The Night The CEO Claimed Me

The Controlled Burn

Travis’s POV

I watched from the mezzanine as the boy Marcus shrank. It was a pathetic sight. He stood in my lobby, wearing a suit that cost more than his monthly salary, trying to project a power he hadn't earned. He was the kind of man I despised: one who traded loyalty for a lease agreement.

I leaned against the cold steel railing, my thumb tracing the edge of my phone. Below, my security team was stripping him of the only thing that made him feel important. The Audi was a small move, a petty one, but in business, you start by removing the opponent's foundation.

Beauty was still standing near the elevator bank with her friend, whose name I learnt was Chloe. Chloe’s short dark hair was tucked behind her ears as she whispered frantically, her eyes darting between Beauty and the lobby. Beauty was leaning over the railing, watching Marcus with a look that was somewhere between disgust and a strange, hollow realization. She looked fragile in that charcoal suit, like a single gust of wind could break her. Yet, she hadn't looked away once.

I liked that. Most people look away when the blood starts to spill. She watched.

I opened my private messaging app. I hadn’t needed to ask for her number; I’d pulled her entire employee file the moment I got into the office at seven. It was all there: her address, her emergency contacts, her performance reviews, and the ten-digit number I was currently typing into a new message.

"He's still breathing. Do you want me to change that?"

I watched her feel the vibration in her hand. Beside her, Chloe was pointing down at the lobby where Marcus was currently red-faced, arguing with two men who were twice his size.

Beauty looked down at her screen. Her shoulders tensed. Then, she looked up. Across the vast, open space of the atrium, our eyes locked.

I wasn't joking. If she gave me the word, I could have Marcus Reed blacklisted from every reputable law firm in the country by lunch. I didn't do it because I cared about her heart; I did it because she was now a Pierce asset. And I don't let people damage my assets.

Her fingers moved quickly over her screen. A second later, my phone buzzed.

Beauty: No. The car is enough. You've made your point. Don't turn me into a villain.

I almost felt a tug of amusement. A villain. She still thought the world was divided into good and bad. She didn't realize that in this building, there were only those who held the leash and those who wore the collar.

I replied her text : The mortgage was the down payment. The car was a courtesy. But from this moment on, your life is my business. His presence is an insult to my investment.

I looked down. Marcus was finally being led toward the revolving doors, his hands gesturing wildly as he tried to explain himself to a security team that didn't care. The "shouting" that had echoed through the lobby was dying down into a humiliated mumble.

The crowd of employees began to disperse, sensing the show was over. They whispered to each other, casting side-long glances at Beauty. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call from my Grandfather.

I took a breath, resetting my expression into something more human before answering.

"Grandfather," I said, turning to walk toward my private office.

"I saw the bank alert, Travis," the old man’s voice crackled, sharp as a razor. "A mortgage? Since when did we start a charity for mid-level analysts? I want to meet her."

"I’ll bring her by the estate this weekend," I replied, trying to buy us time. Beauty was in no state to handle a cross-examination today.

"No. You’ll bring her to Pierce Bistro tonight," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I want to see the woman who has captured your mind to the extent that you’re dipping into company funds for her family. I want to see if she's looking for a future with you, or if she’s just another parasite looking for my money. Four o'clock, Travis. My usual table. Don't be late."

The line went dead. I gripped the phone, my jaw tightening. He was hunting for a reason to disqualify me, and he’d found a scent. He chose the Bistro on purpose, it was a goldfish bowl, the one place where every Pierce employee and other elites would see us.

I couldn't have her walking into that lion’s den in a charcoal suit she probably bought from a cheap roadside store. I scrolled through my contacts and hit a name that usually meant trouble: Elena.

My cousin was the CEO of the most exclusive luxury department store on Fifth Avenue. She was also the only person in the family who could keep a secret mostly because she enjoyed the drama of it.

"Travis!" her voice sang through the line. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you finally decide your ties are too boring, or do you need a last-minute gift for a board member?"

"I’m sending someone to you, Elena. Now. Her name is Beauty Whitefield."

There was a long, stunned silence on the other end. Elena knew me. She knew I didn't "send" people. I bought things and had them delivered.

"A woman?" Elena asked, her voice dropping into a tone of pure, unadulterated shock. "You're sending a woman to me? To my store? Travis, are you feeling okay? Does she have a pulse?"

"She has three hours," I said, ignoring the jab. "I need her entire wardrobe replaced. Everything from the skin out. Silks,shoes,bags, evening wear,the works. My grandfather is meeting us at the Bistro at four, and she needs to look like she belongs there. I don't care about the price. Just make her look like a Pierce."

"Wow," Elena breathed, and I could practically hear the wicked grin on her face. "Who is this woman that has finally captured my favorite cousin's frozen heart? This is historic. I’ll clear the VIP suite and have the champagne ready. But Travis? If she’s as special as this phone call suggests, I expect a full briefing later."

"Just get it done, Elena," I muttered and hung up.

I looked back at the mezzanine one last time and sent a final text to Beauty.

"Clear your desk. My driver is waiting downstairs. He’s taking you to Fifth Avenue. You have three hours to replace your entire wardrobe. You cannot be my wife and continue to wear cheap clothes. My grandfather is meeting us at Pierce Bistro tonight at eight to see if you’re a gold-digger. Try to look like someone who belongs by my side, not someone I’m pitying. Elena is expecting you."

I didn't wait for her to reply. I had just sold my grandfather a dream, and now I had to make sure Beauty Whitefield was expensive enough to make it a reality.