Chapter 2 The Disguise

Barron Steele had grown weary of pretending, and the elevator fell slowly, whimpering as if it, too, was fatigued. He looked at his reflection on the mirrored walls, the fitting Armani suit, polished Italian loafers, and neatly groomed hair had disappeared. In their place were worn-out coveralls, scuffed shoes, and a name tag that read "Ben."

Ben. Not Barron Steele, the billionaire on Forbes' cover. Not Steele Designs' golden child. It is merely Ben, the janitor. For the first time in years, he felt relief.

He stepped out of the elevator and into the basement locker room. The air was filled with the odour of bleach and musty uniforms. Rows of metal lockers lined the walls, and the fluorescent lights above hummed constantly. It was a long cry from his penthouse office above, yet it was perfect. Nobody looked for a god among the humans here.

He needed it. Following Flair's death, melancholy overtook every area of his life. He had fallen into quiet and work, and when the numbness subsided, bitterness replaced it-the past two years had been a blur of board meetings, shallow dates with fame-hungry women, and worthless accomplishments. Everything seemed transactional. Every smile was for the camera, and each praise had a purpose.

So he vanished.

There is no press release. There is no drama. HR made a modest choice to monitor employee morale using "undercover observation." But, deep down, it was not about the company.

It was about himself.

He wanted to see people. Real people. And you may see something.

"Ben," he said gently, adjusting his collar. "Let us see who has noticed you now."

Charlotte Hart raced down the fourth-floor hallway, holding her design portfolio, an enormous tote bag, and a cup of lukewarm coffee that she could not afford to spill.

Day two of her internship at Steele Designs.

Her child, maya, had been poorly all night.

She would not sleep. She had not eaten. But she would make it. And there was something.

"I just need to get through today," she said quietly as she approached the intern desk. Her sneakers clicked on the marble floor, reflecting her concern.

There was a flurry of drawing requests waiting for her. She laid her stuff by her chair and took a deep breath. This internship meant everything. If she performs well, they may give her a junior designer position.

Rent for Maya's school-medical bills.

Everything depended on this.

Barron or, rather, Ben was cleaning near the design wing when he saw her again. Charlotte Hart. The intern talked with unbridled excitement, eyes too tired for her age, and ideas that did not attempt to impress. Her drawings were not flashy. They were honest. I like her.

He watched from the corner of his eye as she attempted to manage a stack of boxes and paperwork on her way to the creative area. One box toppled alarmingly.

He responded instinctively.

"Be cautious," he said, trying quickly to keep it steady.

Charlotte was taken aback, staring at the man who had appeared like a shadow beside her. He was not someone she recognized.

"OK, thank you. Sorry, I did not see you there.

Ben gave a little grin. "No harm done."

"You work here?" she said, trying to balance the box.

"Sort of. Maintenance. Janitor."

"Ben?" She looked at his name tag.

He nodded.

She smiled. "OK, Ben. Thank you. "I appreciate it." This thing almost killed me."

He tilted his head."Are you OK? How do you look?" It is a little damaged."

Charlotte laughed nervously, embarrassed.""I have been up with my kid. She is ill. But I am alright."I am simply trying not to drown today."

He raised his brows.""Have you got a child?""

"Maya. She five. She is the reason I am here. Trying to create something she can be proud of."

Barron felt a twist in his chest. There it was again, the bare reality. No performance. There is no secret motivation. Just a weary mother trying to survive.

"Well", he responded, "I think he is already proud."

She seemed surprised at the pleasant tone."That is kind of you."

She attempted to continue, but her folder fell over the top of the box, scattering drawings around the hallway.

"Shoot!" She crouched and whimpered.

Ben (Barron) was already kneeling by her. They grabbed the same sheet.

Their fingers touched.

Charlotte looked up, astonished. Thank you. Again"

He handled the sketch with caution. It was a woman's outfit, slim and sturdy, with delicate, feminine details. It's not about drawing attention to oneself through clothing. Fashion is a statement of identity.

""Is this yours?""

"Yes," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear."One of my designs is" I will send them to the internal review panel next week."Hopefully, I can impress the sharks above."

He chuckled.""Sharks? Huh""

She nodded.""I am quite sure they detect dread."

He looked at her closely. She was not trying to be charming. She was genuine.

"Well, I think this one will make jaws drop," he said.

Charlotte looked up.""Thank you. You are extremely fashion-forward for a janitor."

Ben smiled. I grew up with sisters.

She smiled and stacked the last sheet." That explains it". "

Before she could continue, a voice rang out behind her.

""Charlotte! Mr. Malin would want to view your board presentation right now.

She rose quickly."Coming"

She turned back to Ben.""Thank you again."You are a lifesaver""

"Anytime"

She vanished.

Barron watched her pass through the doors. He did not realize he was holding his breath.

She had no idea who he was. There is no agenda. No fake smile. Be honest.

He wanted more.

That evening, Charlotte shuffled inside her apartment. Maya was sitting on the sofa, pale but cheerful, watching cartoons.

"Hi, friend", she whispered, laying a kiss on her brow.

She reached for her hand.""You smell like pencils""

She laughed.""Occupational hazard""

She microwaved a bowl of soup and sat beside her, sketchpad in hand.

Today was almost awful. But there was a janitor.

Ben.

He would be aided. Listened. Noticed. And the strange but benign warmth in his gaze stayed with her.

She found herself drafting a new design. Nothing she could say inspired her. a soft-lined jacket. There are secret pockets. Layers.

Like someone concealing something yet still letting light in.

Meanwhile, "Barron was alone on Steel designs'" rooftop balcony, clad in his tailored attire, with the city lights extending underneath him.

He should feel more in control. But he felt more like Ben than Barron.

Ben had seen her. Listened. And in her honesty, he realized a fact he had not faced in years.

He missed being genuine.

Charlotte had stirred something. Money and ambitions had buried a portion of him.

He was uncertain where this might go. For the first time in a long time, he was eager to learn.

Tomorrow, he will be Ben again.

Perhaps Charlotte would still smile, but not at Barron Steele.

But take a peek at the individual behind the disguise.