I woke up to my phone vibrating so violently against the wooden nightstand that I thought an earthquake was hitting the city.
I groaned, while burying my face into the silk pillows of the penthouse guest suite.
It was 8:30 AM.
And for a drama student whose normal schedule consisted of surviving on cheap instant coffee and sleeping until noon, waking up before ten was practically a human rights violation.
I reached out blindly, grabbing the phone and squinting through one open eye at the screen.
Ninety-nine plus notifications from Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram.
“What in the holy mother of plot twists…?” I muttered, my voice raspy with sleep.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and tapped on the top trending topic on Twitter.
There, sitting comfortably at the number two spot nationwide right under a major political scandal, was the hashtag: #LadySterlingRoast.
I clicked it, and my jaw literally dropped onto the duvet.
Someone on the Skyview terrace had illegally recorded a ten-second video of last night’s showdown.
The video was crisp, high-definition, and captured the exact moment I leaned forward, adjusted my diamond choker, and told Richard Montgomery that his face looked like an old leather shoe while Julian dropped the hammer on his CFO’s NDA.
The caption on the post, which already had 2.4 million views, read: “Tell me why this billionaire’s long-lost mother just ended a CEO’s whole career with one accent and a diamond ring 💀😭” I scrambled out of bed, completely forgetting that I was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt that said Drama Dept.
’22 and a pair of neon pink fuzzy socks, while my hair by now was in a very messy bun that slipped to the other sign— a very clear evidence my night was good.
I practically skated down the hallway, taking the marble stairs two at a time until I burst into the sunlit main kitchen.
Julian was already there.
Naturally.
He was sitting at the massive kitchen island, completely dressed in a tailored charcoal suit minus the jacket.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms and a sleek black watch, while he calmly scanned a stack of financial reports on his iPad.
A steaming cup of black coffee sat by his right hand.
He looked like an ad for corporate dominance, utterly undisturbed by the chaos of the morning.
“Julian!” I gasped, sliding to a halt on the polished floor and gripping the edge of the marble counter for dear life.
“We’re viral.
We are literally trending above the stock market!” Julian didn’t even flinch.
He took a slow, measured sip of his coffee, set the porcelain cup back on its saucer with a quiet clink, and finally looked up at me.
His dark eyes did a quick, unimpressed sweep over my messy hair, my faded sweatshirt, and my fuzzy pink socks.
“Good morning to you too, Roxie,” he said, his voice deep and smooth as velvet.
“And yes, I am aware.
My communications team has been panicking since 6:00 AM.” “Panicking?!” I pulled out a barstool, hopped onto it, and shoved my phone into his face.
“Julian, look at these comments!
People aren’t mad, they’re worshipping me!
Look at this one!” I cleared my throat, putting on a dramatic, theatrical voice to read the top comment on TikTok: “‘Lady Sterling didn’t just roast him, she seasoned him, cooked him at 400 degrees, and served him to the board with a side of petty.
I want her to adopt me next!'” I burst into a loud, obnoxious laugh, wheezing slightly as I scrolled down.
“Wait, wait!
Here’s another one!
‘If Lady Sterling tells you your skin is bleeding money, just hand over your wallet and go home.
It’s over for you.’ Oh my god, Julian, somebody made a meme of my face with laser beams coming out of my eyes!” I leaned back against the counter, clutching my stomach as pure, unadulterated amusement washed over me.
I was laughing so hard my eyes were watering, completely forgetting where I was, who I was with, and the fact that I was supposed to be maintaining a sharp, professional distance from the terrifying billionaire sitting two feet away from me.
For a moment, the heavy silence of the kitchen seemed to shift.
I lowered my phone, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, still chuckling under my breath.
“Honestly, if drama school doesn’t work out, I think I have a solid future as a professional high-society bully—” My voice trailed off.
Julian hadn’t returned to his iPad.
He hadn’t pulled up another stock chart.
He was completely frozen, holding his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, staring directly at me.
Not at “Lady Sterling.” Not at his fake mother.
Not even with that sharp, calculating CEO look he used when he was trying to figure out if someone was lying to him.
He was just…
looking at me.
His dark eyes were soft, intensely focused, tracking every line of my face with a quiet, unreadable heat that instantly made the air in the room feel twenty degrees hotter.
The slight smirk he usually wore was entirely gone, replaced by a expression so intense, so raw, that it made my breath hitch right in the back of my throat.
The laughter died in my chest.
Oh, sweet mother of plot twists, my internal monologue shrieked in absolute terror.
Why is he looking at me like that?!
Is there cream cheese on my nose?
Did I sleep-walk and draw on my forehead with a Sharpie?!
Why is a billionaire robot staring at my soul like I’m the last piece of oxygen on Earth?!
I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was sitting, how wide his shoulders looked with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and how the morning light hit the sharp line of his jawline.
My heart started doing a erratic, embarrassing drum solo against my ribs.
I awkwardly touched my cheek, trying to play it cool while my face burned bright red.
“Um…” I stammered, my natural voice sounding embarrassingly small.
“Do I…
do I have something on my face?
Is there mascara running?
Or are you just judging my pink socks?” Julian didn’t move for two agonizing seconds.
Then, as if snapping out of a deep trancelike state, his eyelids blinked slowly.
The cold, impenetrable CEO mask slammed right back into place, smooth as glass.
He finished bringing the coffee cup to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down.
“You were laughing,” Julian said softly, his deep voice carrying a strange, low weight that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
“Really laughing.
Not the high-society chuckle you use when you’re roasting investors.” “Well, yeah,” I muttered, tugging the oversized sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands to hide how much they were trembling.
“The internet is hilarious.
And I’m a broke drama student, not a statue.
I laugh when things are funny.” “It suits you,” he murmured.
It was so quiet I almost missed it.
It wasn’t a corporate compliment.
It wasn’t written into the contract.
It was just a plain, quiet fact dropped into the space between us, heavy enough to make my pulse race out of control.
Before my brain could overheat entirely and force me to say something completely ridiculous to ruin the moment, the sharp, shrill ring of Julian’s encrypted work phone shattered the quiet air.
Julian reached out, tapping the speakerphone button without breaking eye contact with me for even a fraction of a second.
“Report, Marcus,” Julian commanded, his tone instantly shifting back to business.
His head of security’s frantic voice bounced off the pristine marble walls of the kitchen.
“Sir, we have a situation.
The viral video from the Skyview terrace has reached the Senior Board of Directors.
Elder Sterling has just called an emergency summons for 11:00 AM at the headquarters.” Julian’s dark eyebrows pulled together into a sharp, dangerous line.
“On what grounds?” “They’re claiming Lady Sterling’s public stunt was an unhinged liability that damaged the family’s conservative brand,” Marcus reported, his voice tight.
“They’re demanding a full review of her background, her credentials, and her authority to represent the family estate.
Sir…
they’re setting up a trap to void her position entirely.” I stiffened on my barstool, the lingering blush on my cheeks instantly draining away into cold, sharp focus.
The fun and games of TikTok comments vanished in a single breath.
This wasn’t a fake dinner party anymore.
This was the board of directors—the real, bloodthirsty sharks who actually held the power in Julian’s empire.
Julian didn’t panic.
He slowly leaned back in his leather chair, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a cool, lethal confidence that made my chest tighten in a completely different way.
“Tell the board we’ll be there at eleven,” Julian said into the phone, his voice dripping with smooth, dangerous authority.
“And tell them Lady Sterling is looking forward to the meeting.” He clicked the line off, setting the phone on the counter.
He looked at me, taking in my messy hair and pink socks, before a slow, wicked smirk touched the corner of his lips.
“Well, Miss Fox,” Julian murmured, leaning forward slightly.
“It seems your viral performance just earned us an audience with the lions.
Are you ready to go to war?” I looked at him, feeling the panic in my stomach turn into a sudden, thrilling rush of pure adrenaline.
I pulled myself up straight, throwing my shoulders back as Lady Sterling’s signature haughty posture clicked effortlessly back into my spine.
“Darling,” I rasped out in my thickest, most unbearable Monaco accent, flashing him a dangerous smile.
“Tell those old men to bring a bigger trap.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Bel_Rose When Julian snapped out of his trance and said “It suits you”—my heart literally skipped a beat writing this!
(^~^) And Roxie’s inner panic in her Drama Dept sweatshirt and pink fuzzy socks is so relatable.
But now, it’s time for Lady Sterling to take on the Senior Board!