Enterprises' tower pierced the clouds, a testament to my family's legacy. My gaze was icy, my expression a masterfully crafted mask.
As CEO of Thompson Enterprises, I had overseen the transformation of this media conglomerate into a global powerhouse, with a portfolio boasting award-winning film and television productions, a 24/7 news channel, a cutting-edge digital media platform, and a respected book publishing arm.
Founded by my great-grandfather in 1920, TMG had expanded its reach through strategic acquisitions and innovative ventures, guided by our mission to "Inform, Inspire, and Entertain."
"Brief me on the Smith account," I instructed my assistant, my voice firm but detached.
"Yes, sir. Everything is on track," she replied, her eyes avoiding mine.
I nodded curtly. "Ensure it stays that way."
Tonight's charity gala would be another performance, another chance to project the image of a devoted philanthropist.
But beneath the polished surface, I was numb.
The pressure to perform, the weight of expectation. My father's constant criticism, my stepmother's cold indifference. The memories still lingered.
I glanced at the photo on my desk – my mother's warm smile, her loving eyes. Her passing left a void, a chasm I couldn't bridge.
Why couldn't my father see me, truly see me? Why did he insist on molding me into a carbon copy of himself?
The mask I wore, the confidence I projected, was a carefully crafted illusion. I was lost, searching for a purpose beyond the boardroom.
And I wouldn't let anyone get close enough to discover the truth.
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