The Chair

The walk from the elevator to the top floor felt like it stretched on forever.

Not because it actually did—it was maybe fifteen paces from the gold-framed lift doors to the double glass entrance of the CEO suite—but because of the way every single head turned. Kieran could feel it. Stares, glances, subtle nods, polite smiles, even whispers that weren’t trying too hard to be discreet. Staff from every department, assistants juggling phones, junior execs carrying tablets, stylists, marketing heads, even maintenance—each one offered the same expression as Kiara Laurent stepped onto the floor.

Polished. Poised. Perfect.

Not that Kieran was taking it seriously.

In his head, it was all a bit much. The heels made the walk more purposeful than he wanted, the black pencil skirt hugged him tighter than necessary, and the tucked blouse—cream silk with a dramatic bow tie at the collar—felt too high-maintenance for an ordinary day in the office. But that was the thing, wasn’t it?

Today wasn’t ordinary.

This was her first day as CEO.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Her heels—no, his heels—echoed softly over the polished floors of the executive suite, one purposeful step at a time. Today started what was his future. And not as Kieran Laurent.

The gleaming brass placard on the door said it all: KIARA LAURENT, CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER.

Vivienne, of course, was already inside when Kiara walked in, perched against the corner of the desk in her usual, effortless blend of authority and elegance. A silk blouse in graphite grey was tucked crisply into a deep burgundy pencil skirt, her hair pulled back into a sculptural twist that made her look carved from marble.

She rose with a smile, gesturing with a grand sweep of her hand to the large leather chair behind the desk.

“Well?” she asked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “How does it feel?”

Kiara smiled—not too wide, not too stiff. The perfect expression, polished and rehearsed.

“It’s cute,” she said lightly, brushing down the sides of her white satin blouse with long, delicate fingers. “Though I might need to redecorate if I’m going to be spending all my time here.”

Vivienne gave a tight little nod, clearly approving of the tone in front of company.

Company.

Kieran—no, Kiara—turned slightly as the soft click of heels entered the room.

Her new assistant.

The woman closed the door behind her with polished precision. Early twenties, probably. About his height in heels, maybe an inch taller, which gave her a little edge. Curvier than he expected—definitely D-cup, maybe more, judging from the way her soft, pale-pink blouse stretched ever so subtly across her chest, tucked into a high-waisted ivory midi skirt. The blouse had a tiny bow detail at the collar, just dainty enough to scream “professional” without losing that Euphorica edge. Her makeup was soft but flawless—peach-toned blush, subtle eyeshadow, a creamy mauve lipstick. And her dark brown hair was tied in a sleek, mid-height ponytail that swung slightly when she walked.

“Miss Laurent,” she said with a sweet, clear voice, walking over and offering a small folder. “I’m Seraphina. It’s a pleasure to work under you.”

Under, Kieran repeated in his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a smirk from tugging at the corners of his glossy lips.

Vivienne gave a pointed look, and Kieran sat down—slowly, legs kept tight together, smoothing the back of his skirt under him as he lowered into the plush leather seat. It swallowed him whole in the best possible way.

All of it felt like it was a bit too much. Like he was an actor in a movie that no one else knew was scripted.

“So,” Vivienne said, slipping into the chair opposite the desk, crossing one leg elegantly over the other. “We’ll need to go over a few onboarding notes. But just so we’re clear—Seraphina is here to manage the day-to-day logistics of your office. Scheduling, communication with department heads, filtering press requests. You’ll be reviewing everything important, of course.”

Seraphina beamed, sitting lightly on the chair beside the desk. “It’s all in this starter packet, Miss Laurent. I’ve color-coded everything.”

“Of course you have,” Kieran replied—Kiara-style—taking the folder with a manicured hand and flipping it open. “You’re very organized. I love that.”

Vivienne’s expression remained neutral, but there was the smallest flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. She didn’t need Kiara to run the company like Jean. Not yet. She needed Kiara to look like she was running the company like Jean.

Vivienne leaned in, just slightly. “The board agreed to let me act as Chief of Staff. But only in an advisory capacity. I can’t override your decisions, and I’m not allowed to attend every internal meeting. Optics matter, and they want this to look like a fresh regime.”

Kieran’s eyes flicked to Seraphina, who was now silently watching the conversation while pretending to skim her tablet.

Vivienne’s voice lowered slightly. “That means you’ll need to be impeccable. Every word. Every look. Every meeting.”

Kieran felt the burn of her gaze.

“I am impeccable,” he said with an easy smile. “Don’t worry, Mom.”

He even tossed in the little Kiara-laugh he’d practiced.

Vivienne narrowed her eyes, just a touch.

Then she stood, smoothing the front of her skirt. “Seraphina, I’ll leave you two to get started. I’ll check back in at eleven.”

“Of course,” Seraphina chirped.

As Vivienne walked out, her heels slicing clean across the tile, Kieran leaned back just slightly, crossing his legs slowly and carefully, feeling the corset remind him exactly who was in charge of his ribcage.

Seraphina smiled again. “Would you like me to bring in coffee, Miss Laurent? Or water?”

Kieran smiled, batting his lashes once for effect.

“Coffee would be divine,” he purred, flipping open the folder and pretending like he hadn’t just completely blacked out everything Seraphina had said earlier. “And maybe something sweet on the side?”

The girl giggled, rising with a graceful nod. “Of course.”

As she disappeared out the door, Kieran let out a slow, quiet exhale, letting his Kiara-face drop for just a second as he looked around the office.

His office.

He was playing the part. He had the outfit. The walk. The smile. The voice—mostly.

But all of this?

Still a game to him.

He adjusted the folder in front of him and tapped a manicured nail against the cover.

Let them think he was their girl.

He’d still win this his way.

Seraphina re-entered the office with a soft knock that was more habit than necessity. Her heels clicked against the marble tile as she approached the desk—tall, polished, and imposing, just like its new occupant was supposed to be.

“Miss Laurent, I’ve just finished—”

“Seraphina,” Kiara interrupted gently, lifting her head from the sleek Euphorica-branded tablet. Her voice was warm, pitched higher thanks to another long week of AI-assisted vocal training. She tilted her head and gave the girl across from her a smile that was all sugar and poise—her best Kiara smile. “You really don’t have to be so formal with me. I know I’m technically your boss, but we’re gonna be spending, like, every day together, right?”

Seraphina blinked. “Yes… of course.”

“Exactly. So let’s not do the whole ‘Miss Laurent’ thing or talk like I’m some sixty-year-old in a power suit. Just Kiara’s fine. Or honestly—let’s just be best friends.”

There was a beat, and then Seraphina let out a small, breathy laugh—half nerves, half relief. “Okay. Kiara.”

Kieran could see her visibly relax. She stood up straighter, but somehow looser at the same time. Her lips, previously held in a tight business-line, broke into a genuine smile. “I wasn’t sure what kind of CEO you’d be. I heard so many rumors and—”

“I bet you did,” Kiara said with a chuckle, tucking a glossy strand of hair behind her ear. “But now you’re stuck with me. So let’s make it fun.”

If there was one thing Kieran had learned over the past week, it was how to play the part when it counted. The smile. The voice. The way his shoulders moved now—more fluid, less braced. The way his ankles crossed under the desk, the way his hands gently fidgeted with the cap of his pen. Subtle, sure. But all part of the new rhythm.

Seraphina, now less business-android and more twenty-something woman, came around to the side of the desk, tablet in hand, a soft swirl of perfume trailing behind her.

She was stunning in that effortless Euphorica sort of way: curvy in a very obvious way, the kind that made Kieran instinctively glance at her chest before catching himself.

Kieran gave himself a quick mental check before she got into it. Sit like Kiara. Smile like Kiara. Don’t stare at the boobs.

“So,” Seraphina said, tapping her tablet and pulling up a spreadsheet that looked like it wanted to end his entire bloodline, “here’s what your first day looks like.”

Kiara leaned in. “Hit me.”

“Okay—first is the executive alignment call at 9:30 with the product and branding teams. You’ll be introducing yourself, setting tone and expectations, then answering a few vision questions. I’ve already prepped your notes for that.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then at eleven, you have your first one-on-one with CFO Hendricks. He’s been waiting to get direction on the new fiscal roadmap now that you’re officially seated. He’s… um… intense.”

“I can handle intense.”

Seraphina gave her a look. “He’s also the kind of guy who calls women ‘missy’ and uses the phrase ‘attractive margins’ like a double entendre.”

Kieran—Kiara—snorted and leaned back in the chair. “Can’t wait.”

“Then lunch with the beauty division heads, then media ops check-in with the PR team, then a two-hour board debrief. Oh, and you’ll need to record a welcome message for the internal company socials sometime between all that.”

“Fun,” Kiara said brightly, though internally, Kieran was somewhere between can I fake a sickness and maybe this’ll be fine if I nap during lunch.

“Also, I’ve scheduled a twenty-minute makeup touch-up at three. Audra will be here to make sure you’re still looking camera-ready for the board thing. If you want to change before that, I can have options ready.”

Kieran blinked. “Wait. I’m expected to change outfits?”

“Well, not expected,” Seraphina said, tilting her head innocently. “But if you want to make an impression...?”

Kiara smiled through her teeth. “Of course. Obviously. What kind of CEO wears the same thing for nine hours straight?”

Seraphina giggled and turned back to the screen. “See? I told everyone you’d be iconic.”

Iconic. God. What a word.

Kieran shifted in the chair, legs crossed perfectly, shapewear hugged to him like a second skin beneath the perfectly tailored skirt. The corset—tight but manageable—kept his posture pristine. Even the heels, while still mildly torturous, had become easier to walk in after two weeks of endless hallway pacing under Celeste’s scrutiny.

Kiara waved a hand like it was nothing. “I got this.”

“I believe you,” Seraphina said sincerely.

She stepped back and looked at Kiara—really looked—and Kieran could feel it. That gaze. That belief. Like he wasn’t just some guy pretending. Like this wasn’t just an act.

Weird.

But also… not unwelcome.

Euphorica’s top floor gleamed with the quiet authority of old money wrapped in new beauty—glass, chrome, and perfectly lit alabaster walls lined with archival ads, campaign trophies, and press clippings. The entire floor was a curated temple to the company’s legacy, and at the center of it now sat Kiara Laurent.

Still getting used to the name. Still getting used to the nails.

Kiara leaned back in her chair, ankles crossed in practiced elegance, fingers tapping lightly against her coffee mug. French-tipped nails—subtle but sharp—tapped a steady rhythm. Her voice, when it came, had a breezy, feminine confidence. One of Celeste’s biggest breakthroughs over the last week had been helping her separate Kiara’s tone from Kieran’s natural cadence. The result was a slightly airier lilt, enough to sound like a young woman who belonged in glossy magazines—but not fake enough to make anyone question it.

“Okay, Seraphina,” she said, adjusting the silk blouse that kept slipping slightly along one shoulder—god, the fabric moved. “Tell me everything else that needs my brain this morning.”

Seraphina chuckled, already pulling up a filtered version of the day’s agenda. “Sure thing, boss. Let’s start with the urgent. We have a packaging decision for the spring lipstick line. The creative team narrowed it down to two final concepts, but both have pros and cons.”

She turned the screen toward Kiara, revealing two sleek mock-ups. One was a soft rose quartz design with minimal labeling—very modern, very editorial. The other was bold—satin black with Euphorica’s signature mirrored logo embossed across the top like a crest.

Kiara tilted her head, eyes narrowing—not in a disinterested I don’t care way, but in a calculating, I know what this means to the brand way. A flicker of real Kieran broke through the smooth, soft exterior.

“Alright,” she said, sitting forward slightly, her hair brushing against her cheek as she scanned the options. “Option A is definitely trending. It hits all the minimalist notes that Gen Z eats up on social, but it won’t stand out on shelves. Not with every indie brand doing the same thing.”

Seraphina nodded. “That was my read, too.”

“Option B,” Kiara continued, her tone sharpening just enough to sound like someone who'd grown up in this building, “is dramatic. Luxurious. The embossing costs more, yeah?”

“About thirty cents per unit more,” Seraphina confirmed. “But production says we can eat that if the volume’s right.”

Kiara smirked—just a little. “Then it’s B. But,” she added, tapping her pen against her bottom lip, “tell them to run a parallel ad concept that focuses on the packaging as a luxury keepsake. Push it as an object, not just a tube of lipstick. Think vanity table shots, maybe some ASMR unboxing stuff. If we’re paying more, it has to feel more.”

Seraphina’s eyes lit up. “Yes. That’s genius.”

“Genius is a stretch,” Kiara said sweetly, turning her face just enough to flash a perfect profile. “But thank you.”

This, Kieran thought, is where I win.

It wasn’t just that he’d shadowed Jean. It wasn’t just years of passive observation. It was understanding the heartbeat of the brand in a way no outsider could replicate. This company wasn’t just makeup and skincare. Euphorica was legacy and reinvention, and he had grown up breathing its air. He knew the tensions between the divisions. The power players. The cycles of trend versus tradition. He knew the brand voice because it had been his dinner table soundtrack since childhood.

“Next,” he prompted, sipping his coffee.

Seraphina swiped over to a different folder. “There’s a decision needed on the influencer gifting strategy for the Valentine’s drop. Audra’s pushing for tiered gifting: PR mailers to top-tier influencers only, more curated kits for microcreators.”

Kiara nodded slowly, brows raised. “Tell Audra I want the reverse. Make the big creators feel exclusive, but spend the real energy on mid- and micro-influencers. They’re the ones who are hungry for content and way more likely to film unboxings and tutorials. And double the samples in the micro kits—make them feel like brand ambassadors, not afterthoughts.”

Seraphina grinned. “This is going to kill on TikTok.”

“Exactly,” Kiara replied with a wink.

Another subtle adjustment of her posture. One arm folded loosely, the other holding her coffee, wrist bent ever so slightly—soft but composed. Everything about her was just enough. Enough to hold the gaze, but never feel like it was reaching. Even the way she blinked—slightly slower than Kieran used to—was part of the new Kiara rhythm. Subtle, but there.

They continued through a few more tasks—staffing concerns in R&D, an early proposal for an eco-friendly packaging initiative, updates on a lawsuit from a small competitor trying to sue over "lip serum" terminology. Kiara was smooth, decisive, and every now and then, surprisingly sharp.

Seraphina finally paused, closing her tablet. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But this?” She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re kind of… perfect for this.”

Kiara’s lips parted in surprise for half a second before forming a demure smile. “Don’t let that get out. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“You mean the part where you’re mysterious and intimidating?”

“I meant the part where I’m secretly falling apart on the inside.”

They both laughed. The air in the room had shifted—lighter now. The formalities had dissolved, and somewhere in the middle of business briefs and lipstick mockups, a real camaraderie had started to bloom.

Seraphina leaned in a little, conspiratorial. “Okay, but seriously. Are you always this chill about, like, running the most high-pressure beauty brand in the world?”

Kiara shrugged. “Fake it till you make it.”

But truthfully, even Kieran had to admit—he wasn’t faking the instincts. The pressure, sure. The heels, definitely. But the decisions? The ideas? The voice he was speaking with now—well, it wasn’t Celeste’s, or Vivienne’s. It was his. All dressed up and lip-glossed, sure. But his.

As Seraphina excused herself to prepare for the product team call, Kiara sat back again, letting the morning settle over her. The weight of the corset pressed in at her ribs. The shapewear clung like armor. But somewhere underneath all that, a thought flickered:

Maybe this wouldn’t be so impossible after all.

Not easy. Not comfortable. But not impossible.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to kill it.