Too Late Mr CEO: Watch Me Reign

Felicity slid the marriage proposal across the wide, black walnut desk.

The thick folder contained a daring proposition: a plan offering herself as the official marriage pawn to secure the Mckinney empire's strategic alliance with the Sterling family. It was a calculated gamble that also contained the end of her three-year secret existence. She kept her eyes locked on the man sitting opposite her, desperate to catch a single flicker of emotion on his face.

Ellsworth Mckinney didn't even blink.

His long, elegant fingers, currently holding a custom fountain pen, paused for a fraction of a second. He lifted his gaze. His dark eyes swept over her face with a crushing, suffocating pressure. A cold, cruel smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

Without a word, he picked up the proposal and dropped it directly into the paper shredder beside his desk.

The harsh, grinding noise of the machine devouring the thick paper was magnified in the dead silence of the CEO's office. Felicity's stomach plummeted. She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that the skin threatened to break. She swallowed the bitter humiliation rising in her throat and forced herself to maintain eye contact with him.

Ellsworth stood up.

He walked slowly around the desk. His tall, broad-shouldered frame cast a heavy shadow that instantly enveloped her. He stopped inches away, the scent of his expensive cedar cologne mixing with the raw, dangerous tension in the room. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin in a vice-like hold. He forced her to tilt her head up.

"Don't play hard to get with me, Felicity," he warned, his deep voice dripping with mockery. "It doesn't suit you."

Felicity jerked her face away, her neck aching as she broke his grip. She turned her head stubbornly, refusing to let him see the moisture gathering in her eyes. The air between them crackled with a toxic, heavy sexual tension.

Suddenly, the intercom on his desk buzzed.

"Mr. Mckinney," his executive assistant's voice trembled through the speaker. "She's here. Camila is at JFK."

Ellsworth's entire body went rigid. His pupils contracted sharply. The muscles in his jaw ticked as he stared blankly at the intercom.

Felicity watched his reaction, her chest tightening as if a steel band were crushing her ribs. The intense anxiety pooling in her gut told her everything she needed to know.

Ellsworth didn't hesitate. He turned his back on her and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair.

"Stay here," he ordered coldly, already walking toward the door. "Finish the quarterly reports before you leave."

He didn't even look at her pale, bloodless face.

The heavy oak door slammed shut with a deafening thud. Felicity's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the leather sofa, her lungs burning as she gasped for air. Her phone screen lit up on the coffee table. A breaking news notification flashed: Camila Gallegos spotted at JFK Airport. The blurry paparazzi photo of the woman in a white dress stabbed her right in the eyes.

She took a ragged breath. The sharp pain in her chest was unbearable. She pushed herself up, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Looking down at the gray, rain-slicked streets of New York City, she made a silent vow. She would not be anyone's shadow anymore.

Hours later, the grand ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria was a sea of glittering diamonds and designer gowns.

Felicity stood near the edge of the room, holding a flute of champagne. As a senior executive of the Mckinney Group, she was here to manage the annual charity gala's PR. Her face ached from maintaining a perfect, professional smile, masking the sheer exhaustion rotting her from the inside out.

The heavy double doors of the banquet hall suddenly swung open.

The room went dead silent, followed by an explosion of camera flashes. Ellsworth walked in, his arm wrapped firmly around Camila's waist. Camila wore a flowing white gown, looking fragile and ethereal. They were the perfect picture of high-society royalty.

Felicity's hand trembled. A few drops of champagne spilled over the rim, landing on the expensive fabric of her haute couture dress. She stared at their intimate posture, her throat closing up. She couldn't breathe.

Camila leaned into Ellsworth, whispering something in his ear. Then, she guided him straight toward where Felicity was standing. A flash of calculated malice flickered in Camila's eyes before it was replaced by a sweet, innocent smile.

Camila stopped in front of her and extended a delicate hand.

Felicity stared at the hand suspended in the air. Her face remained completely blank. Whispers erupted from the surrounding socialites and media.

Ellsworth's eyes instantly darkened. He adjusted his custom cufflink, a clear sign of his rising temper.

"Say hello to Camila, Felicity," he commanded. His tone left absolutely no room for argument. It was the absolute, crushing weight of his authority.

Felicity ground her teeth together. Her jaw ached.

Seeing the standoff, Camila suddenly gasped. She stumbled forward, her hand jerking upward. The full glass of red wine in her other hand splashed violently across the front of Felicity's pale dress, staining it like fresh blood.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Camila cried out, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. She shrank back, looking terrified.

The media cameras immediately pivoted, lenses zooming in on the drama.

Ellsworth stepped forward, shielding Camila behind his broad back as if Felicity were a dangerous predator about to attack.

"Look what you've done," Ellsworth snapped, his voice lashing out like a whip. "You frightened her. Go to the back, clean yourself up, and leave. You're done for the night."

He stripped her of her dignity in front of the entire city.

Felicity stared at the man who had shared her bed for three years. The last pathetic shred of hope in her heart shattered into dust. She let out a dry, hollow laugh. Without a word, she turned and walked toward the backstage corridor, her ruined dress dragging heavily on the carpet.

The backstage hallway was dim and quiet.

Jax, Camila's PR manager, stepped out of the shadows, blocking Felicity's path. He shoved a printed piece of paper into her chest.

"Read it," Jax sneered.

It was a public apology statement. It required Felicity to admit she had suffered a mental breakdown due to work stress, acting aggressively toward Camila, and praising Camila's grace.

Bile rose in Felicity's throat. She grabbed the paper and ripped it in half, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

Jax just smirked. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and handed it to her.

"Speak," Ellsworth's freezing voice came through the speaker.

"I'm not reading that," Felicity said, her voice shaking with rage.

"If you don't walk out onto that stage and read the statement right now," Ellsworth said slowly, "I will cut the year-end bonuses for your entire department. Every single person under you gets nothing."

Felicity's breath hitched. Her nails dug so deeply into her palms that she felt the warm sting of blood. He knew exactly how to break her. Her team had worked 80-hour weeks for a year. She couldn't let them starve because of her pride.

She shoved the phone back at Jax.

Minutes later, she stood in the center of the blindingly bright stage.

The microphone felt like a ten-pound weight in her hand. Below her, hundreds of eyes stared up, filled with mockery and pity. She felt entirely naked.

"I..." Felicity started. Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out, syllable by agonizing syllable. "I apologize for my unprofessional behavior tonight. My stress caused me to act out against Miss Gallegos..."

Every word felt like a razor blade slicing her vocal cords.

In the front row, Ellsworth watched her broken, dead eyes. A sudden, inexplicable spike of irritation hit his chest. He frowned, but Camila leaned her head weakly against his shoulder, and his attention immediately shifted back to her.

Felicity finished the last sentence.

She didn't wait for the applause. She slammed the microphone down onto the wooden podium. A piercing, high-pitched feedback screech blasted through the speakers, making everyone in the room flinch.

She didn't look back. She sprinted off the stage and out the back doors of the hotel.

The freezing New York wind whipped against her face, carrying sharp needles of sleet. She stood on the curb, waving frantically until a yellow cab pulled over. She threw herself into the backseat. The moment the door closed, the dam broke. Hot, desperate tears flooded her face.

As the cab sped away from the Waldorf, her phone buzzed in her purse.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pulled it out. It was a text from an unknown number.

Looking forward to our cooperation.

At the bottom was a single name. A name that was strictly forbidden in the Mckinney building. The most dangerous predator on Wall Street.

Felicity dragged her exhausted body into the penthouse apartment.

She kicked off her soaked heels and peeled the ruined, wine-stained dress from her skin, throwing it directly into the trash can. Her hands shook as she pulled her suitcase from the closet. She began throwing her clothes, her files, her life into the open luggage. She moved with frantic, jerky motions, her chest heaving with every breath.

The digital lock on the front door beeped.

Ellsworth walked in, bringing the freezing dampness of the storm with him. He reached behind him and locked the deadbolt. The heavy click echoed in the silent apartment, severing her only escape route.

He looked at the chaotic mess on the floor, then at her suitcase. His brow furrowed deeply.

"What kind of tantrum is this now?" he demanded, his voice dropping into that cold, authoritative register he used to crush his opponents in the boardroom.

Felicity zipped up the suitcase. The metal teeth caught, and she yanked it hard. She stood up, her spine rigid, and looked him dead in the eye.

"I am officially resigning from all my positions at the Mckinney Group," she stated. Her voice was completely flat. "And this secret arrangement of ours is over."

Ellsworth let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, and hurled it against the wall. The zipper burst. Her clothes scattered across the hardwood floor like dead leaves.

"You don't get to make that decision," he snarled, his control slipping.

He backed her up until her shoulder blades hit the freezing glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. He pressed his forearm against her collarbone, pinning her in place.

"Camila's condition has deteriorated, and her surgery requires a massive transfusion of Rh-null blood-the golden blood," he said, his words slicing through the air like a scalpel. "It's virtually non-existent in the public banks, but you are a perfect match. You're going to the private clinic tomorrow morning."

Felicity felt as if she had been struck by lightning. The blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy and nauseous. She stared at his handsome, ruthless face. Three years. She had stayed by his side for three years, thinking she meant something to him.

She was just a mobile blood bank for his savior.

She thrashed against him, pushing her hands against his solid chest. "Let me go!"

Ellsworth grabbed her wrists, his grip tightening until her bones ground together. A sharp, blinding pain shot up her arms. The tears she swore she wouldn't shed spilled over her lashes.

He stared at the wet tracks on her cheeks. His chest tightened painfully, a strange sensation he immediately forced down. His expression hardened into stone.

"Eight a.m. Be there," he ordered.

Felicity used every ounce of strength she had left to rip her hands free. She stumbled sideways, grabbing the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table. She smashed it onto the floor. Shards of thick glass exploded outward.

She dropped to her knees, grabbed a jagged, bloody piece of crystal, and pressed the sharp edge directly against the blue veins of her own wrist.

"I will drain myself on this floor before I give her a single drop," Felicity hissed, her eyes wide and feral.

Ellsworth froze. The color leached from his face as he stared at the glass biting into her skin. He took a slow step back.

"You're out of your fucking mind," he cursed, his voice tight. He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

Felicity collapsed onto the floor among the glass shards. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her body trembling violently.

Before she could even catch her breath, loud, aggressive pounding hammered against the door.

She dragged herself up and opened it. Mitch Kowalski, the building's property manager, stood in the hallway with two massive security guards. His face was a mask of corporate indifference.

Mitch shoved a piece of paper into her face. "Notice of immediate eviction."

"What?" Felicity gasped, her throat raw.

"The formal legal notice will be served in twenty-four hours, but as of this second, the corporate housing clause is suspended. I've already cut the power, water, and internet to this unit," Mitch said, a smug smile playing on his lips. "My guards will be stationed right outside this door to restrict your access. You can either pack your things in the dark and leave voluntarily tonight, or wait for the sheriff to drag you out tomorrow."

"My name is on the secondary lease," Felicity argued, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Null and void under the legal department's mandatory clauses," Mitch shot back. He gestured to the guards. "Help her pack."

The guards didn't wait for her to argue. They shoved past her, intentionally kicking over the half-filled cardboard boxes she had started packing earlier. "We're just doing a preliminary security sweep of company property," Mitch sneered as her folders burst open. Her personal documents and photos scattered across the carpet. Doors down the hall cracked open as wealthy neighbors peeked out to watch the spectacle.

Realizing they were going to terrorize her all night if she stayed, Felicity swallowed the bile in her throat. She crouched down, her hands shaking as she picked up her papers one by one. Mitch stood above her, letting out a quiet, contemptuous snort.

She stood up slowly, clutching the messy stack of papers to her chest. She locked eyes with Mitch. Her gaze was so cold, so entirely devoid of life, that Mitch actually took a step back.

"You will pay for this," she whispered, her voice like cracking ice.

She picked up her last box and walked into the elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off Mitch's ugly sneer. She was thrown out of the place she had called home for three years.

Outside, the midnight sky tore open. Torrential rain flooded the streets of New York.

Felicity stood under a broken bus shelter, clutching her cardboard box. She was soaked to the bone, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

A sleek black Maybach sped past her, hitting a massive puddle. A wave of filthy, freezing water splashed over her legs, ruining the last clean clothes she owned. Through the tinted rear window, she saw Ellsworth. He was gently draping his suit jacket over Camila's shoulders.

That single image killed the last, pathetic piece of weakness inside her.

Felicity wiped the dirty rainwater from her face. She pulled out her phone. The screen was cracked from the fall, but it still worked. She found the text from the unknown number. She took a deep breath of the freezing air and hit call.

It rang once.

"Have you thought it through?" a low, lazy, incredibly dangerous male voice asked over the sound of the storm.

"I'll agree to whatever you want," Felicity screamed over the thunder, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the phone. "Just help me destroy him."

The man chuckled softly. He rattled off an address in Tribeca. "Now call a taxi to this address."

Felicity flagged down a late-night taxi. When she gave the driver the address, he glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening in surprise. It was a location known only to the absolute apex predators of the city.

The cab tore through the rain. Felicity watched the blurry neon lights bleed across the window. She buried her love and her fear in the storm.

She stepped out in front of a fortress-like building made of armored glass. She pressed the call button on the biometric scanner.

The heavy metal doors slid open silently. A blinding white light spilled out from the lobby, welcoming her into the dark.

Felicity walked into the sprawling, ultra-luxury penthouse. She was dripping wet, leaving a trail of water on the imported marble floor.

At the far end of the room, sitting on a black leather sofa, was a man half-hidden in the shadows. He was rhythmically flipping a silver coin over his knuckles.

He leaned forward, the dim light catching his sharp, arrogant features. Brennan Potter. The most ruthless corporate raider on Wall Street. He looked her up and down, his eyes scanning her like a predator assessing a wounded animal.

"I need capital protection," Felicity said, her voice raspy but steady. "In exchange, I can give you the internal data for Mckinney's core merger acquisition."

Brennan let out a harsh, barking laugh. He caught the silver coin and slapped it onto the glass table. "I don't give a damn about his data. I want you to be the knife I drive straight into Ellsworth's heart."

Before Felicity could process his demand, her phone started vibrating violently in her pocket.

She pulled it out. It was a message from Gus, Ellsworth's head of security. It was a GPS screenshot. The location was the exact address of the nursing home where her adoptive mother was on life support. No text. Just a silent, lethal threat.

All the blood rushed from Felicity's head. Her vision blurred. Ellsworth knew she had run.

Brennan noticed the sheer terror paralyzing her features. He stood up, walked over to the bar, and poured a glass of neat whiskey. He pressed the cold crystal into her trembling hand.

"Drink," he ordered. "Then we play a game. You're going back into his line of sight tonight. You're going to create a scandal so massive it paralyzes him."

Brennan snapped his fingers. Two massive bodyguards stepped out from a side room. They placed a garment bag containing a stunning, provocative haute couture dress and a forged identity file on the table.

Felicity changed in the guest bathroom. She stared at her reflection. The woman looking back had dead eyes and a blood-red mouth. She walked back out and took the micro-wiretap Brennan held out to her, sliding it into her clutch.

The moment she stepped out of the armored building, tires screeched.

Two black SUVs swerved onto the curb. Ellsworth's bodyguards jumped out, grabbed her by the arms, and shoved her violently into the back seat. The doors locked instantly.

The SUV drove deep into Manhattan, pulling into the underground garage of a highly exclusive, illicit VIP club.

The guards dragged her through the neon-lit, smoke-filled corridors and shoved her into a private booth.

The room reeked of expensive cigars and spilled alcohol. Ellsworth sat in the center of the plush velvet booth. Next to him was Arthur Vance, a Wall Street executive notorious for his disgusting behavior toward women.

Ellsworth looked at Felicity. A flash of cruel satisfaction crossed his eyes. He turned to Arthur. "Here is my apology for the delay on the contract, Arthur. Enjoy."

Arthur's greedy, bloodshot eyes roamed over Felicity's exposed skin. He reached out a sweaty hand to stroke her cheek.

Felicity jerked her head away in disgust.

Arthur frowned, his ego bruised. Ellsworth's hand tightened around his whiskey glass until the crystal shattered in his grip. Blood dripped from his palm, but he didn't blink.

"If you fight him," Ellsworth said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "I will have your mother's ventilator unplugged tomorrow morning."

Felicity stared at the man she had loved. He was trading her body like a piece of meat.

She took a deep breath, forcing her lungs to expand. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a brilliant, sickeningly sweet smile. She walked straight to Arthur, picked up a glass of champagne, and handed it to him, masking the murderous rage boiling in her veins.

Ellsworth watched her sudden submission. A sharp, inexplicable pain pierced his chest. He suddenly felt suffocated. He ripped his tie loose, stood up abruptly, and walked out of the booth, leaving her alone with the monster.

The second the door clicked shut, Arthur lunged.

He grabbed the neckline of her dress, trying to rip it open. Felicity's hand shot out. She grabbed the metal ice pick from the bucket on the table and slammed the razor-sharp point directly against the pulsing artery on Arthur's neck.

Arthur froze, his hands shooting up in the air. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"If you touch me," Felicity whispered, pressing the steel deeper until a drop of blood appeared, "Brennan Potter will short your company into bankruptcy by noon tomorrow."

The name hit Arthur like a physical blow. The lust vanished from his eyes, replaced by sheer panic. He realized he was caught in the crossfire of two titans.

"What do you want?" Arthur choked out.

Felicity lowered the ice pick slightly. "Call your private doctor. I need a medical certificate forged right now. If you play along, Brennan will hand you the overseas telecom project."

Arthur weighed his life and his greed. He nodded frantically.

For the next hour, they intentionally knocked glasses over and made ambiguous noises to fool the bodyguards standing outside the door.

When the hour was up, Arthur walked out of the booth, his arm wrapped loosely around Felicity's waist. Her hair was intentionally messy, her lipstick smudged. Arthur laughed loudly, showing off his "conquest" to Ellsworth's guards before leading her to the underground garage.

In the dark corner of the garage, Arthur slipped a folded piece of paper into her open purse. It was a forged blood test report. Six weeks pregnant.

Felicity walked alone to the backup car Ellsworth had left for her. She intentionally left the zipper of her purse half-open. The crisp white edge of the hospital-headed paper stuck out clearly.

Gus, the driver, glanced in the rearview mirror. His trained eyes locked onto the medical logo. He immediately tapped his earpiece, reporting to his boss.

Felicity arrived at the temporary hotel room Ellsworth had booked for her. She locked the door, pulled the fake pregnancy report out, and tossed it right in the center of the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the bomb to go off.

At 3:00 AM, the heavy wooden door of the hotel room was kicked open with explosive force.

Ellsworth stood in the doorway. His eyes were completely bloodshot, his chest heaving. He looked like a demon crawling straight out of hell.