ALPHA THORNE: Claimed by the Billionaire Beast

Evelyn

As I sat in the sleek, modern boardroom, surrounded by polished executives and the soft hum of technology, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. It was the first rule of survival in this company-blend in, keep your head down, and never draw the attention of Damian Thorne. Especially not in a board meeting.

But that rule flew out the window the moment I heard him speak. "Effective immediately, we'll be closing down five regional branches," Damian said, his voice smooth and sharp as obsidian, cutting through the silence like a knife. "The quarterly data shows consistent underperformance. There's no justification for keeping them open."

I stared at the screen in front of me, at the neatly brutal line of red slashes through rows of numbers. The words on the slide blurred as my mind reeled with the implications.

Underperformance? Try underfunded, understaffed, and ignored.

Dozens of people would lose their jobs. People I worked with. People who stayed late and showed up early and made it all run like clockwork. And now all gone. Just like that. Like pawns being wiped off a board by a man who didn't even blink.

I looked around the room, hoping someone, anyone, would speak up. But the silence was oppressive. All twelve board members in their tailored suits nodded politely, strategically, their faces a mask of calm calculation. Mr. Jennings, my boss, sat two seats away, and I could practically feel him vibrating with discomfort. No one said a thing.

My stomach twisted. My chest buzzed with anger. And before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth. "With respect, Mr. Thorne," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a bell, "I don't think that's the right call."

The room fell silent, making me swallow hard. Twelve heads turned to look at me, their faces a mix of shock and curiosity. Damian's was the last, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. I should've shrunk in my chair. I should've apologized. Instead, I sat up straighter, my shoulders squaring.

"The data doesn't support full closures," I continued, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Yes, they're underperforming compared to the flagship, but if you look at regional growth potential and the operational setbacks they've had to endure-especially with last quarter's restructuring-this decision seems... premature."

There. I'd said it. In front of everyone. In front of him. Damian Thorne leaned back slowly in his seat, like a king watching a servant forget their place. His eyes never left mine, and I felt like I was drowning in their golden depths. Golden. Not brown. Not hazel. Gold. There was something unreal about them---too sharp, too knowing. It was like being stared at by something that had no business being human.

"Name," he said simply, his voice low and smooth.

"Evelyn Carter," I replied, my voice firm. "Executive assistant to Mr. Jennings."

"Ah." He said it like it explained everything. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was amused. But it didn't reach his eyes.

"Tell me, Ms. Carter," he said, his voice slow, calculated. "What qualifies an assistant to challenge a strategic executive decision in this setting?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. But I wasn't backing down. "Nothing. Except that I've been on the ground floor of this company for the last three years," I said, my voice steady. "I know those people. I know those numbers. And I know that this,'' I gestured at the screen, "--is the lazy way out."

A sharp inhale from somewhere near the end of the table. Mr. Jennings flinched beside me like I'd slapped God. Damian stood, his movements fluid and deliberate. The room froze around him.

He walked slowly, deliberately, around the length of the table until he stood just behind my chair. My skin prickled. My pulse roared in my ears. He didn't touch me. Didn't raise his voice, but the air shifted.

"Evelyn Carter, you're fired," he said, calm and final.

There was a beat of silence as I tried to process his words.

"I beg your pardon?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You no longer work here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Security will collect your badge and escort you out."

"Because I spoke up?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Because you forgot your place," he replied, his voice cold.

I stood, my fists clenched at my sides. "I didn't forget anything," I said, my voice firm. "I know exactly where I stand.'' The faces of the board members blurred together in a sea of shock and curiosity. Damian's eyes, however, remained fixed on mine, their golden intensity burning brighter with every passing moment. "You're making a mistake,"My voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside me.

Damian's expression didn't change, but a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. "I don't make mistakes, Ms. Carter," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "I make decisions. And right now, that decision is to have you escorted out of the building.

The security guard stepped forward, his presence a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play. I felt a surge of anger and frustration, but I kept my head held high as I gathered my belongings and followed the guard out of the boardroom.

The walk to the elevator was a blur, the curious glances of my coworkers piercing through me like daggers. I kept my eyes fixed ahead, refusing to let them see the tears welling up in my eyes.

As the elevator doors closed behind me, I let out a deep breath, the silence enveloping me like a shroud. I felt numb, disconnected from the world around me. But as soon as I stepped out onto the street, the city slapped me back to reality. The bright lights, the cacophony of sounds, the chill of the evening air – it all hit me like a ton of bricks.

I stood there, holding a box with a desk plant and three mismatched mugs, feeling like I'd been punched in the gut. The fury, the shame, the confusion. It all swirled together in a toxic mix that threatened to consume me.

How could he do that? How could I let it happen? I'd worked too hard to be reduced to nothing in a five-minute standoff with a man who thought he owned the world.

And God help me, that was what terrified me the most. Not the firing. Not the humiliation. But the way his voice still echoed in my mind. The way his eyes had looked straight through me. The way something inside me had responded. Like it recognized him. And that was impossible.

Hours later, I was in my tiny apartment, the blinds drawn, and my second glass of wine in hand. The city skyline blinked in the distance, but my mind was still stuck in that boardroom. In those last few seconds. You're fired. Because you forgot your place.

I didn't even know where my place was anymore.

My phone buzzed, but I ignored it. Probably my best friend Layla demanding answers, or Jennings trying to cover his own ass. I didn't want apologies. I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Damian Thorne-arrogant, perfect, terrifying Damian-had looked at me like I was something more than just a nuisance. Like I was a problem he couldn't put away in a file drawer. Like I was something he hadn't expected.

And for a second, when his eyes met mine... He looked just as shaken as I felt.

I took another sip of my wine, the bitter taste a fitting match for the emotions swirling inside me. I knew one thing – I wasn't going to let Damian Thorne get away with this without a fight. But for now, I just sat there, lost in the darkness, trying to make sense of it all.

I didn't sleep. Not really.

I must have dozed off at some point between my third glass of wine and re-reading my resume for the sixth time. But it wasn't the kind of sleep that leaves you rested. It was the heavy kind...the kind where your brain won't shut up and your body forgets how to relax. Where every regret plays on loop, and your thoughts turn into blades.

When I finally surfaced, my mouth tasted like ash and my temples throbbed with dull pressure. Morning light leaked through the curtains, casting long gray shadows across the floor. I blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented for a moment before it all crashed back down. Fired. Publicly. Humiliated by the one man I should have seen coming-and still hadn't.+

No one ever speaks up to him, but I had. He was feared and respected to the core. Mostly for the fear of being fired, because he does that easily. CEO. Billionaire. Predator in three-piece suit. And you hardly see him. Rarely. I can count the number of times I'd seen him. Yesterday was the only moment I'd had a really close call with him...but I ended up getting fired.

I groaned and sat up, dragging my aching body out of the tangled sheets. My apartment was freezing. I shuffled barefoot to the thermostat and cranked the heat up a few notches, rubbing my arms for warmth. The air smelled faintly of last night's takeout and too-sweet wine. I hadn't even made it to the dishes. Pathetic.

In the kitchen, I started the coffee pot and winced at the sputtering hiss it gave in protest. It sounded how I felt...overworked, bitter, and ready to explode at the slightest provocation. The scent of brewing beans offered some comfort, but not enough to drown out the sting in my chest.

The TV murmured low in the corner. Some stiff-suited anchor was discussing "market instability" and "unexpected boardroom changes at Thorne Global." I didn't need to hear more. The second I caught the name, I lunged for the remote and shut it off. I didn't want to hear his name. I didn't want to think about him. About the way Damian Thorne had stood in front of an entire boardroom and gutted me with a single sentence. About how his voice had been too calm, too controlled. How his eyes, those strange, liquid-gold eyes, had never wavered. Like the whole thing meant nothing.

It wasn't attraction. At least, I kept telling myself it wasn't. I wasn't dumb enough to fall for someone like him. A man who treated empathy like a weakness and secrets like currency. A man who could kill a career with a word and never blink. No. I hated Damian Thorne. And hate was easier to hold than confusion.

I wrapped both hands around my mug as I curled up on the couch, steam rising to fog my glasses. The warmth of the coffee didn't quite reach the hollow spot in my chest. I opened my laptop with a sigh. Time to hustle.

I had rent due in ten days, and the last thing I needed was a reminder that emotional breakdowns weren't tax deductible. Maybe one of my old contacts at ArgentCorp was hiring, or even Windmere Investments. I didn't care if it meant starting over at the bottom. I just needed something, anything-to make me feel like I wasn't completely unmoored.

I had just started typing a painfully chipper cover letter - "Dear Hiring Manager, I'm thrilled at the opportunity to..." - when the knock came. Three sharp raps, making me shift. I checked the time. 6:53 a.m. Too early for packages, and for anyone sane to be visiting. Layla would have texted first, and the building didn't let strangers up without a call from the front desk.

The knock came again, harder this time. I rose slowly, blood humming in my ears as I moved toward the door. My fingers hovered above the lock.

"Who is it?" I called out, trying to sound firmer than I felt.

There was silence. Then came a voice - low, male, and smooth as dark velvet. "Evelyn Carter?"

I stiffened. "Who's asking?"

"I was sent by Mr. Thorne." Every muscle in my body immediately went rigid.

"No, thank you," I snapped, already backing away. "Tell Mr. Thorne to lose my address."

"Afraid I can't do that." His voice was still calm, almost too calm. Like he was used to getting what he wanted.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Layla, but it went to voicemail. A thud echoed from the hallway. Heavy and sharp, like something slamming into the wall just outside my door. My breath caught as I bolted the deadlock, yanked down the chain, and clutched my phone tighter.

"Who are you?" I called again, louder now.

There was no response, no sounds of footsteps, no retreat. I hesitated for a moment, then crept forward and peered through the peephole, only to find the hallway empty. There was no man, no movement or elevator doors closing. It was as if the whole encounter had been a ghostly apparition, vanished into thin air.

I stood there for a while, staring at the empty hallway, trying to steady my breathing. My heart was still racing, and my mind was reeling with questions. Who was this person? What did Damian Thorne want from me? And why did I feel like I was being watched?

I eventually retreated back into the apartment, double-checked the locks, and made another cup of coffee I didn't drink. The world felt off-balance, like something had shifted and hadn't settled back into place.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of anxiety and unease. I tried to focus on job applications, but my mind kept wandering back to the omnious visitor.

As night began to fall, I felt a growing sense of unease. I tried to distract myself with TV and books, but nothing seemed to hold my attention. The silence in the apartment felt oppressive, and I couldn't still shake the feeling that I was being watched.

That night, I didn't get much rest. I dreamed of shadows and velvet voices whispering my name through a heavy mist I couldn't escape. Eyes followed me through every corridor in the dreamscape, glowing faintly gold. I kept running, barefoot on marble, heart racing. But no matter where I turned, the same voice waited at the end.

"Evelyn."

I woke with a jolt, bathed in sweat. My room was quiet, but the air felt wrong.

Something fluttered near the door. I pushed the blankets off and stepped onto the cold floorboards, every nerve tingling. I crossed the room slowly, dread crawling up my spine. There, slipped neatly under the door, was a card. Black and matte, with no logo. No writing, except for a single word embossed in shimmering gold foil.

'Soon.'

I picked the card, and flipped it around. There was no return address, nor contact number. Just that one word.

I stared at it, my stomach dropping. I didn't touch it, not yet. The card radiated something... wrong. Like it was humming with energy I couldn't explain.

I didn't know who left it. I didn't know how they had gotten past the security downstairs. And I didn't know what 'soon' was supposed to mean. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I gazed at the card.

I knew I had to be prepared. I knew I had to be ready for whatever was coming my way. But as I stood there, frozen in fear and uncertainty, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was already too late.

If I'd had any sense, I would've thrown the black card straight into the trash, dismissing it as a prank or a mistake, but I didn't. Instead, I stared at it for over an hour, flipping it between my fingers like it might change, like it might spell out something more than a single word 'soon'.

As I sat there, trying to make sense of the card, I felt a growing sense of unease. It was as if the card was more than just a simple message - it was a harbinger of something bigger, something that I couldn't quite grasp. Eventually, I shoved it into a drawer, locked the drawer, and tried to pretend it didn't feel like the beginning of something I couldn't stop.

But I knew I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that easily. I needed to talk to someone, someone who might understand what was going on. Layla was the only person who came to mind. She was my closest friend, and I knew she would listen to me without judgment.

I texted her, before I took a cab to her place uptown.

The sky was smeared with clouds, the streets wet from early rain, but even the damp wind couldn't shake the unease curled in my chest. I felt like I was walking into a storm, and I didn't know how to prepare.

When I arrived at Layla's apartment, she opened the door in her favorite lavender robe, oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. "God, you look like you haven't slept in a week," she said, concern etched on her face.

"I haven't," I replied, brushing past her into the apartment. "You'll want to make tea. This is... a story."

Layla followed me to the couch, kicking aside a pair of heels and a blanket. "Okay, shoot," she said, her eyes locked on mine.

So I told her everything - the boardroom, the firing, the gold eyes and electric tension, the man who came to my apartment, the missing hallway visitor, and the card. Layla listened without interrupting, but the more I spoke, the tighter her mouth got.

When I finished, she didn't laugh or joke. She just asked, "What did you say his name was again?"

"Damian Thorne. CEO of Thorne Global," I replied. "You've heard of him, right? The famous billionaire bachelor of Los Angeles."

Layla nodded slowly, her expression serious. "Yeah. I've heard of him." But something in her tone was off, like she wasn't hearing his name for the first time, but trying to forget the first time she had.

"Layla," I said, sitting up. "What is it? Do you know something?"

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. "I wasn't sure it was the same man. The name's common enough. But... Evie, I dated someone a few years ago. Real smooth, charming, rich, and mysterious as hell. Dropped out of nowhere, disappeared the same way."

I leaned forward, my heart racing. "And?"

"He worked for Thorne. Said his boss wasn't... normal."

I laughed nervously. "What's that even mean?"

"He called him Alpha," she whispered.

My stomach dropped. "Look, I thought it was some weird corporate nickname or culty boss worship, but then he said things. Dark things about... loyalty and bloodlines. Bonds that can't be broken. And then he ghosted me completely. Changed his number. Quit his apartment overnight."

I stared at her, my mind reeling. "Are you messing with me?"

"Do I look like I'm in the mood to joke about a man leaving claw marks on my damn window?" Layla replied, her voice low and serious.

I flinched. "You never told me that."

"I didn't want to scare you."

"Well, too late for that," I huffed.

Layla stood and poured herself a shot of whiskey - at ten-thirty in the morning. "Evie, whatever's going on... you need to stay far, far away from this man."

"Hello...I was fired, Layla. I don't plan to go anywhere near him," I replied.

"Good."

I hesitated. "But I didn't go to him. Someone came to me. And now I feel like I'm being watched."

Layla's eyes darted to her window. "Maybe we should call the cops."

"And tell them what? That the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company might be sending cryptic stationary to my apartment and vaporizing men in my hallway?''

She didn't have an answer, and neither did I. We sat in silence until my phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You shouldn't have spoken to her.

My hands trembled as I showed the message to Layla and her eyes widened in fear.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Layla's phone buzzed too. She glanced at it, and her face went pale. "It's the same number," she whispered. "The message says... You're next."

My heart sank. We were in this together now. I grabbed Layla's hand, and we sat there in stunned silence. I didn't know what all this was or what was going on. After confronting my almighty boss, I'd started recieving something akin to threat notes.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment, and we both froze. Another knock came, this time harder.

Layla's eyes met mine, and we knew we had to act fast. "Do you have a back door?" I whispered.

She nodded toward the kitchen. We crept quietly across the apartment, but before we made it to the hallway, the door exploded inward. Splinters flew everywhere, and I heard Layla scream. And then, I saw a man. He was tall, his hair dark. A black coat flaring like wings.

"Run!" Layla shouted, shoving me toward the back. But she was too slow. He caught her arm in a blur of movement.

"No!" I turned, grabbed the closest thing I could-her marble fruit bowl-and hurled it. It struck his temple, but he barely flinched. And then he turned to me.

I ran. Out the back, down the stairs, and out into the alley. My lungs burned, and my vision blurred. Somewhere behind me, I heard another voice... calmer, smoother, with a razor's edge. "Don't hurt her."

Then suddenly there was nothing. Just black. Like something had reached inside my skull and flicked off the light.

When I woke, it was dark. I looked around, and realized that I was not in my room nor Layla's. I stared at the stone walls, the soft sheets, and then to the fire crackling somewhere to my right. I sat up too fast, and the world tilted. My limbs were sluggish, and my mouth tasted like metal.

"Where...?"

"You're safe," came a voice. I turned sharply toward the direction the voice came from. Damian Thorne stood by the door, with his arms crossed. Only this wasn't the tailored-suit CEO I remembered. He was dressed in black slacks and a loose, open-collared shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His presence filled the room like smoke... heavy, unshakable, dangerous.

The card had said soon, but he'd meant now.