The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me

The week had been unfolding smoothly for us at Gray & Milton, almost suspiciously so. After the chaos caused by Moreau Dynamics' revised operational model, the quiet rhythm of focused work felt almost foreign. We'd begun restructuring our freight optimization model, revising subcontractor analyses, and adjusting cost projections based on the new government specifications for the Meridian Development Initiative.

It was the kind of heavy, tedious work that could easily grind down morale, but somehow, it didn't. Maybe because by now, we weren't just a team, we were a small family of six, moving like clockwork. Hale, our Division Head and Project Director, kept everyone aligned with his uncanny ability to see three steps ahead. Tasha, Project Manager and Deputy Project Director, made sure we didn't collapse under the mountain of details. Ji-ho handled the designs like a magician, Gabriel tore through procurement data like it was personal, and Noah—quiet, meticulous Noah—never missed a single decimal.

As for me, well, I was holding the numbers together.

Between us and our subordinates, the entire operation ran smoother than I'd ever seen it. There was laughter in between deadlines, coffee runs that felt like rituals, and a collective understanding that this, what we were doing, mattered.

At this rate, we could wrap up the restructuring before the week ended. Hale even joked that he might let us leave early Friday, something that, in Gray & Milton's universe, bordered on mythical.

Still, even in moments of calm, I knew better than to trust the quiet. Corporate peace was fragile; it rarely lasted long.

And as it turned out, while things were falling neatly into place for us at Gray & Milton, the same couldn't be said across town, inside the glass-walled sanctum of Moreau Dynamics.

Because in the Executive Vice President of Global Operations' office, things were starting to come apart.

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The call ended with laughter. Lucien leaned back in his chair, a smile pressed somewhere between amusement and triumph tugging at his mouth.

"…I'll think about it and get back to you, Mr. Benjamin," he said smoothly, his voice warm but shallow, the kind of tone he used when he thought he was holding all the cards.

He tapped the screen to end the call, still chuckling to himself as he set the phone on the edge of his desk. Then, just as quickly, the laughter faded. His eyes lingered on the city skyline outside his glass office, and the smirk flattened into something closer to irritation.

The knock came a moment later.

He frowned, jaw tightening. "What?"

The door creaked open just enough for his secretary to peek in. "Sir, Chairman Moreau asked me to tell you he wants to see you in his office."

Lucien exhaled through his nose, the faintest flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he masked it behind that signature smirk. "Of course he does," he muttered. "Thank you, Clarisse."

He rose, buttoning his jacket with deliberate precision. His reflection in the polished glass smiled back at him, practiced and perfect, even if his stomach turned slightly at the thought of another one of those talks.

As the elevator carried him up toward the top floor—the Chairman's floor—his expression settled into calm arrogance. He hated that the man could still make him feel like a boy about to be scolded.

The doors slid open. The air was colder up here.

He walked past the long stretch of hallway lined with black-and-white photographs of Moreau Dynamics' history, images of factories, bridges, and the men and women who had built the empire his father now commanded. Every step echoed against the marble floor until he reached the double glass doors of the Chairman's office.

He didn't bother knocking.

"You called for me?" Lucien said, voice steady as he stepped inside.

Charlie George Moreau stood with his back to Lucien, hands clasped behind him, staring out through the massive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. His reflection on the glass was tall, commanding, and still.

"What do you see when you look out there?" Charlie asked, his tone neither welcoming nor hostile, just... coldly inquisitive.

Lucien blinked, thrown off by the question. "I see progress," he answered, after a beat. "Our work. The company. The legacy we've built—"

"Wrong," Charlie interrupted flatly, still not turning around. "What you see is fragility. Every tower, every bridge, every system, built strong enough to last decades but still one bad decision away from collapse."

Lucien said nothing. His father turned then, and the look in his eyes was enough to freeze the air.

"Not that I expected you to get it right," Charlie added. The words stung more than Lucien cared to admit.

He sat down anyway, crossing one leg over the other, trying to seem composed. "So this isn't about architecture lessons, I assume?"

Charlie ignored the jab. "Tell me, Lucien," he said slowly, walking toward his desk. "Did you alter the figures on the R&D Department's report?"

Lucien's chest tightened. "I... adjusted... some of the projections, yes. The current model made our margins look—"

"Don't play semantics with me," Charlie snapped, cutting him off. "You tampered with official figures."

Lucien's voice rose in defense. "It was just an optimization. The same report looked weak. Investors would—"

"It wasn't your sister who told me," Charlie said, his tone low, measured. "In case that's what you're thinking. Don't insult her integrity... or mine. I still run this company. I know everything that moves inside it."

Lucien's lips pressed into a line. He looked away, jaw flexing.

Charlie exhaled and sank into his chair. "Do you remember why I sent your sister to a different university?"

Lucien's eyes flickered back to him. That old wound again. "You've mentioned it before—"

"Then hear it again," Charlie interrupted. His voice was calm now, too calm. "Because your sister, who was three years younger than you, ended up in the same academic year. And while everyone praised her brilliance, I couldn't afford to have whispers spreading that my firstborn, my heir, couldn't keep up. So I sent her elsewhere."

Lucien said nothing. He stared down at his shoes, but Charlie's words dug deeper with every syllable.

"Your sister," Charlie continued, "took my mind. You, Lucien… took my looks and my pride." He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "If only you had more of her judgment."

Lucien clenched his fists beneath the table, his face perfectly still but his ears burning.

"Do not mess up this government project," Charlie said finally. His voice carried the weight of finality, like the click of a closing door. "It might just be your last chance to prove yourself worthy of this family's name."

Silence.

Then, without looking up, Charlie added, "You're dismissed."

Lucien stood. Every movement was tight, controlled, deliberate. He turned without a word, walked to the door, and left the office with his father's words still echoing in his skull.

He made it to the elevator before he exhaled, shaky, restrained, furious.

"Always her," he muttered under his breath. "Always Celestia."

He jabbed the elevator button harder than necessary, the stainless steel reflecting the tightness of his jaw. As the doors slid shut, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone.

"Mr. Benjamin?" he said when the call connected, voice low, dangerous now. "I think I'll take that deal after all."

The elevator began its descent, the numbers blinking downward. Lucien's reflection stared back at him, angry, proud, and blind.

If only he knew what that decision would cost.

Because there are some choices you can't undo, no matter how cornered you feel.

Some roads, once taken, don't ever bring you back.

And that call…

That was the beginning of the fall.

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To be continued...