At three o'clock in the afternoon, the quiet hum of the C.B. Designs office was shattered.
Heavy, aggressive footsteps echoed down the exterior hallway.
The frosted glass door was violently shoved open. It slammed against the wall with a deafening crash. Lena screamed and dropped a stack of files.
Arthur Barron, the ruthless patriarch of Barron Industries, marched into the room. His face was purple with rage.
Right behind him walked Brigette, a smug, venomous smile plastered on her face. Two massive, thick-necked bodyguards flanked them, their hands resting near their waistbands.
Braden stopped typing. He sat at his wobbly desk in the corner. His dark eyes locked onto the intruders. The temperature around his desk plummeted. His gaze turned to absolute, dead ice.
Carlee threw open her office door. The moment she saw her father, the blood drained from her face, leaving behind pure, cold hatred.
Arthur ignored the staff. He marched right up to Carlee.
"Shut this pathetic little playground down immediately," Arthur ordered, his voice booming through the small space.
He slammed a thick legal contract onto the nearest desk. "You are coming back to Barron Industries as Head of Design. Sign it."
Carlee didn't even blink at the contract. She let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
"Did you see the auction numbers last night?" Carlee sneered. "Did you finally realize I'm the only one in this family with actual talent?"
Arthur's face twisted in fury. "You ungrateful brat! Without the family's supply chain, you won't last a month in this city!"
Brigette stepped forward, pretending to look concerned. "Carlee, please. Don't ruin the Barron name just because you're throwing a tantrum."
Carlee turned her head slowly. She looked at Brigette like she was a stain on the floor.
"The Barron name is already ruined," Carlee said, her voice dripping with venom. "Thanks to your cheap, plagiarized garbage designs."
Brigette gasped, her face turning a blotchy red. She lost her mind. She pointed a shaking finger at the glass display case holding Carlee's prototype models.
"Smash them!" Brigette shrieked at the bodyguards. "Smash everything!"
The two massive men grunted and lunged toward the display case.
Carlee threw her body in front of the glass, her arms spread wide. "If you touch this, I will have you arrested for trespassing!"
Arthur sneered. "The police don't care about family disputes. Move her."
The lead bodyguard reached out with a thick, meaty hand, aiming to shove Carlee out of the way.
Before his fingers could even graze her shoulder, a large, heavily veined hand shot out from the side.
Long fingers clamped around the bodyguard's thick wrist like a steel vice.
Everyone froze.
They turned to look. It was the quiet, cheap-suit-wearing assistant from the corner desk.
Braden stood at his full height. The sheer, terrifying mass of his body blocked Carlee completely. An aura of suffocating, lethal violence rolled off him in waves. He stared at the bodyguard with eyes that looked like open graves.
"This is private property," Braden said. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. "Get out."
The bodyguard grunted and tried to yank his arm back. He couldn't move an inch.
Braden twisted his wrist. A loud, sickening crack echoed through the room.
The bodyguard screamed in agony, dropping to his knees.
The second bodyguard roared and swung a massive fist aimed right at the back of Braden's head.
Carlee screamed. Her heart leaped into her throat.
Braden didn't even turn around. He simply shifted his weight to the side, letting the fist sail past his ear. In the same fluid motion, he drove his long leg up and kicked the man squarely in the chest.
The two-hundred-pound bodyguard flew backward like a ragdoll. He crashed through the glass door, shattering it into a thousand pieces, and hit the hallway floor. He didn't get back up.
The entire sequence took less than three seconds. The room fell into a horrifying, dead silence.
Braden let go of the screaming man's broken wrist. He reached over to Lena's desk, pulled a tissue from the box, and slowly wiped his hands.
He threw the tissue on the floor. He lifted his head and locked his dead, black eyes onto Arthur Barron.
"Leave," Braden commanded.
Arthur physically recoiled. The sheer, murderous intent radiating from this nobody assistant terrified him. He took a step back, his authority completely broken.
Carlee stood behind Braden. She stared at the massive width of his back. A violent rush of adrenaline and overwhelming safety flooded her veins.
