THE BILLIONAIRE'S LOVING CREATION

Charlotte's POV You would imagine after receiving over ten awards, I'd be accustomed to this by now. But when I was standing on stage, grasping the sides of the podium as if it were my very last lifeline, I could feel my lungs constricting. Too many. Too many eyes. The auditorium was packed—scientists, engineers, people whose faces I'd only known in books and on news stories. Cameras clicked, the silent crowd waiting for my speech, and whoosh, all the meticulously practiced words were gone. My hands fiddled with my dress—black, long-sleeved, professional, a tad too tight at the collar. I hated getting dressed up, but it seemed billionaires and scientists did. I breathed in too fast. Silly notion. My chest seized, my airway tightening that little bit necessary to make me acutely aware of each inhale. Not now. Don't even think about having an asthma attack now. I shifted my glasses back up and put my attention on the one being who could release me from this pattern. Benjamin Fiddleson. Yes. The Benjamin Fiddleson. The man whom I had idolized since age eleven. The visionary whose works had shaped the concepts behind half of my creations. He stood beside me, smiling like I'd cured half the world's hunger all by myself. "I have to say," he began, his booming voice echoing through the assembly, "when I heard of Charlotte Hayes initially, I said, Surely, folks are dramatizing." A ripple of amusement filled the room. "But then," he continued, glancing at me with something close to admiration, "I was asked to be one of the judges for her latest innovation, and let me tell you—I have never been more honored to be proven wrong." More applause. I gripped the edges of the podium harder. This was fine. This was fine. A few hundred individuals. Just all of the great scientists that I had ever idolized. Just my childhood hero referring to me as a genius in front of all of them. No pressure. I breathed in, pressing my lips into a grin. Fiddleson turned to me, award held out. I stepped forward and took it in both hands. The golden plaque was heavy. Smooth. Perhaps the most precious thing I'd ever held, yet my hands shook. He nodded for me to continue. Yes. Speech. I was supposed to say something. I cleared my throat. "Uh… Thank you." Silence. My stomach dropped. My mind stalled, racking its brains for words, for facts, for anything. Focus. Talk. Use words. "Primarily when I first started the H₂O Char Car, I told everyone it was a theory. A hypothesis that any vehicle could simply run on water without the assistance of hydrogen fuel cells." I gulped. "A hypothesis which actually sounded crazy at first." I lost my train of thought. Good Lord, Charlotte. You sound like one of those science journals. I cleared my throat again. "In essence… I made it work." A laughter rippled through the crowd. Good. They liked that. Keep it short. "This project means a lot to me," I said, my tone a little stronger. "Not just for what it represents in clean energy, but because it's proof that impossible ideas just take a little longer to become reality." More applause. I inhale deep, slowly, and attempt to get calm. Thirty-degree left turn— in other words, lean over. Smile. The remainder of the ceremony was a blur of backs patted and hands shaken. Fiddleson chatted somewhat with me, assuring me that he impatiently awaited my next device. My head barely absorbed it. For the entire duration, however, I scanned about. Where is he? I reached into my pocket and lightly touched my hand on the phone. Maybe he's late. Maybe he— I called. Right into voicemail. My stomach tightened. Bryon said he'd be there. He swore he wouldn't miss this. This was the largest project of my career so far, and he— "Darling, you were simply divine," I was snapped out of my trance by my mother's voice. I turned to see her approaching, the picture of grace in an emerald gown that had cost more than my initial creation. Her personal assistant lagged behind by a few strides, gripped tight to her purse as if it were golden thread. She gave me a brief peck on the cheek, her perfume overwhelming, too floral. "Another award. By gosh, soon you'll be topping your father." My dad—Matthew Hayes—smiled as he stepped up beside her. "Impressive, as always," he said. "Though, if you re-tuned the fuel cells to convert at lower temperatures, efficiency would increase by approximately—" "Dad," I moaned. His eyes glinted with amusement, but he didn't push further. I tried to call Bryon again. Straight. To. Voicemail. The tightness in my chest returned, worse this time. Why won't he answer? Then, before I could get lost, someone grasped my wrist. Bailey Anthony. My one real friend. My best friend. She had been there since college, one of the few people who could tolerate my talent for losing oneself in projects for days on end without responding texts. Her hazel eyes were burning with excitement. "We got it." My brain was behind. I looked at her. "The—?" She nodded, shivering with excitement. "We got the body," she whispered. "It's ready. Project Lazarus starts tonight." My heart leapt. For an instant, I didn't even see the award in my hand, the scientists around me, the ache in my chest because Bryon wasn't there. Tonight. Tonight, I bring someone back to life. "This is a bad idea," Bailey whispered, holding onto my arm as we crept down the darkened hallway. "Chill," I whispered, looking at the access panel in front of us. "No one's here. Everyone in the lab is at the gala." Technically, I was meant to be there too. Smiling, shaking hands, basking in the glory of yet another award. But this—this was more important. The basement below was off-limits, out-of-bounds area even for high-clearance staff. But I wasn't in the mainstream. This complex was, in a way, my second home. My passcode cleared every area. I swiped the card, entered the clearance code, and froze.