Page 53 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Because every step — every decision — feels like sand slipping through my fingers.
I return to my office afterward, shoes whispering against the polished floor, the taste of bitterness still at the back of my throat.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
The skyline outside glows with the last light of evening — glass towers catching dawn and dusk both in brilliant sweeps, like the city never chooses one time, only flickers between them.
I stand there — alone — watching.
The Helios Combine skyline stretches before me, brilliant and alive, but I feel… hollow.
Like my footing is shifting.
Like the ground beneath my feet is sand, not steel.
My office is quiet.
Too quiet.
The hiss of the air vents, the faint hum of the city beyond my window.
I can still taste the negotiations — bitter like blood, sweet like defeat.
And I realize:
I am losing control.
Not just of the negotiations.
Not just of CY8.
Not just of my heart.
But of thebalanceI fought for — the careful, razor-thin balance between vulnerability and strength, trust and independence.
This company was supposed to be mine to steer.
My father’s legacy to mend.
My future to build.
But every choice seems to cost a part of me.
I turn from the window.
The lights in the city blink, artificial stars in an engineered sky.
And I realize, with a hollow ache in my chest:
The reckoning isn’t coming later.
It’s already here.
Only I don’t yet know which man — which path — will survive it.
And that realization tastes like iron on my tongue.
After work, I head home and collapse into nap mode. I wake up to the quiet hum of my apartment — a deliberate, manufactured hush that never quite feels natural. But in the half-light of morning, with the true sunrise still behind the horizon, it feels like a small mercy. Like the world paused just long enough for breath.
