Davian's Point Of View
I didn't know how long I stayed there.
Kneeling on the cold, unforgiving concrete steps of D'Angelo Corporation, while the world moved around me as if I didn't even exist.
People passed by.
Some looked.
Some whispered.
Most just walked past, as if a broken man groveling on the sidewalk was just another part of the scenery.
My palms were still bleeding.
My knees ached.
But none of it compared to the searing, mind-shattering pain exploding inside my chest.
I had never, not in my worst nightmares imagined things could collapse this way.
And then, because life wasn't done yet, my phone started ringing.
Shrill.
Piercing.
Mocking.
It took me a few seconds to even register it.
Another few seconds to fumble my hand into my jacket pocket with trembling fingers.
I pulled it out.
The caller ID glared at me cruelly:
First National Bank, Executive Loan Department.
My heart seized.
