The Liebert's Protocol

Liebert's Protocol

The heavy oak door of my bedroom hadn't been closed for more than ten seconds before a sharp, rhythmic rapping echoed through the wood. I was still standing in the center of the room, my fingers hovering over the zipper of my travel-worn denim shorts, my breath hitched in a sob I hadn't finished.

"Miss Liebert." Andrew’s voice was like a bucket of ice water thrown over my grief. "Forty-five minutes. The board is already assembling."

I whirled around, staring at the closed door. "What? Now? I just got off a fourteen-hour flight, Andrew! My grandfather is—"

"Your grandfather is a strategist," Andrew interrupted, his voice muffled but firm through the door. "And his strategy is for you to be seen before the rumors of your 'escape' to China can sink the morning's opening bell. You aren't mourning today, Marie. You’re managing. Forty-four minutes."

I looked at the mirror. I looked like a ghost that had been dragged through a hedge. My eyes were bloodshot, my skin sallow, and I still had the faint, sickening scent of Xi Chan’s apartment clinging to my skin.

A hot, bitter rage flared up, momentarily drowing out the heartbreak. They weren't giving me a night to sleep. They weren't giving me an hour to wash the betrayal off my soul. They wanted the Liebert Heiress, and they wanted her now.

"Fine," I whispered to the empty room. "You want a CEO? I’ll give you a CEO."

I lunged for the walk-in closet. I didn't look at the sundresses or the soft linens. I grabbed a black power suit—stiff, expensive, and cold. I peeled off my denim, kicking the clothes into a corner like they were a skin I was shedding.

The silk blouse felt like ice against my skin. I did the buttons with trembling fingers, my mind a chaotic loop of Chan’s laughter and Grandpa’s smirk. I didn't have time for a full face of makeup, so I used a cold compress on my eyes and layered on the concealer until I looked like a porcelain doll. I painted my lips a deep, blood red—a color that said don't touch me.

Finally, the heels. Louboutins. Sleek, black, and four inches of pure torture. As I slid my feet into them, the arch was so steep it forced my posture into a rigid, defiant line. The physical pain in my toes was a mercy; it was the only thing loud enough to drown out the screaming in my head.

I pulled open the door. Andrew was leaning against the opposite wall, his eyes fixed on a silver pocket watch. He didn't look up immediately. He finished his count, clicked the watch shut, and then finally raised his gaze.

His eyes traveled from my red lips down to my trembling knees, then back up. For a split second, I saw something in his expression—not pity, but a cold sort of recognition. He saw the armor I was wearing.

"Two minutes early," he noted, his baritone dangerously low. "I suppose there’s a spark of your grandfather in you after all."

"Don't flatter yourself," I snapped, my voice sounding like gravel. "I’m only doing this so I can buy enough time to figure out how to fire you."

Andrew’s lip curled into the ghost of a smirk—one that didn't reach his icy eyes. "Filing for my dismissal requires a quorum of the board. A board that currently thinks you are a spoilt child playing dress-up in Beijing. Shall we go prove them wrong?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and stroed toward the elevator, his charcoal suit moving with a fluid, predatory grace. I followed, my heels clicking a frantic, uneven rhythm on the marble floor.

The elevator ride down was silent, the air thick with the scent of his expensive cologne and my desperate adrenaline. When the doors slid open to the executive floor, the bright fluorescent lights felt like a physical slap.

"Head high, Miss Liebert," Andrew murmured, leaning in so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my ear. "They smell blood. If you show them a single tear, they’ll have you replaced by lunch."

I didn't answer. I just stepped out into the hallway, the girl who loved Xi Chan buried deep beneath layers of silk and spite. The boardroom doors loomed ahead—a mahogany mouth waiting to swallow me whole.