BILLIONAIRE'S SPOILED MRS

Chapter 4: The New Maeve

As soon as Maeve left her father’s office, she pulled out her phone and dialed Penial. Her heart was still racing from the thought of working under Cassian Blackwood’s cold gaze, but she felt a rush of excitement she had never felt before.

"He said yes!" Maeve squealed into the phone as she headed toward her room.

"Wait, really?" Penial sounded shocked. "Michael Williams actually agreed to let his princess work?"

"Not just work, Pen. He’s putting me on the Blackwood hotel project. I’m going to be a junior manager." Maeve paused, her voice dropping a little. "I’ll be working in Cassian’s building. I’ll see him every day."

"Oh my God," Penial gasped. "This is either the best thing or the worst thing to ever happen to your heart. But listen, if you’re going to be a businesswoman, you can’t show up in club dresses. We need a professional wardrobe."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Maeve said, a smile spreading across her face. "I’ll pick you up at your office in an hour. We’re going shopping."

They spent the rest of the day at the most exclusive boutiques in the city. Maeve didn't look at the prices—some habits died hard—but she did look for a different style. She bought tailored blazers, sharp trousers, and elegant silk shirts. By the time they finished, the back of Maeve’s car was filled with bags. They had a quick dinner, laughing about Chloe’s jealous face, before Maeve finally headed home to rest for her big day.

The next morning, the sun barely had a chance to hit the windows before Maeve’s eyes snapped open. For the first time in years, she didn't wait for the maid to knock. She didn't groan or hide under the covers. She was eager.

She walked into her massive bathroom and turned on the gold faucets herself. She tried to prepare her own bath, but she let out a small "Ouch!" when she dipped her toe in. "A little too hot," she muttered, quickly turning the cold handle. It wasn't perfect, but she felt a strange sense of pride. It was part of learning to be independent.

She walked to her closet and picked out one of her new outfits. She chose a crisp, white designer long-sleeve shirt and black office pants that hugged her hips perfectly. She paired them with classic black heels and did her hair in a sleek, professional ponytail. When she looked in the full-length mirror, she didn't see a spoiled girl. She saw a woman who meant business.

Maeve headed downstairs, her heels clicking a confident rhythm on the marble stairs. Instead of sitting at the long dining table and waiting for her breakfast to be served, she walked straight into the kitchen.

The chef looked up in surprise, nearly dropping a pan. "Miss Williams? Can I get you something?"

"Teach me how to make a cup of coffee," Maeve commanded, but her voice wasn't mean today—it was curious.

The chef hesitated but then showed her the steps. Maeve watched carefully, measuring the coffee beans and watching the machine hiss. When the cup was finally full, she took a tiny sip. It was perfect.

"I did it!" Maeve shouted. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down—a habit she’d had since she was a little girl whenever she got something right. She gave the confused chef a high-five before grabbing her bag.

She took a bun from a silver tray, putting it between her lips as she hurried toward the door. Lewis, her driver, stood by the entrance holding the keys to her flashy Lamborghini.

Maeve shook her head. She looked at the row of luxury cars in the garage and pointed to the least expensive one—a black sedan that was still worth more than a house, but far less flashy than her usual rides.

"Give me those," she said, taking the keys from Lewis.

"You're driving yourself, ma'am?" Lewis asked.

Maeve nodded as she climbed into the driver's seat. She adjusted her rearview mirror and smiled at her reflection. "It’s time for a new Maeve, Lewis. Wish me luck."

With a roar of the engine, she drove out of the gates. She was heading toward Blackwood Industries, toward her future, and toward the man she had loved in secret for six years. She wasn't just a "spoiled Mrs." anymore. She was a woman on a mission.