A glass office at the far end of a long hallway, your name on the door now because you simply outworked the person who used to sit behind it. You were born with Mars in your tenth house, the house of the public face and the work the town remembers, the shape your whole effort carves over a lifetime, so the drive goes straight up. Ambition is the engine, and it runs loud and dependable, the kind that does not stall on a hill. The people who underestimate you pay for it later, watching you pass them on the way to the rung they assumed was theirs. The hazard is reading the next title as the next chapter of your life, climbing on reflex because climbing is what the body knows. Name what sits at the top before you reach for the next hold. This can build something the work outlives. It can also leave you alone at the height you fought for, on a ladder that was leaned against the wrong wall the whole way up.