The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me

She'd been staring at the same page for twenty minutes, her eyes flicking between columns of numbers and the faint ache in her temple. Something wasn't adding up.

Val leaned back in her chair, pen resting against her lips as her mind pieced together the inconsistencies. Then she murmured under her breath, almost to herself.

> "That's not right."

The numbers weren't just off, they were revised. Subtly, precisely, like someone who knew exactly what to change and how to make it look legitimate.

She pressed the small intercom button on her desk.

"Gianna," she said, calm but sharp.

Her assistant entered a few seconds later, carrying her ever-present tablet and a look of mild concern.

] "Yes, Mrs. Moreau?"

Celestia tapped the file with the back of her pen. "This R&D report, who approved it before it reached my desk?"

Gianna blinked. "The usual chain of review, ma'am. The department heads, then Mr. Moreau before submission."

Celestia frowned slightly. "My father?"

"Oh—no, I meant the Vice President, ma'am. Mr. Lucien Moreau."

For a moment, Celestia's expression froze, cool, unreadable, the kind that could make board members squirm. Then she nodded, lips pressed together.

"Thank you, Gianna. That'll be all."

"Yes, ma'am." Gianna gave a small bow and left the office.

The door closed with a soft click.

Val stared at the file for a long second more before standing. She straightened the lapel of her blazer, tucked the document under her arm, and started for the door.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she passed the panoramic windows of Moreau Dynamics' executive level — sleek glass walls, silver fixtures, the quiet hum of money in motion. The company's headquarters rose like a monument of ambition, thirty-nine floors of mirrored precision and power, her family name gleaming from every surface.

When she reached the next hallway, she stopped in front of a frosted glass door that read in embossed gold letters:

Lucien D. Moreau

Executive Vice President, Global Operations

His secretary looked up immediately, startled but polite.

] "Good morning, Mrs. Moreau. He's inside."

Val nodded. "Thank you."

She knocked once.

"Come in," came the easy, drawling voice from the other side.

Lucien was lounging behind his desk, phone in one hand, an expensive smile tugging at his lips. The man looked like he'd just stepped out of an ad for luxury watches, sharp suit, careless charm, and the kind of arrogance that money never taught but blood seemed to breed.

When he saw her, he grinned. "If it isn't my favorite sister."

Val raised an eyebrow. "You only have one, Lucien."

"Which makes you both my favorite and my least favorite. Balanced, right?" He smirked.

She didn't bite. Instead, she walked up to the desk and placed the file squarely in front of him. "Did you revise the R&D department report?"

Lucien glanced at it lazily before setting his phone aside. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"Because the figures don't line up," she said evenly. "Some of the projected returns were altered. And not by accident."

Lucien leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head. "I'm aware. I adjusted the forecasts myself. The previous data was too conservative, it would've made our quarterly targets look weak to the investors."

Her brows furrowed. "You changed core projections to impress investors?"

He shrugged. "That's one way to put it."

"Lucien," she said quietly, "you can't manipulate financial forecasts like that. You'll mislead the board, and the fallout could cripple the next R&D cycle. These aren't minor adjustments, these are structural misrepresentations."

He gave a humorless laugh. "Spare me the lecture, Cel. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Her tone hardened. "Because it looks a lot like you're risking the company's credibility for another one of your short-term wins."

Lucien's easy smile thinned. "Careful, sister. You're talking to your superior."

She froze for a heartbeat, then tilted her head slightly. "Superior?"

He gestured at himself with a lazy wave. "Executive Vice President of Global Operations." Then he pointed a finger at her, his grin returning just enough to sting. "Head of Corporate Strategy. Technically under my umbrella."

For a moment, the office went still.

Val said nothing. Her posture was perfect, poised, but her silence sharper than any retort.

Lucien chuckled under his breath. "Thought so." He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You've got the brains, I'll give you that. But you don't run this place, do you?"

She inhaled deeply, the kind of breath one takes to keep from saying something regrettable. Then she nodded once, slowly.

"No," she said softly. "I don't."

He smiled, oblivious to the warning in her tone. "Anything else, sister?"

She met his gaze. Calm. Composed. Dangerous.

> "No. That'll be all."

She turned and walked out, heels clicking in perfect rhythm across the polished floor.

Behind her, Lucien's voice floated lazily through the office. "Don't work too hard, Cel. You'll make the rest of us look bad."

She didn't respond.

As the door shut behind her, the irritation in her chest settled into something quieter, colder.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, she knew exactly what Lucien was doing. The R&D figures weren't about the company. They were about him. About proving something, to their father, to her, to everyone who'd ever said she was better.

And for the first time in weeks, Val felt the faintest tremor of unease.

Lucien wasn't just reckless. He was desperate.

And desperate men in powerful positions always made the worst mistakes.

---

Val got back to her office and shut the door softly behind her. The air felt still, like the building itself was holding its breath. She placed the file down on her desk, and lowered herself into her chair.

Her gaze fell on the picture frame at the corner of the desk. She reached out, tracing the edge of the frame with a thumb, then sighed.

For a moment, she just sat there, lips pressed together, thinking. Then, as if deciding something, she picked up her phone.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a heartbeat before she bit her lip, hesitated, and hit the call button.

The screen blinked to life, and then my face appeared. I must've sounded half worried, because the first thing that came out of my mouth was,

"What's wrong?"

She smiled faintly at that, shaking her head. "Why do you think something's wrong? I call you every day."

I leaned back in my chair, giving her a look. "Yes, to check if I've had lunch. But it's not even ten yet."

"Maybe I'm just missing my husband," she said, her tone playful now, a soft curve forming at the corner of her lips.

"Right," I said, arching a brow.

For a second, neither of us spoke. Her office looked bright in the background, sunlight streaming through tall glass panes, her hair catching the light. But I could see it, that quiet weight in her eyes.

I dropped my tone. "You're sure you're okay?"

Her expression softened instantly. That question, it always got to her.

She gave a small laugh, the kind that wasn't meant to hide anything, and replied, "I am now."

I couldn't help it, I shook my head with a sigh. "You're impossible."

Her smile grew. "Love you too."

And she meant it. That easy, grounded love that didn't need fireworks or long speeches to exist.

I could tell something had been bothering her earlier. I've been with her long enough to recognize that tiny pause before she smiles, that faint hesitation in her voice before she speaks. But I also knew her well enough to understand when to press and when not to.

She'd tell me.

Eventually.

Probably when she got home, when the day was behind her and she'd change into one of my old shirts and sit beside me, legs tucked under the blanket, quietly telling me everything like it was nothing.

For now, though, her smile told me she'd found her footing again. And that was enough.

"I'll call again by lunch break," she said, straightening slightly in her chair. "To check if you've eaten."

I chuckled. "Of course you will."

Her eyes crinkled. "Good. Now, I've gotta get back to work."

"Sure," I replied quietly. "Go save the world, Mrs. Tanaka."

She rolled her eyes but smiled, and the call ended with that expression still lingering — soft, radiant, alive.

The screen went dark.

And even though I wasn't there to see it, I could almost picture her, sitting back in that tall chair, the weight on her shoulders easing just enough for her to breathe again.

She set her phone down beside the picture frame, took a small breath, and whispered something under her breath, another one of those quiet promises she only ever makes when she's alone.

She turned the file back toward her, shoulders straightening, the smile still faint on her lips, because that's Val.

No matter how heavy the world gets, she always finds her way back to it, one calm breath at a time.

And somewhere in that calm, she reminded herself of the same thing I tell myself every day:

We're not doing any of this alone.

---

To be continued...