Alexander PoV
I sighed as I was driven to work.
The car moved smoothly along the familiar route, but my mind was elsewhere, drifting through thoughts that refused to settle. I watched the cityscape pass by through the window, feeling the weight of the day ahead pressing down on me.
I sighed, leaning back against the seat, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort from the morning's interactions. Damien's words about letting go and having fun echoed in my mind, but they felt distant, almost foreign. It wasn't that I didn't want to join in or enjoy the lighter moments—it's just that it never seemed that simple.
Growing up, there was always a standard to meet, expectations to fulfill. I was the one who had to maintain composure, the responsible one, the one who couldn't afford to mess up. It was a role I'd embraced, but it came with its own set of burdens, ones that felt heavier on days like this.
The car stopped at a red light, and I glanced at the people walking by on the street, each absorbed in their own worlds. I wondered what it would be like to live with less pressure, to simply be without the constant need to prove myself.
As the light turned green, the car resumed its journey, weaving through the bustling cityscape. I watched as the buildings grew taller, the streets busier, with each block bringing me closer to the pharmaceutical company my family had built a hundred years ago. I was amongst its youngest CEOs.
The weight of this role was both an honor and a burden. The expectations from investors, board members, and employees were high, and I was determined to meet them, even if it meant sacrificing parts of myself along the way. Yet, deep down, I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to life than just this relentless pursuit of success.
As we neared the office, the car's familiar hum was interrupted by my phone buzzing with notifications—emails, meeting reminders, and messages from colleagues all vying for my attention. I silenced the device, needing a moment of quiet before the day's demands took over completely.
Arriving at the building, I stepped out of the car and took a moment to gaze up at the towering structure. The sleek glass exterior mirrored the sky, a fitting metaphor for the heights I was expected to reach. I straightened my tie and walked through the revolving doors, greeted by the the front lobby workers.
I inspected their clothes to make sure they were up to par. Their clothes were neat and pressed, skirts the right size, neckties neat, name tags perfectly aligned. I felt a small sense of relief wash over me, knowing that everything was as it should be. Maybe it was because of how I had been raised, but I hated disorder.
As I continued through the lobby, I took in the familiar surroundings—each element meticulously arranged as if some fengshui professional had arranged them. The pristine floors, the strategically placed artwork, even the ambient music playing softly in the background—all of it designed to create an atmosphere of professionalism.
I gasped as my phone buzzed. My eyes widened as I saw a text from Damien. It was a picture of the siblings. Toren was staring at the camera, holding a dinosaur plushie, while Shelly giggled in the background.
'Toren says 'rawr'', it said. I couldn't help but snicker. What did that even mean? Was this the kid's attempt to say thanks or was he trying to cheer me? For an autistic child, he sure could read people better than others. Well, assuming he was autistic. But he did give off that aura.
I pocketed my phone, feeling a bit of the tension in my shoulders ease as I continued toward the elevators. Damien said those two would help him destroy the 'old and dull' household we grew up in, remaking it into more of a family than a group of related people who secretly hated one another.
I was glad I stood up to Grandmother. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have had someone to help me ease my worries a little with his dinosaur roars.
The elevator ride was brief, and as I reached my floor, I was greeted by the familiar buzz of the office. My assistant, Emily, was at her desk, efficiently managing a flurry of activity. She looked up and offered a bright smile as I approached.
"Good morning, Sir Alexander Veyron de Luthaine," she said, handing me a tablet with the day's agenda. "Your first meeting is with the R&D team in half an hour, and there's a call with the board scheduled for later."
I took it and nodded. "Thanks, Emily. Say, what do you know about autism?"
She hummed. "Autism? Why do you ask? Is it about developing medicine to help with its symptoms?"
I frowned. Those studies didn't result in much progress. I wondered if we were approaching the subject the wrong way. People treated it like something that had to be cured, but was that truly the case?
"No. It's that there's a kid I met who seems to have it. Although, he's more of the chatty kind than the stereotypical silent kid."
Some might be nonverbal, while others are quite talkative. It's not so much about curing it as it is about understanding and supporting their unique needs."
Her words resonated with me. The more I thought about Toren and the joy he seemed to find in simple things, the more I realized that perhaps understanding was the key. It wasn't about changing him but rather about adapting our perceptions and approaches to better accommodate and appreciate his perspective.
"That's a good point," I replied, nodding thoughtfully. "Maybe we should look into how our company can contribute to that kind of support—developing resources or tools that help individuals on the spectrum thrive."
Emily smiled, clearly pleased with the direction of the conversation. "I think that could be a wonderful initiative. It could make a real difference."