Too Late CEO: I Am Taking Everything

At two o'clock, the heavy mahogany doors of the executive boardroom swung open.

Eleonora walked in, clutching her project proposal—the one she had fought to protect—close to her chest. The air conditioning in the room was freezing, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.

At the head of the massive U-shaped table sat Julian. He was reviewing a document, his face a mask of corporate intensity. Sitting directly to his right, in the seat usually reserved for the VP, was Seraphina. She looked relaxed, a smug smile playing on her lips.

The meeting commenced. Seraphina stood up and connected her tablet to the main projector.

Eleonora's original autumn flagship designs flashed onto the screen, but they had been butchered. The lush, elegant sketches she had poured her soul into were overlaid with gaudy colors and erratic structural changes. Seraphina had taken the digital photos she'd stolen and manipulated them overnight, calling the result a "disruptive concept."

Eleonora's stomach turned. She looked down at the physical sketchbook in her arms—intact, unharmed—and then back at the screen. The theft was complete. Her work, twisted into a grotesque parody, was now being presented as Seraphina's vision.

Seraphina's sweet voice echoed through the room as she presented the flawed designs. When she reached the budget slide, she proudly announced a forty percent cut in fabric costs.

Several senior executives shifted uncomfortably in their leather chairs, frowning at the numbers.

Eleonora's blood boiled. She slammed her hand down on the microphone button in front of her.

A sharp burst of feedback shrieked through the speakers, cutting Seraphina off mid-sentence.

Eleonora stood up. She stared directly at the screen.

"Cutting fabric costs by forty percent means switching to synthetic blends," Eleonora stated, her voice ringing with authority. "That will completely destroy the luxury positioning of the Sinclair brand. The garments won't drape correctly. It's commercial suicide."

The boardroom went dead silent. Every pair of eyes darted between Eleonora and Seraphina. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Seraphina's eyes instantly welled up with tears. She turned her head, looking at Julian with a pathetic, trembling lip.

"Julian... I was just trying to save the company money," she whimpered.

Julian dropped his gold Montblanc pen onto the table. The sharp clack made several executives jump.

He slowly lifted his eyes and locked them onto Eleonora. His stare was dark, oppressive, and filled with a silent, furious warning.

"Eleonora, that is enough," Julian commanded, his voice echoing off the walls. "I support the Director's initiative. We need innovation."

Eleonora's mouth fell open slightly. Julian was willing to sabotage his own company's flagship line just to protect Seraphina's fragile ego. Then he added, in a tone that made her skin crawl: "If we have to sacrifice a little brand equity on one line to keep her occupied, consider it her tuition. I'll absorb the cost. The margin is safe."

The sheer absurdity of his words—treating a billion-dollar brand like a playground—shattered the last remaining pillar of respect she had for him.

"Furthermore," Julian added, his eyes narrowing at Eleonora, "as a senior member of the team, I expect you to fully cooperate and accommodate the new Director."

It was a public humiliation. A direct order to submit to her abuser.

The meeting ended. The executives quickly filed out of the room, eager to escape the toxic atmosphere.

Seraphina walked past Eleonora, shooting her a triumphant, mocking wink before swaying out the door.

Eleonora didn't go back to her desk. She turned and marched down the executive corridor, heading straight for the CEO's corner office. Her heels slammed against the thick carpet like gunshots.

Julian's executive assistant, M. Graves, stood up quickly, holding out a hand to stop her.

Eleonora shot him a glare so lethal that he physically stepped back. She shoved the heavy double doors open with both hands.

Julian was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding his phone to his ear. He spun around at the loud crash of the doors and hung up the phone, his brow furrowed in anger.

Eleonora marched right up to his massive desk and slammed her hands down on the polished wood.

"Are you out of your mind?" she screamed, the rage finally exploding out of her chest. "You are treating a billion-dollar company like a playground to keep your sister entertained!"

Julian yanked his tie loose, his face darkening with fury. He walked around the desk, towering over her.

"Lower your voice, Eleonora," he warned, his tone dangerously low. "Seraphina is learning. If we lose a little margin on one line, consider it her tuition."

"Her tuition?" Eleonora spat. "And she pays her tuition by stealing my work and destroying my career? She photographed my sketchbook this morning—I saw her. And now you're letting her present my designs as her own?"

Julian's face twisted into an ugly sneer. He reached out and grabbed Eleonora's chin, his large fingers digging painfully into her jawbone. He forced her head up to look at him.

"Stop acting like a jealous child," he hissed through his teeth. "I told you she is fragile. You are my wife. You will tolerate her."

Eleonora stared up into his furious eyes. The love she once felt for him was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, sickening disgust.

She violently jerked her head back, ripping her chin out of his grip. She stumbled back two steps, rubbing her bruised jaw.

"Tolerate her?" Eleonora asked, her voice dropping to a deadly, icy whisper. "If I tolerate her any longer, she'll be sitting in the Sinclair wife's chair next."

The words hit Julian like a physical blow to the stomach. His pupils dilated in shock. He took a step back, stunned that his obedient wife would say something so fatal.

He opened his mouth, raising his hand to reach for her. "Nora, don't say that—"

Eleonora didn't let him finish. She turned her back on him and walked toward the door.

She stopped with her hand on the brass doorknob. She didn't turn around.

"If you want to protect her so badly," Eleonora said coldly, "you can have the project. I quit the team."

She pulled the door open and walked out. She slammed the door behind her with all her strength.

The massive boom echoed through the office, rattling the glass windows.

Julian stood completely alone in the center of his vast office. He looked down at his right hand—the hand that had just grabbed her chin. A sudden, terrifying wave of panic crashed over him. He felt like he was losing control of everything.