Heiress to the Throne

Morning light slanted through the towering windows of the Laurent penthouse, painting long golden streaks across the marble floors. Thirty stories above Manhattan, the city pulsed below—a restless, glittering beast of power and ambition. From this height, everything seemed distant, muted, insignificant. But within these walls, the fate of an empire hung in the balance.

Kieran Laurent sat in the sunken living room, his espresso untouched on the glass table in front of him. He was dressed in silk pajama pants and a fitted black T-shirt, his lean frame sprawled across a cream-colored chaise. A slight furrow marked his otherwise smooth brow as he gazed out at the skyline, his mind tangled in thoughts far heavier than the usual haze of late-night parties and indulgence.

His father, Jean Laurent, was dead.

And Euphorica Industries—the crown jewel of the beauty world, the most powerful and innovative cosmetics empire in existence—was on the verge of slipping from the Laurent family’s grasp.

For decades, Euphorica had dictated the beauty industry’s evolution, crafting products so cutting-edge, so meticulously designed, that the world’s most elite women swore by them. It wasn’t just about makeup and skincare—it was about transformation.

The company owned patents on revolutionary formulas, controlled the biggest names in luxury cosmetics, and dictated the trends that the rest of the industry scrambled to follow. Flawless, powerful, hyper-feminine—that was the brand’s identity. And no competitor had ever come close to dethroning it.

Jean Laurent had been the architect of it all. Brilliant, ruthless, and impossibly private, he had ruled from the shadows, shaping the company’s destiny with a vision that no one dared question.

But behind closed doors, it had been Vivienne Laurent—his wife, Kieran’s mother—who had kept the empire thriving. Jean had worn the crown, but Vivienne had wielded the power. She had been the strategist, the negotiator, the quiet **** ensuring that every decision was perfect.

Now, for the first time in decades, Euphorica had no king.

And the board of directors had made their demands clear: they would accept nothing less than a queen.

A soft rustle of silk announced Vivienne’s entrance. Even at home, she was the picture of controlled elegance, dressed in an ivory suit that clung to her tall, slender frame. Her platinum-blonde hair was secured in a flawless chignon, and the glint of diamond studs at her ears caught the morning light. She was the kind of woman who never made a single unnecessary movement, her every step deliberate, her every glance carrying weight.

She lowered herself onto the settee across from him, crossing her legs at the knee.

“You’re up early,” she murmured.

Kieran scoffed, rubbing his temple. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Vivienne studied him for a moment before speaking again, her voice smooth as silk. “Today is important.”

_No shit. _Today was the day.

Kieran sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “What exactly are they threatening now?”

She exhaled softly. “The same thing they’ve been saying since the funeral. They will not accept a male CEO.”

Kieran’s fingers clenched. It was absurd. Jean had been a man. He had ruled without question.

Vivienne didn’t so much as blink at his frustration. “Your father was an exception. The world never questioned him because he was Jean Laurent. He built Euphorica. He was untouchable. But now that he’s gone…” She spread her hands in a delicate gesture. “The board sees no reason to continue allowing a man to lead a brand that represents femininity, beauty, and innovation for women.”

Kieran let out a bitter laugh. “So, what? A man can’t run a beauty empire?”

Vivienne’s gaze was steady. “A man can own one. But he cannot embody one.”

That was the problem. Euphorica wasn’t just a corporation—it was a luxury identity. Its customers, its investors, and the media didn’t want to see a Laurent at the top. They wanted a vision. A presence that personified the very essence of the brand.

And that had to be a woman.

Kieran ran a hand through his hair. It was deep brown, slightly longer than he liked, with an effortless tousle that came from years of expensive haircuts and zero effort. His father’s genetics had given him refined, almost delicate features, but his body was lean, his frame naturally slim rather than masculine.

Not that any of that mattered. He was still a man. And that was the problem.

He sat forward, narrowing his gaze. “I thought the will was clear. I inherit everything.”

Vivienne hesitated. Then, she reached for an envelope resting on the glass coffee table. A sleek, elegant thing—just like everything his father had ever touched.

She slid it toward him.

Kieran picked it up, unfolding the letter inside. The familiar script of Jean Laurent glared back at him, as commanding in **** as it had been in life.

My entirety of Euphorica Industries shall be inherited by the next true leader of the company. Whosoever takes my place at its head will hold my legacy.

Kieran’s breath caught.

His father had never written his name.

He had always assumed it meant him. But Jean had left an opening for interpretation.

Vivienne’s voice was quiet. “The board has made their position clear. If we do not give them a leader they find acceptable—”

“They’ll pull their investments,” Kieran murmured.

Vivienne’s lips pressed together. “Worse. They will ensure our family disappears.”

The realization settled in his chest like ice. This wasn’t just about him. This was about everything. Their fortune. Their influence. Their entire legacy.

For the first time in his life, Kieran Laurent—the heir without a throne—felt powerless.

And today, the board would decide his family’s fate.

The kitchen of the Laurent penthouse was a masterpiece of sleek marble and polished steel, but this morning, it felt colder than usual. The hum of the city below was muffled by the thick, floor-to-ceiling windows, isolating them from the rest of the world. The world that had worshipped Jean Laurent. The world that now mourned him.

Kieran sat at the grand kitchen island, nursing a second cup of espresso that did nothing to clear the fog of the last few weeks. The grief still clung to the air, heavy and unshakable, settling into every quiet moment like an unwelcome guest.

His father’s **** had been sudden. A heart attack in his private study, late at night, alone. No warning. No goodbyes. One moment, Jean Laurent was an untouchable **** of power, a name that dictated the tides of the beauty world; the next, he was gone. And the world—their world—had been thrown into chaos.

Vivienne stood across from him, her hands resting lightly on the pristine countertop. She had always been impossibly composed, but even she had not escaped the toll of the last few weeks. There was something sharper in her cheekbones, a tightness around her mouth. She did not allow herself to cry in front of anyone, but Kieran had heard her once, late at night, when she thought no one was listening.

Jean had been her partner—not just in marriage, but in empire-building. While the world had seen him as the visionary, the mogul, the self-made genius who had built Euphorica from the ground up, Vivienne had been the one holding it together. She had been the strategist, the diplomat, the one who could turn boardroom warfare into an art form.

And now, despite all her brilliance, she was facing a battle she might not win.

The company was slipping from their grasp.

Jean’s **** had been an earthquake, and the board had wasted no time in trying to reshape the ruins in their favor. Their reasoning had been swift and brutal—Jean had always been an exception, a singular **** that had been allowed to lead a beauty empire despite being a man. But now that he was gone, they saw no reason to continue down the same path.

Euphorica had been built on luxury, femininity, seduction, the essence of beauty itself. Its success came from the belief that it was created for women. To hand the company over to another man, to put a male face at its helm willingly this time, would shatter the illusion. Investors would pull out. Customers would question the brand’s authenticity. The board’s message had been clear:

Euphorica’s future would belong to a woman—or it would not exist at all.

For the first time in his life, Kieran was **** to confront a reality he had never anticipated. He had always assumed he would inherit the company when the time was right. His father had raised him with that expectation—had made it clear that one day, it would be his. He had never needed to fight for it. It was simply his birthright.

But birthrights meant nothing if the kingdom refused its king.

And Celeste… she had never wanted the throne.

His older sister had always been untouchable, aloof, and impossibly beautiful. Celeste loved the world of high fashion, the extravagant galas, the control she wielded in social circles, but she had never cared for business. She was an icon, a face, a **** in her own right—but she had no desire to sit in boardrooms and shape the empire’s future.

That left only him.

And he was the problem.

Kieran tightened his grip around the espresso cup, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. His father’s will had stated that Euphorica would go to its next true leader. But the board refused to acknowledge him as that leader, because they had never known he existed.

Jean Laurent had been obsessively private.

The world knew nothing about his family.

For decades, Jean had ensured that no journalist, no photographer, no outsider ever glimpsed into his personal life. It had been his greatest strategy, the reason Euphorica had always seemed larger than life, almost mythical. He had shaped an empire without ever revealing its rulers.

Vivienne had been the only exception—the one public figure in the Laurent dynasty. She had been the face of elegance, the whisper behind Jean’s power, the woman who commanded entire rooms without ever raising her voice. But Kieran and Celeste? They had been ghosts. Shadows. Raised in luxury but hidden from the world.

And that was what made this situation so much worse.

Vivienne could not walk into that boardroom and say, Jean’s heir is here. This is your new CEO.

Because the board—and the world—didn’t know Jean Laurent had a son.

And now, if they found out?

It would be disastrous.

Investors would panic. The media would tear them apart. A hidden male heir, suddenly stepping forward to take over the world’s most powerful feminine empire? It would be a scandal that would burn Euphorica to the ground.

Vivienne had fought for weeks, negotiating, maneuvering, refusing to back down. But the board had not relented. They did not want an invisible heir to suddenly claim the throne. They wanted a queen.

And that left them with no options.

Kieran exhaled, pressing his palms against his temples. “What are we even fighting for?” His voice came out low, exhausted. “They’ve already decided, haven’t they?”

Vivienne’s gaze was unreadable. “I decide.”

There it was—that quiet, unshakable certainty that had always made her the most dangerous person in any room.

She reached across the counter, placing a hand lightly over his. It was a rare, almost tender gesture, and it made something tighten in Kieran’s chest. Despite everything, despite how ruthless she could be, she was still his mother.

“I need you to trust me,” she said softly.

Kieran swallowed. “Do you have a plan?”

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

Instead, she squeezed his hand briefly before rising from her seat. She reached for her handbag—a sleek, blood-red Hermès Birkin—and smoothed the front of her tailored jacket.

“I have a meeting to attend.”

Kieran watched as she strode toward the elevator, every inch of her the formidable matriarch she had always been. The doors slid open, and she stepped inside. Just before they closed, she turned her head, her ice-blue gaze meeting his.

“I will not let them take what is ours.”

And then she was gone.

Kieran sat there, staring at the now-empty kitchen, feeling the weight of a crown that had never been meant for him.

And yet, somehow, it was his to bear.