Beast Billionaire Claim

Zara Cole had been warned.

Whispers drifted through every lecture hall at Blackridge Law like ghost stories: Don’t look Vale in the eye. Don’t linger in his elevator. Don’t speak unless spoken to—and even then, only if you want to be eaten alive.

She never thought she'd be on the same floor as Maxim Vale, let alone in the same elevator.

But here she was—first day at Silver & Vale, the city's most brutal legal empire—clutching a manila folder full of nondisclosure agreements and merger proposals, all stamped confidential in blood-red ink.

Literally. She squinted. No, not blood. Probably just dramatic formatting. Right?

The elevator to the top floor dinged.

Her fingers flexed around the folder. This was fine. She was fine. Her blazer was cheap but clean, her résumé edited until her eyes bled, and her heels—well, they were currently digging into her Achilles like punishment, but fashion hurt. Confidence hurt more.

She stepped in, spine straight. Her reflection in the mirrored elevator doors looked like someone else—a law intern pretending to be a woman who belonged here.

Three breaths in. Three breaths out. You’ve got this, Zara. It’s just an internship. A glorified coffee-fetching job with better stationery.

Then the elevator jolted—just a pause—and someone else stepped in.

Zara turned instinctively, ready to offer a polite nod.

But her throat went dry.

Maxim Vale.

No one ever saw him. Not in elevators. Not in court. Not even in the press—he was a shadow, a name, a presence. Myth and man.

Yet here he stood—towering, lean, in a suit darker than midnight and tailored so precisely it looked sewn onto his bones. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw sharp, his scent… earthy. Clean. Dangerous.

He was power dressed in skin.

She froze, pupils darting down. His tie was steel gray. The veins in his hands flexed as he adjusted a silver cufflink. His watch glinted faintly in the soft elevator lighting—old, expensive, and somehow understated.

And then—just her luck—the folder slipped from her grip.

Papers fluttered like panicked birds to the floor, scattering confidential mergers and client statements around her heels.

Zara dropped to her knees, scrambling.

“I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “These aren’t—uh—they’re just—”

Large fingers touched the paper at the same time as hers. Warm. Steady.

She looked up.

Their eyes met.

The world stilled.

His breath hitched—barely audible, but unmistakable. His gaze roamed over her face like he was memorizing it, searching it, recognizing something he shouldn’t.

And deep behind his expression—perfectly neutral, perfectly cold—something flickered. A hunger. A need.

Zara blinked. “Sir, I—thank you, I’ll get these—”

He was still watching her.

Not her papers. Not the elevator floor.

Her.

“Miss Cole,” he said, his voice a velvet knife. “Zara Cole.”

Her name in his mouth made something strange flutter in her chest.

She nodded mutely, rising to her feet. “Yes, I—first day. Internship. Thank you for—”

“You’re in contract intake today,” he said, not as a question. “On the mezzanine.”

She nodded again, clutching the folder like it might save her life. “Yes, sir.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The elevator continued its slow ascent. She could feel the weight of his gaze without even looking.

He was studying her. Not just looking. Studying. Like she was a puzzle he didn’t quite understand—or maybe one he already solved.

“Your résumé,” he said suddenly. “Impressive. Why Silver & Vale?”

Zara blinked, caught off guard. “I—I wanted to work at the best. And challenge myself.”

“Challenge,” he echoed, as if tasting the word. “Interesting choice.”

“I didn’t mean that I’m ready for... this,” she added quickly. “I mean, I’m ready to work, obviously, but I’m not—” She stopped herself. “I’m rambling.”

A pause. She was sure she heard the faintest exhale from him. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“Smart isn’t always safe,” he said. “Safe doesn’t sharpen steel.”

She swallowed. “And this place is steel?”

“This place,” he said, voice low, “is fire.”

Her hands tightened around the folder. Something about the way he said it—it wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t even pride. It was a warning. Maybe even a confession.

The elevator slid to a halt.

Maxim stepped out first, pausing just enough to make it clear he expected her to follow.

Her heels clicked nervously behind him as they entered the cathedral-like top floor. Marble floors. Glass walls. A long hallway where silence reigned like religion.

Employees bowed their heads slightly as he passed. No one dared speak.

Zara tried not to gape. She'd expected wealth. Power. But this? This was a different realm. Clean lines and ancient energy. Something cold and regal that curled around the edges of every light fixture and conference room door.

A world not built for people like her.

Maxim turned suddenly, stopping in front of a frosted-glass office door. The name etched in gold: M. VALE, CEO.

He glanced at her again. His gaze lingered. She felt it on her skin—like a brand being considered.

She stood straighter, trying to steady her breath.

He spoke, quiet but firm. “Clear your evening, Miss Cole.”

Zara blinked. “Sorry?”

“You’re assigned to my floor.”

“To your—floor?” she echoed. “I thought I was on the mezzanine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Plans change.”

“Am I being punished?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile—more a suggestion that he remembered how to.

“No,” he said. “You’re being observed.”

Her brows furrowed. “Observed for what?”

Maxim didn’t answer. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing her out—alone, breathless, and completely off the map.

Zara stood there, staring at the polished gold letters, her heart pounding like a war drum.

She took a shaky breath. Maybe she should turn back. Find HR. Reconfirm her assignment. Tell them she wasn't meant to be here.

But her legs didn’t move.

Because for all the fear curling in her belly, something else was stirring too.

Curiosity.

It crackled under her skin like static. She didn’t know what was waiting behind that door—or why her name had tasted like recognition in his mouth—but she knew one thing for certain:

This wasn’t just an internship anymore.

She exhaled slowly. Then muttered under her breath:

“Welcome to the wolf’s den, Zara.”