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.