IN THE ARMS OF MR. BILLIONAIRE

In the heart of an old, decaying mansion, unrest simmered. The walls, once filled with laughter, now echoed with cries of pain and despair. The mansion had become a prison of torment, showcasing the destructive power of unchecked anger and cruelty.

Noah stormed through the dimly lit hallway, his heavy footsteps a drumbeat of doom. His face twisted with rage, his eyes burning with fury. The veins in his neck bulged as he screamed, “Ethan! Get over here now!”

Young Ethan, trembling and wide-eyed, stumbled into the room. His small frame looked even more fragile in the oppressive atmosphere of the mansion. Clutching a broken toy in his hands, its once-bright colors now dull, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to break it.”

“You are worthless! Useless boy!” Noah’s voice thundered through the room. “How could you spoil your toy? Pick it up!” His hands shook with fury as he unfastened his belt, the leather hissing through the air like a snake.

Ethan stood paralyzed with fear, unable to move as Noah advanced on him. The first blow landed with a sickening thud. “Stupid child!” Noah ranted, his voice dripping with venom. “Spread your arms! Don’t touch that table!” Smack! Smack! The belt came down repeatedly, each strike tearing deeper into Ethan’s tender skin. The boy’s cries filled the room, a heart-wrenching symphony of pain and terror.

The assault seemed to last an eternity, each second stretching into a lifetime of suffering. Ethan’s mind was a whirlwind of agony and confusion. He didn’t understand why his father hated him so much, why the man who was supposed to protect him was the source of his greatest fear. All he knew was pain, the searing pain that radiated from every part of his body.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mrs. Laurel Asher appeared, her face a mask of alarm. Her heart clenched at the sight before her. “Noah, what are you doing? Stop it! You are injuring the boy.” Her voice was a desperate plea, a cry for sanity in a house gone mad.

“Get lost, bitch!” Noah snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. “It’s your fault that he’s a weak, spoiled, and lazy brat. You coddle him too much.”

“I don’t care what you think!” Mrs. Asher yelled, stepping forward with determination. “Just stop this madness.”

“Get out of my way, you whore.” Noah’s voice was cold and deadly. With a brutal kick, he sent Laurel sprawling to the floor. Her head struck the ground with a sickening crack, and she lay there, writhing in pain.

“Mommy! Mommy!” young Ethan sobbed, crawling to his mother’s side. He shook her gently, his small hands trembling. Blood trickled from a gash on her forehead, and her eyes fluttered weakly.

“See what you caused, you little piece of shit!” Noah roared, his rage uncontainable. He grabbed the crying boy and flung him across the room. Ethan landed with a sickening crunch, his ankle twisting unnaturally beneath him. The boy’s scream was piercing, a sound of pure agony.

Noah, breathing heavily, picked up his phone and made a call. Within minutes, the door creaked open again, and a stern-faced doctor entered, accompanied by three grim-faced nurses. They moved with clinical efficiency, lifting Laurel and Ethan onto stretchers.

Ethan’s vision blurred with tears as he watched the nurses carry his mother away. Her face was pale, her eyes closed. The doctor knelt beside him, examining his broken ankle with practiced detachment. “We need to get you to the hospital,” the doctor said, his voice devoid of warmth.

As they wheeled him out of the room, Ethan’s thoughts swirled in a haze of pain and fear. His young mind struggled to comprehend the cruelty that had shattered his world. He reached out a trembling hand, but it was too late.

Today was one of the days that frightened Ethan the most. He had been anticipating this moment for so long, eager to get it over with. It took two years, four months, two weeks, five days, three hours, fifteen minutes, and ten seconds to prepare for this outing. Yes, he kept count because of how important this occasion was.

His father had retired from the company, stepping aside to monitor its activities, and instructed Ethan to take over his empire. However, he refused to allow the succession to pass down to his elder sister. Ethan had his own enterprise, which was doing well, and he was a powerful billionaire.

Although not totally independent, his father still insisted on supervising his activities despite having no official linkage with them. But Ethan dare not oppose or refuse his father’s strategy. It would only end badly, so he let the sleeping dog lie.

Gathering his courage, Ethan made up his mind to announce the termination of his connection with the company and everything owned by his father. He wanted to be independent and away from his father's unappreciative sight. With his heart pounding in his chest, he headed for the office, where he had a huge press conference. One that might get him into trouble or out of it.

If you live life afraid and never try what you want, you would never achieve those things. Ethan was fearless and it took him years to permanently break the shackles of his father Noah.

* * *

Brandon Daniel met his demon of a boss in the most unfavorable and rude way.

For some reason, which was tagged private, the wealthy Ethan had fired his long-time secretary, and the news about seeking a replacement traveled like wildfire. Brandon was just one of the many candidates gathered at the reception of the Wings's headquarters, fidgeting at the thought of securing an opportunity for the job.

The tall building provided some protection from the cold November wind, but that was pretty much the only good thing about the situation. They were being ignored, with the security guards simply monitoring them from afar, and the receptionist kept telling them to hold on, that the interview would soon begin.

A process that was supposed to be handled by the Human Resources department was said to be Mr. Ethan's protocol for the day. He was going to personally interview all the candidates. By the looks of the long queue of desperate people seeking the position, it would take forever for him to finish. It was a painfully slow process.

“It’s useless,” someone in the large crowd grumbled. “They’re not going to come out and actually attend to us. We’re wasting our time. Who are we kidding that Wings would give us an equal opportunity for the position? They might have already handpicked a professional secretary trained abroad and just decided to put up this show called the hiring process to fulfill all formalities.”

Others were nodding, all looking dejected.

Brandon frowned and crossed his legs, practicing his presentation even more critically. He refused to give up that easily. He wouldn’t let these lazy and scared people discourage his long-term dream and zeal of becoming a worker at Wings. That was the reason he scrambled to the headquarters as soon as he heard the news, irrespective of having the thinnest opportunity of getting the job due to his lack of experience and, well, other personality defaults.

“Come on, guys.” Brandon stepped forward. “We just need to be more patient. I am pretty sure they will remember us as soon as it gets to our turn. This is a huge franchise, and they might be occupied with pressing things,” he said, looking at the other candidates.

There were about fifty of them, which was a little disheartening, but Brandon didn’t let it show on his face. His dad always said that to make people believe in something, you needed to look like you believed in it yourself, and Brandon knew it was true. “We can’t get discouraged after days of preparing for this opportunity and hours of waiting," he encouraged.

To his relief, the others seemed to become uplifted enough by his words of encouragement. Brandon felt the same. He suggested they stage a small protest about not being taken seriously and being ignored. Although a terrible idea for people who came to seek something and were now fighting where they came to get help, they really did deserve to be listened to after hours of waiting.

They gather in circles and started chanting. Surprisingly, people paid little to no attention to them like they were invisible.

Gradually, their shouts started attracting attention. Security guards approached them, demanding that they stop disrupting people’s work and either leave or wait until the company had the time to attend to them.

"Take this crappie elsewhere," the guard barked.

“We won’t leave until we are attended to!” Brandon said. “Tell whosoever is in charge that it is unfair to make people leave other important engagements for an opportunity they weren't even given a chance to prove themselves for. I mean, who fixes an interview and doesn't hold it? What a disrespectful asshole!"

He should have kept quiet and allowed someone else take the lead.

The other candidates made approving loud noises, clapping him on the back. Encouraged, Brandon shouted louder, “They won’t ignore us! They can’t do this to us—”

“What’s going on here?” said a cold voice.

The hush was instant.

Brandon turned and met piercing black eyes.

He’d never seen black eyes before, except in scenarios involving the supernatural. But these were thick black, not the usual dark brown.

It took him a moment to wrench his gaze away and see the man those eyes belonged to.