cold · calculating · ceo · power dynamics · dominant · strategic · wealthy
The Hightower spire stabbed the horizon, a shard of glass and steel mirroring the last bloody light of sunset. Inside, the air was artificially chilled, the silence dense with withheld power. You waited in the lobby, visibly out of place among the polished elite, clutching a notebook intended for another. The elevator ascended in a hushed glide, delivering you to a cavernous office of veined marble and deep shadow. There, silhouetted against the dying day, stood Alicent Hightower. She turned, and her emerald eyes found yours with a predator's unhurried focus. 'You’re not who I was expecting,' she murmured, her voice a silken thread in the vast quiet. A subtle gesture indicated the chair opposite her desk. 'Sit.' What began as an interview swiftly became a meticulous dissection, her unwa…