Entangled with the Cold Billionaire CEO

Chapter 3: The mysterious Guy

Fioma let out a deep sigh, her head filled with thoughts of how the patient's real identity has to do with her. “So?”

Emily's awkward smile could be heard over the phone, filled with subtle regret. She must have forgotten that Fiona wasn't the social type.

Fiona ended the call, leaning back in her seat. She lifted her wrist to check her watch. Half past four. Judging by the time the anesthesia was administered, it would wear off around six o'clock. That gave her an hour and a half to rest in the staff lounge, which was more than enough to recharge.

Slipping off her white coat, she dragged her aching body toward the lounge, desperately craving sleep.

….

Sterling Global Headquarters...

“The Chairman will be here in one minute!”

The announcement sent the entire lobby into an immediate panic. Staff rushed to get things in perfect order, while top-tier executives scrambled out of their offices, lining up in a rigid formation to welcome the patriarch of the empire.

A sleek, pitch-black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the entrance of the magnificent skyscraper. A guard in a sharp suit snapped open the rear door, and a commanding, middle-aged man stepped out. Donald Sterling.

The executives bowed in a synchronized, ninety-degree angle, only daring to straighten up after Donald had marched past them. They trailed behind him in an anxious entourage, the hairs on their arms standing on edge.

Getting a job at Sterling Global was a miracle in itself, but making a single mistake in front of the Chairman meant your career was over for a lifetime.

William’s personal secretary stepped into the private elevator with Donald, while the other executives waited behind for the next lift, bowing deeply until the doors slid shut.

“William isn’t here yet?” Donald’s deep, gravelly voice shattered the silence of the elevator.

The secretary shifted uncomfortably, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was trapped. Any answer he gave would either offend his direct boss, William, or infuriate the Chairman. Or, unfortunately, both.

Donald looked up, his sharp eyes narrowing into a dangerous squint. “Did you not hear me, or are you choosing not to answer?”

“Actually, sir... after I reported to Mr. William this morning, I haven't heard from him,” the secretary stammered, carefully reading the Chairman's icy expression. “I called his personal line twice after that, but it goes straight to voicemail.”

Donald gave a slow, ominous nod. He slid a hand into his pocket and strode out the moment the elevator doors dinged open.

The secretary slumped against the mirrored wall for a split second, his back completely drenched in cold sweat, before pulling himself together and rushing out to maintain his professional facade. He still had to survive a one-hour board meeting.

Within minutes, the grand conference room was packed. Every executive wore an anxious expression, their eyes repeatedly darting toward the imposing man seated at the head of the long mahogany table.

“Is William actually capable of running this conglomerate?”

The question was delivered softly, but it carried the weight of a sledgehammer. The executives shifted uneasily, casting fleeting glances at one another. The question was a double-edged sword, and answering either way was a trap.

If they said he was capable, Donald would demand to know why the company’s stock price had been plummeting over the last few days, and why the CEO was currently missing.

If they said he wasn't capable, they would be insulting the man who had flawlessly expanded the company's billions over the last five years—and questioning Donald's choice of heir.

A suffocating silence filled the room. No one wanted to be roasted alive by the Chairman.

Donald’s gaze scanned the sea of cowardly faces. Seeing that no one had the courage to answer, he leaned forward. “I came here today to officially hand over my remaining shares to my son. But...” His gaze flickered coldly to William’s empty chair. “It seems my trust was misplaced.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing. The executives gripped their folders so tightly their knuckles turned white.

Donald’s eyes locked onto a man sitting on the left side of the table. The PR Manager.

“You. Give me the real report on our stock numbers.”

The PR Manager turned as pale as a sheet. He was the chosen scapegoat for the day. With trembling hands, he laid his folder on the table and stood up, his legs shaking. Answering the baseline question wasn't the problem—it was the lethal follow-ups he dreaded.

“T—the stock price has dropped by 1.93% following the alleged assault charges leveled against the CEO,” the manager said in one panicked breath. He glanced at Donald, sweating profusely before continuing. “It originally began as an unverified rumor, and our PR team successfully suppressed it. However, a video clip was leaked to the media a few days ago. It’s highly manipulated, but it gained too much traction for us to legally bury. We requested a formal press statement from Mr. William to clear the air, but we haven't received a reply.”

“And?” Donald asked, his voice flat.

The executive blanked, his eyes darting around the room, begging his colleagues for a lifeline. None came.

“If you cannot control the narrative of a single PR crisis as a department head,” Donald said, his words cutting through the room like a blade, “should you really be holding an executive title in this company?”

It was a devastating blow to the manager, and a terrifying warning to everyone else. The PR Manager collapsed back into his seat, his hands visibly shaking.

“I expect the rest of you to show more competence,” Donald said smoothly as he stood up. He turned his harsh gaze back to the trembling PR lead. “Meet me in my office. Now.”

The moment Donald strode out and the heavy doors clicked shut, the entire room exhaled in a collective gasp of relief. The executives swarmed around the devastated PR manager, offering shallow words of comfort, secretly thanking God that they weren't in his shoes. Not wanting to linger in the blast zone, they quickly dispersed.

Summoning every ounce of courage he had left, the PR Manager walked down the hall and knocked on the Chairman's office door.

“Sit,” Donald commanded without looking up.

The manager sat on the absolute edge of his seat.

Donald signed the document in front of him, set his expensive fountain pen down, and leaned back in his leather chair. He studied the terrified man before him with calculating eyes.

“If you want to keep your job—and your career in this city—there is something you can do for me.”

Instantly reenergized by the sudden lifeline, the manager sat up straight, his entire body tense with desperation.

“What is it, sir? Anything.”

Donald narrowed his eyes. “Find my son. I don't care if you have to dig through every hotel, private club, or underground facility in this country. Find out who leaked that tape, and find William before the media does.”