The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me-Chapter 246: What Comes Next

Charlie George Moreau's office was silent when Val stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her, and the weight of the board meeting still hung in the air like dust that hadn't yet settled.

She didn't start with pleasantries.

"Is it true?"

Charlie didn't look up immediately. He stood behind his desk, hands braced on the surface, shoulders rigid. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of his breath.

"Dad," she pressed, softer, but firm.

His jaw flexed. "It hasn't been confirmed yet."

Val's heartbeat ticked up. "But he has twenty-eight percent, doesn't he?" Her voice wasn't accusing—just steady, controlled, the way she handled every crisis except the ones that hit home.

Charlie finally met her eyes. Nothing softened. "That's what it appears to be."

She felt the floor shift beneath her. Twenty-eight percent. Enough to shake the building. Enough to shift power. Enough to cause damage.

"What… what are we going to do?" she asked.

Charlie straightened, taking a slow breath. "I still have thirty-three percent. Your mother has ten. And you have your eight. We're still the majority."

"That doesn't change what he is now." Val shook her head, disbelief cracking through her composure. "Dad, with twenty-eight percent, that makes him the second highest shareholder. He's practically the next most powerful person in this company after you."

Charlie didn't argue. He didn't deny it. He didn't even blink.

He just exhaled—long, tired. "What do you expect me to do, Valentina? Your brother—" His voice tightened. "Your brother made a decision so catastrophically stupid I still cannot wrap my head around it."

Val didn't flinch. "You pushed him there."

Charlie froze.

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't throw blame—she simply stated what they both knew. "You pushed him too far, Dad. Lucien's been trying to meet your expectations since he was a kid, and all he ever got was criticism. Pressure. Silence. You didn't give him space to breathe."

Charlie's glare sharpened. "That does not excuse recklessness with the company."

"No, it doesn't," Val admitted quietly. "But it explains it. And besides…" She stepped closer to his desk. "Lucien only owns eight percent. And Otavio has twenty-eight. That means others sold too. Others who aren't telling you a thing."

Charlie's expression flickered—frustration, realization, something tight and uncomfortable. "Yes. I'm aware."

"Are they coming forward?" she asked.

"They won't," Charlie said. "They never do until the floor collapses under them."

Val's stomach twisted. She could tell he wasn't just angry—he was cornered. And that was worse. Charlie George Moreau didn't get cornered. He didn't allow himself to be outmaneuvered. Yet here he was, staring at numbers that shouldn't exist.

She drew a slow breath. "Dad… tell me there's a plan."

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose like the pressure behind his eyes was a physical thing. "I'll find a solution."

But he didn't sound sure. Not even close.

"From what I found out, Benjamin Otavio is not someone who moves without intention," Val said. "He didn't just stumble onto twenty-eight percent. He planned every step of this."

Charlie looked at her sharply, almost offended by the implication that someone had strategized better than him. But he didn't deny it.

She continued, quieter, "And if he already has this much leverage, he's not going to sit back. He's going to use it."

Charlie's eyes hardened. "I know that."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the hum of the city outside the glass walls.

Val finally straightened. "I'll be in my office. If anything changes, let me know."

Charlie nodded once. "Celestia." His voice softened by an inch, which for him was miles. "We'll... handle this."

She didn't challenge the word we. She just gave a small nod. "I hope so."

But even as she turned and walked toward the door—heels soft against the polished floor—she could tell he wasn't certain. Not this time. Not with a man like Benjamin Otavio sitting at twenty-eight percent and walking into boardrooms like he belonged there.

And as the door clicked shut behind her, the reality settled like a cold weight across the entire fiftieth floor—

Nothing about Moreau Dynamics would remain the same... at least, not for a long while.

---

I didn't know any of that was happening over at Moreau Dynamics… but I was about to find out.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, the dashboard clock blinked 6:42 p.m. Val's car was already parked.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

Aline and Duchess were curled up together on the couch—Duchess sprawled across Aline's lap like the spoiled feline monarch she is. Aline looked up the moment she heard me.

"Good evening, sir. Welcome back."

"Hey, Aline." I dropped the keys into the bowl by the door. "Everything alright?"

She glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned slightly closer and whispered—well, whispered in the way someone who's bad at whispering does.

] "Ma'am said she would handle dinner tonight. She told me to rest. But she… um… looked a little stressed when she returned."

I frowned. Val cooking wasn't unusual. Val cooking while stressed? That was a different category entirely.

"Got it," I said softly.

Aline nodded toward the kitchen again. "She's been in there since five."

"Thanks."

I headed for the kitchen, loosened my tie, and the moment I saw her, something inside me eased and tightened at the same time.

She stood at the counter with her hair tied up—loosely, messily, the way she only did when she was preoccupied. A pot simmered on the stove. She was staring into it as if the soup had personally offended her.

I walked up behind her, set my briefcase down gently, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her back against me.

She let out a quiet hum. "Welcome home, husband."

God, she said that so casually, but it still knocked the air out of me every time.

I pressed a kiss to her shoulder before loosening my hold. "Aline said you looked stressed when you got back."

She stiffened—barely, but I felt it. A small pause, like she had to mentally check what emotion she was wearing.

"After dinner," she said softly.

Right. That tone meant not now.

"Okay," I murmured.

I helped her finish cooking without asking too many questions, took a fast shower, and by the time we ate, she was quieter than usual. Not distant—just… thinking. She kept tapping her thumb against her wine glass, this subconscious tick she has when solving a problem in her head.

Dinner ended. Aline had already gone to her room. Duchess trotted after us halfway up the stairs before bailing and deciding the couch was more important than whatever her humans were up to.

Finally, we were alone in our room.

I sat at the edge of the bed, rolling my sleeves up. Val stood near her vanity, staring at her reflection like she was debating whether to speak.

Then she turned to me.

"Kai," she said quietly, "Benjamin Otavio owns twenty-eight percent of Moreau Dynamics."

I froze.

"What?"

She nodded once, slowly, like saying it aloud made it more real. "Twenty-eight percent. Almost a third of the company."

My mind stalled. "Since when? How? That's—Val, that's massive."

"I know."

But it wasn't just the words. It was the way she said them—flat, controlled, but with a tremor underneath that only someone who knew her as well as I did would hear.

"What happened?" I asked.

She drew in a deep breath and walked toward me before sitting beside me on the bed.

"I heard from one of the staff today… that Benjamin Otavio was in a board meeting with my dad this morning."

My eyebrows pulled together. "A board meeting?"

She nodded once. "When I asked my dad about it, he didn't deny it."

Her voice dropped, softer than before.

"Kai… my dad looked shaken."

Val saying her father looked shaken was like Einstein saying a math problem looked difficult. It wasn't normal. It wasn't even on the map.

I pulled her gently so she leaned against me. She rested her forehead on my shoulder.

"Hey," I murmured, "you don't have to carry this alone."

"I know," she whispered. "But it's my father's company. My family's legacy. And someone has been buying up shares right under his nose. That shouldn't happen. Not to him."

I didn't respond right away. Because the truth? She was right.

Charlie George Moreau was the sharpest corporate strategist I'd ever met. He had contingency plans for his contingency plans.

But this…

This wasn't a minor oversight. This was a coordinated move.

She pulled back slightly, her face tight. "What do we do, Kai?"

Her voice was small. Not weak—never that. Just scared. And that scared me.

I pushed her hair behind her ear. "First, you breathe. Second, you don't assume you're fighting this alone. Third…" I paused. "You're not making any decisions tonight. You're tired."

She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh. "You always say that when you want me to stop overthinking."

That made me smile a little.

She nudged my shoulder lightly. "I just… I hate not knowing what's going on. I hate seeing him unsure."

"I know," I said softly.

Val leaned into me again and whispered, "Thank you for being here."

"Always."

We stayed quiet after that, her breathing slowly evening out as exhaustion pulled her under. I didn't move, not until I was sure she was asleep.

Then I reached for my phone.

I scrolled down my contacts, past the familiar names, until I stopped at the one I rarely touched—one I'd avoided for a long time.

Charlie George Moreau.

We weren't on the best terms. Not even close.

But this involved Val.

And whatever affects her… affects me.

---

To be continued...