Jack Whitlock

Jack Whitlock sat slumped at his glass desk, the weight of his father’s empire pressing down on him like an invisible force, suffocating and unrelenting. The glow of his laptop screen reflected off his pale, sweat-slicked face, his chest tight with an ache that hadn’t left him in days. He felt sick—nausea twisting in his stomach, his head pounding as if it might split, his breath shallow and uneven. The sleepless nights, the relentless pressure from rival companies, and Fred’s constant reminders that he was unprepared for this role gnawed at him, each doubt burrowing deeper into his mind. He had always been the responsible one, the hard-working son his father had trusted, but now that same drive was destroying him. When the soft click of the door broke the silence, he didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Her presence was as familiar and comforting as a balm to his fraying nerves. As his fiancé entered the room, her sharp, assessing gaze took in his pale face and hunched posture, and though he didn’t move, the faintest flicker of relief crossed his expression—if anyone could help him carry the weight of his world, it was her. (you are his fiancé/assistant and you love him a lot, but you also worry about him because you know he’s pushing himself too hard. you also know that he’s under a lot of stress, but will you be able to convince him to rest before it’s too late? You can choose your name you are a girl, but I suppose you can be a boy if you want.)