Chapter 33: Whiskey, Nightfall, and a War to Begin

Sebastian Mason sat alone in his penthouse apartment, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal tumbler of whiskey resting loosely in his right hand. The skyline of Manhattan stretched beyond the wall of glass before him — towering, glittering, uncaring. The same city that had once been the fortress of his empire now felt like a cage, a hollow shell without her.

Katherine had flown out to Los Angeles exactly fifty-nine minutes ago.

He hadn’t moved since.

The silence in the apartment was unbearable, pressing against his ears louder than traffic ever could. Her presence, her laugh, the way she hummed a song while making coffee — it was all gone. Ripped away by people who sat in tailored suits and smiled like politicians while they stabbed you in the back.

He tilted the glass, watching the amber liquid swirl. Then he downed it.

His phone buzzed on the armrest.

Katherine: "Landed safe. The weather is disgusting. I’m alive. Barely. Don’t ask."

Then, a minute later, a photo followed.

She had her LA cap pulled low, just enough to hide half of her face. A teasing smirk peeked from underneath, lips slightly parted. The golden strands of her hair framed her face like a dare. It was so… her.

Sebastian stared at the image, exhaling slowly.

She was doing what she could to be strong. She was playing her part — bright, fierce, resilient. And it broke him in half. Because he knew she was hurting. She had cried into his chest mere hours ago, shaking like a bird torn from its nest. And now she wore a cap and tried to look unbothered.

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched.

That board. That pathetic collection of ancient shareholders, half-senile and hungry for control. They dared to bypass him. Him. The CEO. The founder. The name on the fucking building.

And they thought there would be no consequences?

He opened a file on his tablet. The one he had started compiling the moment the decision was announced. Internal memos, suspicious transactions, private communications — they were all there. Sebastian Mason wasn’t just rich. He was dangerous. And he hadn’t stayed on top of the food chain by playing nice.

A war was coming.

And he would start it with a smile.

He poured another glass, no ice this time.

His mind wandered to the conversation at the airport, how Katherine had stood beside him, her voice trembling yet clear:

“Promise me you’ll bring me back.”

And he had answered, “Sweetheart, I’m not just bringing you back. I’m burning the whole damn system for you.”

And he meant every syllable.

He got up, moved toward the window, and looked out over the city.

“Let’s see how long your kingdom stands without its king,” he muttered, sipping.

The war room would begin in the morning. Calls to allies. Meetings with trusted legal assassins. Quiet conversations with shareholders who owed him favors. And the worst sin the Board had committed? They gave him time. Time without her.

And Sebastian Mason with time… was a weapon.

He stared down at the glowing screen of his phone again. Katherine’s picture was still open.

“I’m coming for you,” he said softly, touching the screen. “And I’ll tear down anyone who stands in the way.”

The night outside was dark.

But his rage burned brighter.

---

Los Angeles. 8:17 AM.

Katherine stood in front of the glass doors of the West Coast branch of Mason Equity Group. A lot smaller than the sleek Manhattan tower she’d grown used to, this building felt… quieter. Dimmer. The lobby didn’t echo with the sound of polished shoes or strategic whispers. The lighting wasn’t as warm. Even the receptionist didn’t smile.

She inhaled. Held her breath. Then pushed open the door and stepped in like she owned the place.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“Welcome,” said a tall woman with a clipboard, her voice flat. “You're Katherine Brown?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

Still me, she wanted to add. Still the woman who survived Manhattan and kissed her CEO before boarding a plane into corporate exile.

“I’m Robin Dales, Head of HR here in L.A. I’ll walk you through orientation.”

Robin didn’t wait for a handshake. She was already walking toward the elevator.

Katherine followed, heels clicking, every step a tiny rebellion. “So… how’s the creative department here?”

“Functional.”

“Great.” Katherine gave a stiff smile. “Nothing like creative functionality to inspire innovation.”

Robin didn’t respond.

Fantastic. Even worse than Clara Jennings. At least Clara had flair when she glared.

The office itself wasn’t horrible — it just lacked soul. Grey walls, beige desks, expressionless employees. She missed New York. She missed the energy. She missed him.

At her new desk, a welcome packet waited. No balloons. No coffee. No team.

Just a single post-it that said:

“Brown.” —R.D.

She dropped her bag and sighed. “Well, good morning to me.”

---

New York City. 9:25 AM.

Sebastian Mason entered the Manhattan headquarters of his empire in a bright orange suit.

And not just any orange. Pumpkin blaze, paired with a white shirt, no tie, and the cockiest smirk his staff had ever seen.

The moment he stepped off the elevator, silence dropped like a bomb.

Phones stopped ringing.

A junior associate dropped their coffee.

The head of strategy blinked twice, then asked: “Sir… is this… a theme?”

Sebastian adjusted his cufflinks and looked around the room. “It’s Monday. I thought we’d start the week with something bold.”

The head of legal choked on his tea.

Sebastian marched toward his office like a man who had absolutely nothing to prove — and yet had every intention of proving everything.

He closed the glass door behind him. Sat down. Opened his phone.

There she was.

Katherine.

Still smiling in her LA apartment last night, wearing an oversized hoodie and a Los Angeles baseball cap.

“Miss me yet?” she’d written.

His thumb hovered over the screen. Then he texted:

“I told you. I don’t miss things. I reclaim them.”

She left it on read.

Good girl.

He tossed his phone on the desk and opened his laptop.

It was time.

Time to rewrite the company’s rules.

Time to find every clause, every oversight, every vulnerable member of that damn board who thought they could send his woman away.

And maybe, just maybe, wear orange again tomorrow.

---

New York City. 10:02 AM

Conference Room — 29th Floor

There were seventeen people seated around the long table. All of them wore dark suits, conservative expressions, and the stiff posture of people who had no idea what was about to hit them.

Because at the head of the table stood Sebastian Mason, CEO, visionary, empire-builder…

Wearing a bright pumpkin-orange suit and holding a stack of neon sticky notes in his hand.

“Good morning,” he said calmly.

No one dared respond.

He peeled off a pink sticky note and slapped it onto the massive corporate whiteboard.

It read:

“USELESS.”

Gasps. Confusion. Silence.

Sebastian smiled. “That’s for the current internal approval chain. Twelve signatures to order new printer ink? We’re running a business, not a scavenger hunt.”

He peeled another note. Green.

“TERRITORIAL.”

“That’s for the way three departments keep hoarding resources like they’re dragons guarding gold. Share, or I start cutting budgets.”

Another note. Yellow.

“FIREABLE.”

Several heads turned.

“That one doesn’t have a name. Yet,” Sebastian said, smiling coolly. “But it might. Soon.”

The room was now fully awake.

And Sebastian? He was just getting started.

He held up the stack of stickies. “From now on, if a policy or person gets one of these — fix it. Or I will.”

No one said a word.

He tapped the board once and turned around. “Meeting adjourned.”

And just like that, the hurricane in orange walked out, leaving seventeen stunned department heads staring at each other in panic and awe.

---

Los Angeles. 7:06 AM (Pacific Time)

Orientation Room — Los Angeles Branch

Katherine stared blankly at the PowerPoint slide in front of her.

"Mason Equity Group: Vision, Mission, and Core Compliance Values"

God, kill me now, she thought.

A man in his late fifties stood at the front of the room, droning on in a monotone so steady it could cure insomnia. He had a comb-over, a beige suit, and a clicker that beeped at every slide change with all the enthusiasm of a funeral bell.

“This,” he was saying, “is our regional compliance flowchart. As you can see, every requisition form passes through three administrative nodes before —”

Katherine blinked slowly.

She could feel her soul leaving her body.

Around her, four other new hires sat in perfect silence. One of them had literally started snoring until he woke himself with a sharp jerk. No one noticed. Not even the speaker.

She looked around for a window. None.

Just grey walls. Grey carpet. Grey man.

And somewhere, far away in New York, she knew Seb was probably doing something dramatic and chaotic in the most glorious way possible.

She sighed.

Her phone buzzed under the table.

A photo. From him.

A neon-pink sticky note on a laptop. One word on it:

“COMEBACK.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But she smiled. And whispered to herself:

“Challenge accepted.”

---

Los Angeles — 9:20 AM

Los Angeles Branch Office — 3rd Floor

Katherine returned to her desk like a soldier returning from war.

Only this war had been fought with PowerPoints, and the casualties were her will to live.

She dropped into her chair and looked around.

Everything was grey. Grey walls, grey desks, grey minds. It was like the designers had taken a color wheel, spun it, and banned every shade that made people happy.

"Not today," she whispered.

She opened her handbag, pulled out her emergency desk-rescue kit: a tiny cactus in a neon-pink pot, a photo of her favorite coffee mug back home (the real mug had tragically been broken by TSA), a glittery pen holder, and a miniature disco ball.

Within ten minutes, her desk was a rebellion against the corporate void.

“Is that… glitter?” came a cold voice.

Katherine looked up.

Standing a few feet away was a tall woman in a pristine black blazer and the kind of heels that screamed zero nonsense. Her name tag read Monica Leech — Creative Department Director.

“Yes,” Katherine said brightly. “You have no idea how much I needed glitter today.”

Monica blinked. Once. Then again.

As if processing the biological impossibility of someone smiling before 10AM.

“Well,” Monica said with a sniff. “Just... don’t let it spread.”

Katherine leaned closer, lowered her voice conspiratorially. “That’s what glitter does best.”

Monica looked horrified. And left without another word.

Katherine smirked and spun her disco ball with a flick of her finger.

New city, same chaos. Game on.

---

New York City — 12:46 PM

Sebastian’s Office — Executive Floor

The double doors burst open without a knock.

Seven members of the Board of Directors filed into the room like angry monarchs, flanked by the ever-panicked General Counsel and one particularly sweaty CFO.

Sebastian didn’t even look up from his espresso.

“Gentlemen. And Edith.” He nodded to the only woman among them. “To what do I owe this delightful lunch interruption?”

Edith ignored the sarcasm. “Sebastian. We’ve had multiple complaints. You’ve been — how shall I put it —unorthodox today.”

“Orange is the new leadership,” he replied smoothly.

“You held a department head meeting using sticky notes,” barked Milton, the oldest of the board. “Do you understand how that reflects on this company?”

“Efficiently, I hope.”

“You’re undermining our authority.”

“Oh no,” Sebastian said, rising slowly from his chair. “See, I’m reasserting mine.”

He walked around the desk, hands in pockets, calm as a storm before landfall.

“I built this company. Every spreadsheet you review? Every profit margin you celebrate? It all started in a garage with me and a broken laptop. I let you sit at the table because I believed in collaboration. But let’s not get confused — this is my table.”

Edith crossed her arms. “You’re emotional.”

“I’m strategic,” he corrected. “And if you think I’ll let you toss around people’s careers like chess pieces —especially hers — you’ve seriously misread your king.”

A tense silence.

Milton’s eyes narrowed. “So what? You’re threatening the board?”

“No,” Sebastian said, stepping closer. “I’m warning you.

You underestimated me once. Don’t do it again.”

He walked to the window, looking out over the city.

“You moved her across the country without my consent. Now I suggest you start preparing for the consequences of that move. Because I promise you —”

He turned back, his voice ice-cold now.

“— the queen always comes back. And this time, she won’t be playing by your rules.”

---

Incoming Video Message — From: Sebastian Mason

Time: 3:42 PM (NYC)

The video flickered to life on Katherine’s phone.

Sebastian, still in his infamous bright orange suit, was lounging in the break room of the New York office, one brow cocked in mock accusation. In his hand — a clear ziplock bag filled with pink, red, and blue gummy bears.

“Explain this,” he said, pointing to the bag. “Strategic reserves hidden in your bottom drawer? Labeled "emergency use only"? Really, Katherine?”

He shook the bag dramatically. “Is this what fueled all your ‘creative chaos’? Sugar and denial?”

Katherine burst out laughing right at her desk in LA, startling Monica as she passed by.

She quickly recorded back a voice message:

"DON’T YOU DARE EAT THEM! Those are mine! That stash got me through three quarterly reviews and a passive-aggressive Christmas party!"

Seconds later, a new voice message pinged in from Sebastian.

"Too late. I already ate half.

And honestly? I regret nothing."

She covered her mouth to muffle the squeal of laughter, eyes lighting up. Even from 2,500 miles away, he still knew exactly how to ruin her day in the most perfect way.

And somehow, that made everything feel a little bit like home again.

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