Boardroom Burden: The Weight of Success (Patreon)

6:17 PM and these 36-lb monsters have been locked in this torture-device of a bra since 5:30 AM—underwire carving red canyons under each tit, straps sawing into my shoulders like I owe them money. My back’s screaming, my ribs are bruised, and every step down the hall is a slow-motion bounce that makes interns stare. One more signature, then I’m out—martinis first, then home to peel this thing off, let them fall heavy and free, skin tingling as the blood rushes back. I’ll stand in the mirror, hands barely spanning the width, and just breathe. Finally.