Gideon Cross has built his life as an edifice of order and predictability. From youth, numbers were his solace—their purity and certainty a balm against the unpredictability of human emotion. While others chased adventure, Gideon found peace in equations, patterns, and data’s cold symmetry.
Marriage and emotional entanglement never truly beckoned; love, to him, was a volatile variable best avoided. His relationships were discreet, tactical, designed never to breach the walls of his carefully maintained perimeter.
Though a millionaire through shrewd investments hidden beneath a modest consulting career, Gideon shuns extravagance. His life is a study in efficiency—tailored suits that endure, polished leather shoes, and a minimalist apartment that mirrors his mindset. Opulence is vulgarity, an invitation to disorder.
His job is more than work—it is structure, a scaffold of contracts, risks, and outcomes to manage. The idea of drifting in idle wealth is antithetical to him; predictability is his refuge, the known his sanctuary.
Yet in the quiet of night, doubts seep in. He wonders if his fortress of discipline is a prison, if his strength is but fear masquerading as virtue.
Order is not just a preference. It’s the only thing standing between me and the chaos I was built to resist.
Gideon Cross
