The Night The CEO Claimed Me

The Rebirth

Beauty’s POV

I slid my feet into the high heel. The arch was aggressive, forcing my weight onto the balls of my feet in a way that felt entirely unnatural. I felt four inches taller and infinitely more fragile, like a glass statue balanced on two needles. I took one tentative step and the floor, the expensive, polished marble that probably cost more than my life seemed to tilt. I nearly buckled, my ankles wobbling like jelly, a small, humiliated gasp escaping my throat.

"Shoulders back," Elena barked. Her hand was firm and warm against my spine, physically forcing me upright before I could collapse. "Don't look at the floor. The floor is beneath you, Beauty. You’re a Pierce now. You don't walk; you glide. If you fall, you make sure you take down anyone in your way."

She didn't give me time to argue or even to catch my breath. For the next three hours, Elena didn’t just shop; she hunted. She tore through the racks with a predatory speed that made my head spin, her eyes narrowed like she was looking for a weakness in the silk.

The room became a blur of motion. Two stone-faced assistants followed in her wake, catching every item she tossed back without looking. First came the daywear, structured wool blazers that felt heavier than my winter coat, tailored trousers that swept the floor, and silk blouses so sheer I was afraid to breathe while wearing them. Every time I caught a glimpse of a price tag, five thousand for a blouse, twelve thousand for a jacket, my stomach did a violent flip. I felt sick, truly. That was my mother’s medication for a year. That was my brother’s tuition for a whole semester. And here it was, hanging on a piece of sculpted plastic like it was nothing. I felt like a fraud, a common girl wrapped in the spoils of a world she had no right to enter.

"Now," Elena said, spinning around with a pair of shears she’d pulled from a nearby kit. "We start from the foundation. Travis said 'from the skin out,' and he meant it. That polyester bra you’re wearing? It’s a crime against humanity. Off. Everything. Now."

I flushed a deep, painful crimson that I knew was spreading down my neck. I’d never felt more exposed, standing in a room that cost more than a small hotel, being stripped down by a woman I’d met few hours ago. It was messy and raw. I felt small under her clinical gaze as she replaced my sensible, worn-out cotton with lace so fine it felt like a spiderweb and silks that slid over my skin like cool water. It felt scandalous. It felt like I was becoming someone’s secret, someone's possession. My skin felt too sensitive, the friction of the expensive lace making me feel like an imposter who had stolen someone else's identity.

"Better," Elena muttered, circling me like a sculptor evaluating a block of clay. "Now, the armor."

She threw a structured, ivory wool coat over my shoulders. Then came the trousers. high-waisted, charcoal silk that made my legs look a mile long. But she didn't stop there. She moved to the accessories, picking out classy structured leather bags for work and three different clutches, one in a deep emerald, another in a matte black that seemed to swallow the light. Then the shoes: rows of stilettos, sleek loafers for "off-duty" days, and boots made of leather so soft it felt like butter.

"I can't wear this to a cubicle," I whispered, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

"You aren't going back to a cubicle, honey. You’re going to the throne."

Then came the centerpiece. The dress for tonight. It was midnight blue, almost black, with a high neckline but completely backless, a dangerous slit running up the left thigh. I stepped into it, the silk hissing against my skin like a warning. Then the makeup session began. When I turned to the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. The girl who had been crying in the rain was gone. The scratch on my cheek was gone, expertly hidden by a cooling silicone and layers of expensive makeup that made my skin look like porcelain. My hair was swept into a low, lethal knot. I looked like a weapon.

"Who is Juliana?" I asked suddenly. The name had been echoing in my head like a heartbeat since Elena hissed it. I needed to know what ghost I was competing with.

Elena stopped, her hand hovering over a tray of diamonds. The atmosphere in the room shifted, turning heavy. "Juliana was perfect on paper. High society, old money. But she was a leech, Beauty. She played Travis, used his name to save her own skin, her family’s failing textile business and slept with his rivals behind his back. She embarrassed the name. And for a Pierce, embarrassment is a death sentence."

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling tight. I wasn't high society. I was a girl from the 4th floor with a dad in debt and a heart that was currently hammering against my ribs in a blind panic.

"Why would he pick me then? I'm the opposite of her."

Elena placed her hands on my shoulders, meeting my eyes in the mirror. Her expression was the softest I'd seen it. "Exactly. You're real. And right now, 'real' is the only thing that’s going to keep Silas from tearing Travis apart. He’s tired of the dolls, Beauty. He needs someone with blood in their veins."

She fastened a necklace of black diamonds around my neck. They felt cold against my skin. They felt like a leash, a shimmering reminder of who owned me now. I looked at the girl in the mirror, the dark eyes, the sharp jaw, the expensive glitter of the stones.

Behind me, the staff was finishing the packing. Dozens of heavy, cream-colored bags embossed with the gold Fifth Avenue logo were being lined up. It looked like a small mountain of wealth. I watched as four men in uniform began to haul the bags toward the elevator, their movements synchronized and silent.

"The car is downstairs," Elena said, her voice snapping back to its usual brisk tone as the last of the shopping bags disappeared through the doors. "The staff will load everything into the trunk. The lions are waiting at the Bistro. Don't let them see you blink."

I looked at the girl in the mirror one last time. I felt a surge of something I couldn't name. It wasn't happiness. It was a cold, hard realization that the old Beauty was dead. This was my rebirth, but it felt like a funeral.

I took one deep, shaking breath, steadied myself on the lethal heels, and turned toward the door. I didn't look back at the pile of my old clothes on the floor. The investment was ready