Chapter 4: The message
949 Words
Nat’s POV
I stepped out of the Cadillac Escalade, my black suit crisp, sunglasses sliding into place as the morning light bounced off the glass doors of Wolfe Group. The lobby buzzed with quiet conversations and the low hum of corporate ambition, but I moved through it with authority like the air itself parted for me.
After all, I was the master here.
Nia, my secretary, hurried behind me with her tablet in hand, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor.
“Morning, Nat,” she said, cheerfully.
“Morning, Nia,” I replied, barely sparing her a glance. My mind was already somewhere else.
“What’s my day looking like?” I asked as we walked.
She glanced down at her tablet. “Shareholders’ meeting at ten. Then five appointments afterward—”
I raised a hand, cutting her off.
“Cancel all my appointments. I won’t be available today.”
She blinked, surprised, but recovered quickly. “Yes, sir.”
Her fingers moved swiftly across the screen.
Good.
I needed focus.
The boardroom was already full when I walked in—full of faces that looked like they hadn’t slept well. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city beneath us.
I took my seat at the head of the oval table.
Silence settled over the room.
I let it linger.
Let them wonder.
“Shall we begin?” I said calmly.
My voice wasn’t loud, but every ear in the room leaned toward it.
Cynthia Rourke, our largest shareholder, wasted no time.
“We just lost PrimeCore,” she said sharply. “Where do we go from here?”
I leaned back slightly, letting the question hang in the air, stretching the tension until it nearly snapped.
“We’ll get them back,” I finally said.
Simple and certain.
Harold Lancaster frowned. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“I’ll work it out,” I replied with a small wave of my hand, dismissing the panic. A predator never shows doubt.
Clay leaned forward, fingers laced together. “Maybe we should start with why they left in the first place.”
“Failure to represent them in the frontlining project,” Cynthia answered coolly.
The room shifted.
The project was worth billions.
PrimeCore wanted us to bulldoze an entire community to build luxury towers and shopping centers.
Homes. Families. Memories.
Flattened for profit.
Not on my watch.
“They asked us to erase lives for money,” I said evenly. “That’s not something I do.”
A few people around the table nodded quietly.
The loyal ones.
They sat near the back.
The others shifted in their seats.
Weak.
“Values?” Jessica asked, one eyebrow raised. She was the youngest shareholder in the room.
“Yes,” I said simply.
“Values.”
Livelihoods and generations of history.
Things you couldn’t put a price tag on.
Cynthia and Clay exchanged a look—silent communication between sharks.
“We need results, Nat,” Cynthia said. “Our money is on the line.”
“Exactly,” Clay added. “So don’t try to pacify us.”
This two were weapons disguised as shareholders.
I smiled slightly, ever calm.
“If any of you want to step aside,” I said smoothly, “feel free. But don’t come knocking when we succeed… and the profits are far beyond your imagination.”
No one spoke.
I stood, straightening my suit jacket and sliding my sunglasses back on.
“I have business elsewhere.”
The tension snapped the moment I walked out.
Behind me, the boardroom exhaled like it had been holding its breath.
Power was intoxicating.
And weakness had a scent.
Outside, my phone buzzed.
Zara.
She was finally calling back after all the missed calls she had ignored.
My pulse reacted before my brain did.
I answered.
“Where are you?,” I said, my voice low and firm.
“I’m at work,” she replied lightly, that familiar carefree tone dancing through the line.
“Quit that job,” I said. “Come be with me.”
She laughed softly.
“Because you pay my bills?”
“I could change your life,” I said calmly.
There was a pause on the line.
“I’ll be at the club,” I added. “Eight o’clock.”
Another pause.
Then she sighed.
“Alright… see you then.”
The call ended.
I lit a cigar, watching the smoke curl into the morning air as thoughts of her filled my head.
Zara.
Her laughter.
The way her hips swayed when she walked.
The fire in her eyes whenever she challenged me.
Her throat job.
That body.
She was an addiction.
And I had no intention of curing it.
I crushed the cigar into the ashtray beside the car and glanced out at the city stretching endlessly ahead.
But a thought lingered at the back of my mind.
Zara wouldn’t just follow tonight.
She would challenge me.
Push me.
Force me to show her a side of myself most people never saw.
A slow smirk tugged at my lips.
And the strange part?
I wanted her to.
The streets glittered under the morning sun as I walked toward my car.
Business first.
Desire second.
Or at least…
That’s what I told myself.
Tonight, Zara would see another side of me.
A side she wouldn’t be able to refuse.
But as I slid into the car and my driver pulled away from the curb, my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Not from Zara.
The name on the screen made my smirk slowly disappear.
And for the first time that morning…
Something felt wrong.
- Writer
