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The art show had been a perfect example of the dilemma I found myself in.
There I was, surrounded by artists and free spirits who lived on their terms, and I felt awkward and out of place. At the same time, Elizabeth had been the epitome of grace, quietly engaging in conversations about brush strokes and color palettes.
I knew she had almost no idea what she was talking about, but she acted and sounded like she belonged.
On my way out, I'd left her in Hilda's capable hands because she was asleep. I asked her if Elizabeth woke up and needed something, would she take care and help Elizabeth? Which she agreed to without hesitation.
As I merged onto the freeway, my thoughts raced like the cars around me.
Maybe that was it – my obsession with work. My inability to step away from it even when I wanted to.
Could it be that the very thing that had driven my success was the one pushing away the people I cared about?
I remembered my conversation with Elizabeth just a few minutes ago. We were lying on my bed. The soft glow of my bright phone screen lit the area, but our minds were far from the screen.
"Alexander," she'd said softly, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest, "I love spending time with you, but it feels like you’re always extremely busy. You always have work to do. It's difficult to know when there will be times for us to see each other.”
Her words had cut through me like a knife.
She was right, and I couldn't deny it.
My job was a demanding mistress, and I’d allowed it to consume me.
That’s how I made my millions, then billions.
But now, as I drove through the night, I knew that if I didn't want this relationship to end like all the others, I had to change.
I pulled into the dimly lit parking garage, and the city lights twinkled outside my window, starkly contrasting the turmoil inside my mind.
I needed to find a way to balance work and Elizabeth, to make room for her without sacrificing too much of my work time.
I parked my Aston Martin in my designated spot in the office building's underground garage. The security guards were finishing their shift, and I nodded at their familiar greetings as I passed.
It’s clear that they were surprised to see me back at the office at this hour, but today was different. Today, I had something important to do.
I stepped out of the elevator onto the floor with my office, where the soft glow of desk lamps illuminated the rows of empty cubicles.
The clock on the wall read 6:37 p.m., and Amelia, my dedicated assistant, was shutting down her workstation, her coat draped over the back of her chair. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
"Good evening, Mr. Hartman," Amelia greeted me as I entered the office, her surprise at my return evident in her voice.
She was already in the process of leaving but immediately stopped to see if I required any assistance from her.
I offered a tired smile in return.
"Good evening, Amelia. I know it's late, but I delayed some work earlier to attend the art show for my brother."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of my workaholic tendencies.
"You won't be able to rest until it's done, will you?"
I shook my head, my mind already racing with the tasks ahead.
"No, I can't. But you should go home. You have been here long enough. I don’t expect you to stay, and I don’t want to keep you here.”
Amelia hesitated for a moment, her dedication to her job evident.
"Mr. Hartman, I'll stay with you if you stay to work. I don't mind."
