Owned by the Billionaire CEO

DESTROYING WALTON

The afternoon sun, a warm weight on his skin, did little to ease the coldness of Carlo Armani’s thoughts.

He leaned back in the chair, the plastic webbing cool against his damp back.

Carlo's eyes keenly observed the constant beating of the water against the pool's edge, like a feeble attempt to break free.

It reminded him of cages, confinement, traps.

And oh, how Carlo loved traps.

The faint smell of swimming pool chlorine mixed with the acrid smoke from the cigarette in his hand.

He took a slow drag, the smoke harsh in his lungs.

The woman beside him laughed and turned to him.

“Isn't that so, Carlo?” She asked with a touch on his broad chest, light and lingering, clamoring for his attention.

He offered a grunt in nonchalant response, his gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the blue pool.

But Carlo wasn't seeing the pool, he was seeing the murky depths of Project Nightingale.

Thomas Walton.

The name itself was a key, unlocking doors at the highest realms of power.

Project Nightingale. It sounded so deceptively innocent, until just a glimpse was revealed.

It was a dangerous project, maneuvering and cascading into unthinkable schemes.

And how many layers were there? He wondered.

How many institutions and government bodies were unknowingly or knowingly complicit, all puppets on Walton's strings, dancing to a tune of chaos that would leave the unsuspecting world floundering?

He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate against the flawless blue sky.

Under normal circumstances, the mafia wouldn't have cared less about Walton and a million conspiracy theories.

But Walton’s biggest undoing was allowing his project to affect the mafia and their business empire.

Don Mario sent men to “speak” with him, give him their peace offer and even threats if he didn't comply.

But all Walton had done was blatantly reject their offers to their faces, a confident move he dared to pull.

Walton knew he was untouchable.

Or so he thought.

Carlo took a deep drag from his cigarette.

But maybe it was true. Walton was indeed the most powerful man in the country when it came to alliances and affiliations with everyone who was to be reckoned with.

Carlo's memory flashed back to some meetings they had with some officials two weeks ago, where they had tried to convince the Customs officials to undo whatever strings Thomas had pulled with them.

Why did the government bodies seem to never want to offend the CEO of Walton Inc?

And why did the financial and political institutions tense up and tremble when his name got mentioned?

A crease formed on Carlo’s forehead.

What if it wasn't because they merely respected or loved him?

What if… Walton had knowledge weaponized to make them too scared to step on his toes?

Was this a pointer to something deeper than they thought they knew? Project Nightingale!

He sat up like he had just seen a ghost; his hand grabbed his phone on the stool beside him.

He had to speak with the boss now.

The mafia might have just found the way to destroy Walton for good.

**********

Amy jolted awake from her nap.

She kept her eyes wide open for some seconds, as if she was scared that he would come back if they went shut again.

The nightmare came flooding her memory, reliving the blackening void that almost overcame her struggling figure, as he oppressed her in the nightmare. She could still feel the blackness spreading up from her chest to her head, threatening to unalive her.

Until she woke up.

Just then, she heard the doorknob twisting. Oh God, no please. Not him again.

She lay still on the bed, not daring to move an inch as she heard his footsteps coming closer.

She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped he would think she was asleep.

God not again today, Amy prayed silently.

For the past 6 days, she had begun to dread the sound of her doorknob turning on the heavy mahogany door, ushering Thomas in to ‘claim his property’.

7pm, every evening. Thomas never failed to come.

She had cried the previous day and the day before that, and she would definitely feel much worse if he decided to take her again today.

If he decided to.

She prayed he didn't. All she had to do was pretend to be asleep, and he might leave her room.

“You can't fool me, Wilson. I know how you breathe when you're asleep,” he remarked, a smirk audible from his tone.

Amy's heart skipped a beat, but she was determined to keep up her act until he would believe her and leave.

Thomas leaned over to her supposedly sleeping face.

“You see, I had a bad time with some troublesome clients on a business deal today.

But there was just one thought keeping me through; that my prize was sitting pretty at home, waiting to be claimed.

“But now I get home and my prize is pretending to be asleep. Not really fair to the owner of the prize, is it?” he chuckled dryly.

Amy's breath was beginning to lose rhythm, a function of her accelerating heartbeat. Her eyes were still shut, determined to keep up the act.

But Thomas had no such patience for that.

He yanked her up by her arm and stared at her with a cool expression.

It was not the icy glare today, Amy noticed.

And like a life-size walking doll, he took her arm and led her all the way to the black room.

That black room.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered.

Her heart sank to her stomach.

“Can I have a break today, please. I can't handle 7 days in a row,” she lamented.

His expression didn't change.

“I don't care.”

“You have to hear me out today, please. I'm sore,” she voiced out meekly.

Thomas looked down to her chest.

“I could rip your dress apart in mere seconds. If you don't take it off, I mean.”

“But can't you understand? I'll be in pain,” Amy's eyes started to glisten with tears.

Thomas pursed his lips, staring solemnly at her.

He gave a long sigh. One would think he was considering her plea. But hell no.

“Do you realize you are breaching our contract? I don't tolerate breaches, girl.” He pointed out, with one eyebrow raised cockily.

Amy swallowed hard. He was right, she owed him everything she signed in that contract, all of her being, in other words.

She gave him her consent, after all.

She masked her whole emotional charade and fell silent, taking off the pieces from her body.

She silently made her way to the bed, her eyes looking away from him.

Thomas smirked in satisfaction. She was his, and he would take her however he wanted.

He seized her two hands, cuffing them to the headboard above.

“Go on and blindfold me as usual! You only care about what you want. Go on, be the monster that you are,” she said, not caring about how provoked he could get.

Let him do his worst. There was nothing he could do that he hadn't already done in the last 6 days, she thought.

Or so she thought.

Thomas' right eyebrow shot up, regarding her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

A cold smile appeared on his handsome face. A smile that gave her the chills. It was a dark smile, an evil plot.

“Good. Then I'm not going to blindfold you, I want you to watch. To see how much of a monster I can be.”