The television wouldn't shut up.
Static, voices, that fake cheer in every anchor's tone—it filled the dark with noise I didn't ask for. The penthouse was a blur of shadows and screen-light, all gray and ghostly, like the world forgot what color was.
And there he was again.
Andrew.
He was everywhere now. Business conferences. Charity galas. News segments analyzing XE Corp's "bold new direction under visionary leadership." The media had fallen in love with him, praising his decisive action and forward-thinking strategies.
His fucking face plastered across the screen, smiling like a man who'd never known failure.
"Visionary leadership," they said.
"Bold new direction for XE Corp," they said.
The savior of the company.
They couldn't get enough of him.
I couldn't care less.
I reached for the whiskey bottle on the table and took another drink. My hand was slow. My head slower. The burn down my throat felt like the only thing that still worked.
Then the screen flickered.
