The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the pristine golf course, where a group of investors and corporate elites had gathered for a casual round of golf that felt anything but casual. Among them was Frank, the head of Venus Industries, struggling to maintain his

composure amid a torrent of backhanded compliments and veiled jabs. "Good shot, Richard."

"Thank you, gentleman. After all, golf is the second good thing I am good at other than spending money."

They all laughed at his jokes.

"Now, Frank, it's your turn."

"Of course." He replied with a smile.

Frank stepped up to the tee, his driver in hand, and tried to block out the chatter from the group behind him as he tried to focus on the ball in front of him. However, it seemed like those gentlemen preferred talking instead of being silent.

"So, Frank," one of the investors, a sharp-eyed man named Mitchell, called out as he set his ball on the tee. "How's Venus going these days?"

His focus was shaky, though, as his mind raced with the issues plaguing Venus Industries.

Frank adjusted his stance, gripping the club a little tighter. "It's going okay," he replied coolly, his tone betraying none of the frustration brewing inside.

Mitchell let out a low chuckle. "Okay, huh? That's good to hear. What about that issue with the robot? Heard there was... trouble at the press release."

Frank paused mid-swing, turned his head slightly, and gave a tight-lipped smile. "It's been weeks, and we are doing much better. We're doing damage control," he said with practiced ease. "But everything's under control now. We are improving."

The truth, of course, was far from what he'd just said. Venus Industries was still scrambling to recover from the public fallout of its failed robotic prototype. They hadn't even filled the vacant lab tech positions yet. Frank had tasked Robert, his headhunter, to find top-tier talent, but progress was painfully slow. Still, there was no way he'd admit any of that here-not in front of these smug, moneyed men who were all too eager to see him fail.

Another investor, a rotund man named Edward, spoke up, his voice tinged with mock curiosity. "You know, I heard Claire Peterson and Alexander Harris were spotted in Las Vegas recently, checking out Harris's latest hotel. Must've been a sight."

Frank's grip tightened on his club. He forced a smile. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah," Edward continued, placing his ball on the ground. "Apparently, it's got a completely different vibe from the usual Harris hotels. People are already talking about how innovative it is."

"And let's not forget Metacortex's robot," chimed in another investor, a wiry man named Graham, adjusting his visor. "I hear they're doing some incredible things over there. Can't wait to see how they pull it off."noveldrama

Frank's jaw clenched as their laughter filled the air. He turned his back to them, pretending to focus on his shot. "The only thing Metacortex is good at is creating a scandal, especially their CEO, Claire Peterson," he said, his voice clipped, "but let's not forget that Claire's team does all the work for her. She just reaps the rewards."

Mitchell, ever the provocateur, chuckled. "At least her projects work, Frank. Unlike Venus the last time we heard about it."

The group erupted in laughter, and Frank's hand slipped slightly on his club. He swung, but his shot went wide, the ball veering off course and landing in the rough. The poor swing was met with a few snickers, which only fueled the growing fire in his chest. "Excuse me for a moment," Frank said stiffly, brushing past them and heading toward his golf cart. He pulled out his phone as soon as he was out of earshot and dialed Robert.

The call connected, and Robert's voice came through, casual and unconcerned. "Hey, Frank. What's up?"

"What's up?" Frank hissed, barely containing his frustration. "I will tell you what's up, Robert. It's been two weeks, and you've only found two candidates for the lab tech positions. Are you kidding me?"

There was a pause on the line before Robert responded, his tone defensive. "Look, Frank, these aren't easy roles to fill. You said you wanted top-tier talent-people with experience in cutting-edge robotics don't just grow on trees."

"I don't pay you to give me excuses, Robert," Frank snapped. "I pay you to deliver results. Two weeks for two candidates? That's a snail's pace. I need those positions filled yesterday."

"I understand but you are the one who fired them out of anger and if you could only control your emotions, we wouldn't be in this difficult position," Robert says slightly annoyed.

Frank frowned as his grip on his phone tightened. "Are you criticizing me?"

Robert replied, sounding slightly flustered. "I don't mean it that way, Frank. I'll accelerate the search. But these things take time—"

"Time is a luxury I don't have!" Frank barked, cutting him off. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to stand here and listen to these people talk about Metacortex like it's the second coming of innovation while Venus is treated like a joke? Get it done, Robert. Fast." "Understood," Robert said quickly. "I'll make it my top priority."

"Good," Frank said coldly before hanging up and shoving the phone back into his pocket. He sat in the golf cart for a moment, fuming. His fists clenched and unclenched as he replayed the investors' words in his head. The smirks, the laughter-it all made his blood boil.

Frank glanced back toward the

group still gathered at the tee, their

voices carrying faintly in the breeze They weren't laughing anymore, but the memory of their mockery lingered. He couldn't let this stand. Venus had to succeed. Not just for the sake of the company, but for his pride. For his reputation.

"Claire Peterson," he muttered under his breath, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. She was always one step ahead, always receiving accolades while he struggled to keep Venus afloat. Every success she had felt like a personal affront.

Frank took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him, not now. He had to focus. He had to strategize. If Venus was going to rise from the ashes of its failures, it wouldn't happen by sulking on a golf course. He returned to the group, masking his frustration with a neutral expression. As he approached, Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "Everything all right, Frank?"

"Perfectly fine," Frank replied smoothly, picking up his club again. "Shall we continue?"

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Frank played mechanically, his mind elsewhere. He barely registered the conversations around him, his focus instead on the next steps for Venus. He couldn't afford another failure. Not with investors like this breathing down his neck, waiting for any excuse to pull their funding.

By the time they reached the clubhouse, Frank had resolved to take matters into his own hands. He wouldn't just rely on Robert to find talent-he'd personally ensure Venus got the resources it needed. And as for Metacortex? He'd find a way to away outshine Claire Peterson, no matter what it took.

Because failure wasn't an option. Not anymore.