CHAPTER 2: IRREPLACEABLE.

DANTE:

This was a mistake.

I knew it the second Tate pitched the idea about going undercover, experiencing the "authentic employee journey," understanding the company from the ground up before implementing changes.

Idiotic.

I didn't care about process. I cared about results. Numbers. Growth. Exponential profit that would cement my name at the top of every business magazine in the country and shove it directly in my stepfather's smug face.

But Tate insisted. "You need to see what you're working with, Dante. You can't fix what you don't understand."

So I rode the staff bus like some corporate tourist. Used the general elevator. Walked through the building without an assistant clearing the path ahead of me. All the mundane indignities regular people endured daily.

That wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was her.

That barely-five-foot menace with raven hair and a death wish. She'd looked at me like I was an inconvenience, something to be shoved aside and forgotten. No deference. No intimidation. Just pure, unfiltered hostility from the moment our eyes met.

Who the hell did she think she was?

I'd dealt with CEOs, politicians, investors who could buy and sell entire companies before breakfast. None of them had the audacity to glare at me the way she did. To fight me for a bus seat. To refuse me with that defiant little tilt of her chin or throw their dirty shoe at me.

Standing here, drenched in coffee, my two hundred thousand dollar suit ruined beyond repair.

She was reckless.

The boardroom fell silent as I stepped inside, Martin pale as a ghost behind me. Good. At least someone here understood the gravity of the situation.

I walked to the head of the table, ignoring the way coffee dripped from my shirt cuff onto the polished wood. Every executive sat frozen, eyes wide, mouths shut. Exactly how I preferred them.

Then she was in the doorway when Martin opened the door after suggesting getting paper towels to somewhat clean me up.

Her face shifted from smug satisfaction to horror in the span of a heartbeat. I watched it happen, the realization creeping in, the color bleeding from her cheeks.

Beautiful.

Nonetheless, I should’ve dismissed her entirely. But almost no one manages to get under my skin except Tate. She’d unsettled something in me the second our paths crossed. I hated that her defiance didn’t just anger me. It sharpened something in me making it impossible to overlook like a splinter I couldn’t ignore

I crossed my arms, letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable.

"Mr. Martin," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "Who is she?"

Martin straightened, clearing his throat. "This is Cinnamon Wealth, sir. She's our—"

I held up a hand. "Wait." A laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Her last name is Wealth?"

"Yes, sir."

I wiped an imaginary tear from my eye. "There's nothing wealth-related about her." I glanced at her, then back at Martin, speaking as if she weren't standing three feet away. "I'm guessing her parents were the superstitious type. Name your kid after what you don't have, hope it magically sticks." I waved dismissively. "Proceed."

"Mr. Moretti, I—" Her voice came alive through the room.

I turned my head slowly, pinning her with a glare that had made grown men stammer. "I wasn't talking to you."

Martin jumped in, apologetic. "Sorry, sir. Yes, her name is Wealth. She's been with us for three years and is one of our top performers. She brought in the highest revenue last year and continues to lead our metrics this quarter. Today, we were planning to announce her promotion to—"

She stood a little straighter. Pride across her face as Martin listed her accomplishments, and I felt annoyance twist in my chest.

I wanted to crush her.

"Stop." My voice dropped. "I didn't ask you to bore me with her résumé. Everyone under this company's paycheck is supposed to perform. That's why they're paid." I leaned forward slightly. "I asked what her position is."

Martin swallowed. "She's our Chief Executive Strategist and Lead Marketer."

"And she's due for a promotion simply for showing up for three years?"

"It goes beyond that, sir. Her strategies have—"

I cut him off by shifting my gaze back to her. She stood rigid, chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Her face had turned a deep shade of red, fists clenched at her sides.

Perfect.

I let the silence linger, then spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You're fired."

The room erupted.

"What?" She stepped forward, shaking. "You can't—"

"I just did."

"You arrogant piece of—" She was shouting now, words spilling out in a torrent of rage and disbelief. Cursing. Threatening. Telling me exactly where I could shove my authority.

I didn't flinch. Didn't react. Just watched her unravel.

She shouldn't have been that pretty when she was furious.

"Dante, get your head right," I scolded myself. I shouldn't be noticing something as trivial as that right now.

When she finally paused for breath, I looked at Martin. "Call security."

No one moved.

"Now."

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it. None of the executives spoke. They just sat there, trapped between self-preservation and whatever misguided loyalty they felt toward her.

Pathetic.

Martin finally found his voice. "Mr. Moretti, with all due respect, Ms. Wealth is our most competent strategist. If you could reconsider—"

"Anyone who objects joins her." I let that sink in, scanning the room. "Understood?"

Silence.

Security arrived two minutes later. She fought them the whole way, hurling accusations, promising lawsuits, telling me I was threatened by her competence because I'd never earned anything in my life, everything had been handed to me.

Her words hit closer than I'd ever admit.

A single, unwanted memory clawed up my spine. My stepfather’s voice, dripping with the same accusation. Useless. Undeserving. Nothing without him.

"I earned my place!" she screamed as they escorted her toward the door. "You inherited yours!" She pointed at me like she could see straight through the steel.

I smiled. Cold. "Then I'll see you in court, Ms. Wealth. I look forward to it."

The door slammed shut behind her.

I turned back to the room. "Things are changing. This company was dying because of too many incompetent hands holding it back. That ends now." I straightened my cuffs, ignoring the coffee stains. "Meeting dismissed."

They filed out in silence.

***

Tate was already waiting in my office when I walked in, leaning against my desk with that insufferable smirk.

"That went well."

I didn't answer. Just stripped off my jacket and threw it onto the couch. The shirt followed. Coffee had soaked through to my undershirt, sticky and cold against my skin.

"She really got to you, didn't she?"

Tate still had his tongue attached to his mouth because beyond being my personal assistant, he was my best friend. Something I rarely had.

"She ruined an expensive suit."

"That's not what I mean."

I shot him a look. He raised his hands in mock surrender but didn't leave.

I changed into the spare clothes he knew to keep any office I used. Perfectly tailored, identical to the one now crumpled on the couch. My hands moved mechanically, buttoning the shirt, fastening the cuffs.

But I kept seeing her face. Hearing her voice.

I yanked the tie tighter than necessary.

Tate was still watching. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine."

I ignored him, focusing on the knot until it sat perfectly centered. My reflection stared back from the window. I was composed, controlled, exactly how I needed to be.

Except my jaw was clenched. My shoulders tight.

She'd gotten under my skin. Some nobody marketer who thought she could talk to me like an equal.

I hated that it bothered me.

Hated that I could still smell the coffee on my discarded shirt. Hated that her defiance played on a loop in my head, her words cutting deeper than they should have.

"You know," Tate said carefully, "firing your top strategist on day one might not be the best move."

"She disrespected me."

"She threw coffee on you. You didn't know who she was. And she didn't know who you were."

"She should have."

Tate sighed. "This company needs to succeed, Dante. You need it to succeed."

I turned, meeting his gaze. "What's your point?"

"Your stepfather's been waiting for you to fail. So has your brother. This acquisition, turning it into a parent company is your shot to prove them wrong. To knock them off the top of the business rankings and take their spot." He paused. "You can't afford mistakes."

My hands curled into fists. He was right, and I hated him for it.

This company had to succeed. Not just succeed, dominate. Become the crown jewel that proved I didn't need their name, their money, their approval.

I built this. Me.

And no one, especially not some reckless, sharp-tongued woman with a ridiculous last name was going to jeopardize it.

"I made the right call," I said.

Tate didn't argue. Just nodded and left.

The office felt too quiet after he was gone.

I sat at my desk, pulled up the quarterly reports, forced myself to focus on the numbers.

But her voice kept creeping back in.

"You inherited yours."

I snapped the pen in my hand.

The crack echoed through the silent room. Ink bled across my fingers.

I stared at the broken pieces, then swept them into the trash and wiped my hand clean.

Focus. I needed to stay focused.

I wouldn’t let a woman who knew nothing about the hell I’d crawled through rattle me with her cheap assumptions. She thought I inherited my power. She thought I’d been handed everything I owned.

If she knew the truth, she would’ve kept her mouth shut.

She didn’t know what it took to survive in a house where weakness was eaten alive. She didn’t know the things I’d had to do just to stand in a room without being crushed.

I bled for every inch I stand on. And I’d burn this entire company including my world to the ground before I let someone like her disrespect who I was.