The iron Queen weakness

The door of the boardroom slammed open, all the executive members flinched.

Matilda Hart strode to the table, her heels clicking aggressively as she marched with anger to the head of the board.

Marcus Davenport was already sweating "Ms Hart, if I could just...."

She snapped at him "Fifty million dollars!"

"Fifty million dollars, Marcus. You lost a fifty million dollar contract!."

Marcus's mouth opened and closed. His hands trembled against the mahogany.

"I can explain..."

"No." She moved around the table, slow and predatory. "You can't. You've been coasting for fifteen years on your father's name and your mother's connections. You've never built anything. You've never fought for anything. You've never slept on a park bench wondering if you'd eat tomorrow." She said as she remembered what she went through to attain her current level

She stopped beside him. Placed a manicured hand on his shoulder.

"You're fired."

"Ms. Hart..." he tried to explain.

"Security will escort you out. Your replacement will be announced by the end of the day."

She turned to address the room. "Anyone else coasting should update their résumés. Now. Quarterly projections. Sarah, you're up."

Sarah Chen stood on shaking legs. Her voice wavered as she began presenting.

Matilda's screen lit up, the vibration buzzing against the table.

Matilda's eyes didn't flicker from her tablet.

​Sarah's breath caught in her throat. She tripped over a figure, her pointer trembling against the projection board as she scrambled to find her place.

A sense of unease spread through the room. No one interrupted Matilda Hart. No one. Unless, the person is curting for death.

Matilda's jaw tightened. She reached for the phone.

Why is he calling me? She thought.

"Babe?" A deep voice, warm and casual. "Where are you?" A deep voice sounded from the phone.

Matilda blushed.

The room went silent. They stared at their boss unbelievably.

She picked? They stare at her with their eyes wide open.

There were only three reasons someone interrupted Matilda Hart during a board meeting. The building was on fire, someone had died or the world was ending. Anything else could wait!

Today, it was none of the above.

"It seems I've spoiled you rotten." She smirked.

​"Two-hour recess."

​She walked out without waiting for a response. The heavy doors clicked shut behind her, and the room instantly exploded into low, hurried whispers.

"Did she just leave?"

"In the middle of a meeting?"

"Who was that?"

"Whoever that called the boss is a life saver."

Matthew Brooks leaned toward his colleague, grinning.

"It seems our boss keeps a man at home."

Everyone took a deep breath, as if they had been holding it the entire time Matilda was there. They finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Matilda Hart has not yet stepped out from the office but words about her kept man have spread like wild fire in the company.

*********

The penthouse was dead silent when she arrived.

He was sprawled on her white Italian leather sofa in nothing but grey sweatpants. Bare chest. Dark hair is still messy from sleep. Ocean-blue eyes that tracked her as she stormed through the door.

She stopped in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"Didn't I pay you off last night?" She snorted.

He looked up, unbothered. "You did. Generously."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

He stood there six feet tall with broad shoulders. He looked down on Matilda.

"I need a place to stay." He said.

​Matilda let out a short, cold laugh. "Do I look like a shelter?" She took half a step back, irritated by the angle. "And step back. You're forcing me to strain my neck."

"I'm not asking for charity." He stepped closer. "I'm asking for a roof. In return, I'll cook. I'll clean. I'll keep you company."

He continued, " sorry for straining your neck." He grinned.

He didn't look offended. A faint dimple appeared in his cheek as he took one deliberate step back and bowed his head slightly. "Better?"

" Marginally."

​"I'm not asking for a free ride," he said, holding her gaze. "I'll cook. I'll clean. I'll handle whatever you don't have time for."

​"I have staff for that."

​"Your staff doesn't stay overnight."

​Matilda's jaw set. "Last night was a lapse in judgment."

She closed the distance between them, stopping inches from his chest, her eyes blazing. "Listen to me very carefully. You got paid. Take your things and clear out before I have my building manager remove you."

"I can't."

"That's not my problem."

​"It becomes your problem when I'm sitting on the curb outside your lobby when the press drives by." He didn't flinch from her stare. "I have nowhere to go."

Her eyelids narrowed into two sharp slits, tracking his every move as her gaze locked onto him like a sight on a target.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You look like you stepped out of a magazine. Your teeth are perfect. Your hands are clean. You talk like someone who went to private school."

" so, you're saying I'm handsome and refined huh?" He flirts with her.

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then she walked to her purse, pulled out a stack of cash, and threw it at his chest.

"Take this. Find a hotel. Don't come back."

The cash scattered across the floor but he didn't pick it up. He smiled at her.

" I don't want your money. I just want to stay here and figure things out with my life."

" And what do I get in return?"

"Whatever you want."

" That is a dangerous promise but anyway it's fine. "She continued, "One week," she heard herself say. "You stay one week. You cook. You clean. You stay out of my way."

"Deal."

"And if you try anything...."

"I won't." He extended his hand. "Call me Alaric."

​She looked down at his outstretched fingers, her hand resting motionless over the door handle. She didn't reach out.

"Alaric," she said without turning around. "There's a guest room down the hall. Use it." She left to her office.

The boardroom was still buzzing when she returned.

She swept in, taking her seat at the head of the table. Silence fell instantly.

"Sarah. Continue." She said with a cold expression.

Sarah Chen stumbled through the rest of her presentation. The other executives followed, each more nervous than the last.

Two hours passed. The meeting dragged on. Yet, Matilda showed no sign of tiredness.

Matilda's phone remained silent. Good. Atleast, he has learned not to interrupt a meeting or so she thought.

Just a few minutes after thinking he won't call. Her phone buzzed again, she ignored it and then it buzzed again. She stared at the caller ID, it states " bar guy."

"Babe?" Alaric's voice. "I'm downstairs. They won't let me up."

She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.

"I told you...."

"I brought you food. You didn't eat breakfast." He cuts her off.

"I'm in a meeting."

"I don't care. Come get me."

The room was silent. Twenty-one pairs of eyes watched her.

" Is that a command or a request?" She furrowed her brows.

A low chuckle sounded on the other end. "A request, babe."

"Wow, you have the audacity." She smirked.

​Matilda stood up abruptly, buttoning her blazer. "Meeting adjourned."

Everyone was relieved. They don't care who called the Boss but he or she is definitely a life saver.

The lobby was chaotic

The head receptionist, Claire, was standing firmly between him and the elevators. "Sir, as I've explained, no one enters the executive tower without an appointment."

​"I'm not asking for an appointment. I'm asking you to buzz her."

​"I cannot interrupt Ms. Hart."

​"She's expecting me."

​"Your name isn't in the registry, sir."

​Alaric sighed, running a hand through his dark, messy hair. Then his eyes caught Matilda emerging from the private elevator bank. He has never been stopped for questioning in his life before!

​She cut through the lobby like a monarch reviewing her troops. Staff members scrambled out of her direct path, dropping their gazes.

​"Ms. Hart!" Claire stammered as Matilda approached. "I am so sorry. This man was attempting to bypass security..."

​"He's with me." Matilda's voice was absolute ice. "From now on, he does not wait. He does not book appointments. If he arrives at this building, he comes straight to my floor. Is that clear?"

She walked through the lobby like a queen entering her court. Heads turned. People scrambled to get out of her way. No one wants to get close to her in any way.

She stopped in front of the reception desk.

Ms. Hart," Claire stammered. "I'm so sorry, this man...."

"He's with me." Matilda's voice was ice. "He's always with me. From now on, he doesn't wait. He doesn't need an appointment. He walks through those doors like he owns the building. Is that clear?"

Claire went pale. "Yes, Ms. Hart. I'm so sorry..."

​"You were doing your job, Claire," Matilda cut in, her tone shifting from dangerous to professionally fair. "Now update the security protocol."

​"Right away, Ms. Hart."

The lobby went silent.

​"Why do you insist on disrupting my work day?" she demanded, leaning against the mirrored wall.

​Alaric held up the paper bag with a warm, infuriating smile. "You didn't eat, babe.".

News of Matilda being involved with a man spread through the company like wildfire. It wasn't long before the story reached the press, and by the next morning, every major entertainment outlet had published it.

The headlines were everywhere.

But one question remained unanswered:

Who was the mysterious man?

*******

The matte-black Pagani pulled into the underground garage at Hart Global, its engine echoing through the garage before finally going quiet.

She pushed open the gull-wing door and stepped out in four-inch Christian Louboutin heels.

Before stepping into her private elevator, she glanced down at her phone.

the headlines were merciless:

​'The Iron Queen's Secret Lover Stops Multi-Billion Dollar Meeting for Lunch' ​

'Who Is Matilda Hart's Mysterious Penthouse Boy?' ​

'Hart Global Stocks Tremble as CEO Keeps a Stray'

She clutched her phone as she read the headlines, her fingers tightening around it. After reading the last line, she slipped the phone back into her purse.

The private elevator doors opened directly onto the executive floor. The second her heels hit the marble, the ambient noise of the office died instantly. Forty corporate analysts, vice presidents, and legal advisors shrank back toward their cubicles, holding their breath as Maltilda swept past.

Low murmurs spread through the crowd as she walked past, followed by curious glances.

​"Look at her," a senior director sneered under his breath to a colleague, holding a mug of espresso. "Running a Fortune 500 company while housing some gold-digging leech. She's probably paying his rent while he...."

Matilda halted her steps.

The entire floor went dead silent. Even the hum of printers seemed to stop, everyone froze afraid to make a sound.

The senior director's face drained of color as she halted inches from him. "Repeat what you just said."

​"M-Ms. Hart... I was just... I was reading the news," he stammered, his hands trembling. "It's ridiculous what the media is calling him..."

​Without a single word, Matilda reached out, grabbed his hand, and bent his pinky finger straight backward.

"AAAH!" The director screamed, clutching his injured hand as he collapsed to his knees. Tears streamed down his face, his body shaking from the pain.

Before he could catch his breath, Matilda leaned down, her grey eyes devoid of any emotion.

​"If I hear your pathetic mouth utter his name again," Matilda whispered against his ear, her grip mercilessly holding his broken hand, "I won't just fire you. I will buy out your mortgage, seize your family's assets, and ensure you never work in this hemisphere again."

​She released him, and he slumped onto the floor, clutching his hand.

​"Security," Matilda said smoothly, not even bothering to look back. "Escort him out. Anyone else who wants to discuss my personal life can leave their resignations on Matthew's desk before noon."

​By lunchtime, the entire corporate tower was paralyzed with absolute terror. Every employee at Hart Global learned the new, unwritten law of the empire: Mocking Matilda Hart will cost you your job, but touching her man will cost you your life.

Matilda entered her office and sank into her chair. She couldn't focus. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept drifting back to Alaric.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the hot touch of Alaric's large, warm hands on her waist from the night before.

By noon, Matilda was already exhausted. She closed the file in front of her and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.

"I'm going home for lunch," she said, reaching for her purse.

It was a perfectly reasonable excuse. She had barely slept the night before, and the morning had been nothing but meetings and problems. But deep down, Matilda knew that wasn't the real reason.

She wanted to see Alaric.

When she stepped out of her private elevator into the penthouse, the air smelled divine, seared ribeye steak, garlic butter, and fresh rosemary.

​Alaric was standing at her marble kitchen island in dark sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that stretched tightly over broad, powerful shoulders. He turned as she walked in, a lazy, devastatingly handsome smile spreading across his face.

​"You're late, babe," his deep voice caressed her, smooth as silk and thick with heat. "I was starting to think I'd have to bring dinner to your office again."

"I'm exhausted today. I just wanted to rest early," she said casually. Then she looked toward the kitchen. "What's for lunch?"

Alaric set down his cooking utensils, stepping away from the counter to close the distance between them. A warm, amused glint flashed in his eyes as he towered over her, his eyes scanning her exhausted face.

​"Ribeye steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and roasted asparagus," Alaric murmured, his voice dropping low. He reached out, his large, warm fingers gently tracing the sharp angle of her collarbone before adjusting her blazer.

"You look like you fought a war this morning, boss. Did someone piss you off?"

​Matilda didn't pull away from his touch. Instead, her breath hitched slightly as his warmth seeped through her silk blouse, making her heart flutter. She quickly looked away, hoping he didn't notice.

​"Just reminded someone of their place," she breathed, meeting his gaze head-on, her tone fiercely possessive.

"No one gets to talk about what belongs to me."

​Alaric paused, his thumb gently caressing the side of her neck, his calm smile turning into a slow, intoxicating smirk.

​"Is that right?" he whispered, leaning down until his lips were mere inches from hers. "And here I thought I was just the stray staying in your guest room."

Matilda's breath caught. For a moment, she forgot about everything else. All she could focus on was Alaric standing so close, his presence making it hard to think clearly. His scent of cedar and rain filled her senses.

​"If you keep looking at me like that, Matilda," Alaric murmured, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl right against her cheek, "that steak is going to get cold. And I worked hard on it."

​Matilda blinked, her icy composure snapping back to reality. Though her cheeks flushed a faint, betraying rose. She cleared her throat and looked back at the tablet, forcing her hands to stop trembling.

​​As she sat down, her tablet buzzed with an urgent update regarding her rival, Theron Kingsley, and his latest bid for Vale Capital's logistics division. Matilda scowled at the complex trade numbers on the screen.

​"Theron is overpaying by twenty percent for a dead supply chain," she muttered, frustration lacing her voice. "It makes no sense."

​Alaric casually leaned over her shoulder, setting down a glass of red wine. His broad chest lightly pressed against her back, his dark hair brushing her cheek, wrapping her entirely in his scent of cedarwood and rain.

​He glanced at her tablet for a mere fraction of a second.

​"It's not dead," Alaric said softly in her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin. "Vale secretly locked in Singapore's exclusive maritime shipping routes last month. Theron isn't buying a supply chain, Matilda. He's trying to cut off your Asian trade network."

​Matilda froze.

​She re-calculated the trade law metrics in her head. He was completely right.

​She turned her head slowly, her lips inches from his jawline. She didn't question how a homeless man knew international maritime trade law. Right now, she didn't care. All she felt was the undeniable, intoxicating pull of the man holding her in the dark.

​"You're full of surprises, Alaric," she murmured, her gaze dropping to his lips.

​Alaric offered her a slow, devastating smirk, his fingers brushing a stray lock of burgundy hair behind her ear.

​"I'm just getting started, boss."

Alaric's strategy had worked. By four o'clock, Hart Global had bought up Sterling Capital's regional debt, putting an end to Theron Kingsley's takeover attempt before he even realized what had happened. His board was in chaos, while the financial news had already shifted its attention from Matilda's personal life to her unexpected victory.

To celebrate, and because Alaric apparently owned nothing but a few sweaters and worn jeans, Matilda insisted on taking him shopping.

She didn't take him to an ordinary mall. She drove him to The Glass Galleria on Madison Avenue, a luxury boutique reserved for Manhattan's wealthiest clients.

When her Pagani pulled up, the store was already prepared for her. The doors were closed to the public, security stood nearby, and champagne waited on silver trays.

Alaric stood in the center of the VIP fitting suite in front of a floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror. He was wearing a dark charcoal, custom-tailored suit crafted from Italian silk and wool that hugged his broad shoulders, trim waist, and long legs like armor.

​Matilda sat on a plush velvet lounge chair across from him, a glass of champagne resting between her manicured fingers. Her eyes tracked every single inch of him with open, fiercely possessive admiration.

​"See?" she murmured, her voice smooth as velvet as she took a slow sip. "Much better than sweatpants."

Alaric turned slowly, using one large hand to loosen the silk tie around his throat. A lazy, devastatingly handsome smirk touched his lips. "It's tight around the shoulders, babe. I prefer the sweater you bought me. It's easier to move in when I'm chopping vegetables."

​"You're wearing the suit," Matilda said softly, her tone leaving absolute zero room for argument. "If the media is going to photograph my man, they're going to photograph perfection. I won't have anyone looking at you like you're anything less than royalty."

​Alaric's ocean-blue eyes darkened slightly at her words. He stepped closer to her chair, looming over her with that quiet, magnetic intensity that always made her pulse skip a beat. "Your man, huh?"

​Before Matilda could respond, the heavy glass doors of the VIP suite clicked open with an arrogant, uninvited thud.