The glass doors of the Coinbase headquarters didn't just open; they seemed to retreat in fear.
"Good morning, Boss!"
The greeting didn't rise up as a warm welcome. Instead, it was a jagged, rehearsed chorus that echoed off the marble floors and high-vaulted ceilings. Hundreds of employees stood rigid at their desks, their voices trembling with a practiced subservience. Charles Bennet had entered the hall.
The air in the room changed instantly. It was as if the oxygen had been sucked out, replaced by the heavy, suffocating press of raw power and unbridled arrogance. You didn't need to see Charles to know he had arrived,you could feel the "furiousness" radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
He moved with a predatory grace, his Italian leather shoes clicking against the floor with the steady, rhythmic beat of a war drum.
To look into his eyes was to look into a "deadly snare." They were cold, calculating, and lacked even a flicker of human empathy.
Those who had worked for him long enough knew the golden rule, look down, stay quiet, and pray you aren't the target of his midday wrath.
In the midst of this sea of frozen faces stood Diane. She was a "meek" contrast to the sharp, metallic coldness of the office. Clutching her leather portfolio to her chest like a shield, she felt the "fears and anxiety of the unknown" clawing at her throat.
"This is definitely not a company I would want to work in, nor a boss I would like to work for", she thought. For a fleeting second, she imagined turning around and running back out into the New York humidity. But the thought "melted down in her just like a wisp of smoke dissipating into the air.
She needed this job. Her reality was far removed from the trillion-dollar safety net Charles Bennet had been born into.
The sight of him made her feel physically unsafe. He was a "maelstrom of arrogance," a man who had never been told "no" in his entire life.
THE CONFRONTATION.
Charles stopped dead in his tracks. The silence that followed was heavy a "decorum of fear." He didn't look at his managers or his assistants.
His gaze locked onto the one person who didn't quite fit the gray, corporate scenery.
"And who is she?" Charles's voice was a low growl that cut through the silence.
He looked around the room, his lip curling into a sneer. "Ooh, you all are looking at me now? I demand an explanation right now or you all will face my—"
He knew all too well that allowing Charles to finish that sentence would land the entire floor in "very big jeopardy." He stepped forward, gesturing nervously toward Diane. "She was employed to occupy the vacant space I told you about last week. The administrative role in the executive wing."
Charles turned his full attention to Diane. His eyes narrowed, "gleaming with cunning intent." He didn't look at her like an employee; he looked at her like a piece of property he was inspecting for flaws.
He stepped closer, invading her personal space until she could smell his expensive, woodsy cologne. A "sly smirk twisted his lips," hinting at the dark schemes he enjoyed spinning to break the spirits of those beneath him.
"I see," he whispered, his voice dripping with condescension. "Meet me at my office immediately... you slut."
The insult hung in the air, sharp and unprovoked.
Diane felt a hot flash of shame and anger, but her tongue felt like lead. She watched as he turned on his heel, not waiting for a response, and headed toward the private elevators.
THE BACKGROUND OF A BULLY
To understand Charles, one had to understand the Bennet legacy. He was the second son of Bennet Tobias, a man known throughout Hudson Yards as a "kind-hearted trillionaire" who had built an empire on integrity.
But somehow, that integrity had skipped a generation.
Charles had been "born with a silver spoon," but he had used that spoon to dig pitfalls for others.
Since his school days, he had been a legendary bully, "flaunting his wealth" and "trampling anyone who looked like an obstruction." To Charles, the world didn't just revolve around him—it belonged to him.
His older brother, Henry, was the opposite. Henry was the firstborn, the rightful heir, but he possessed a quiet soul. He had no interest in the "maelstrom" of the corporate world or the ego-driven battles of the boardroom.
He had stepped aside, retreating into his own interests and allowing Charles to take the throne as CEO. It was a decision the employees of Coinbase regretted every single day.
THE SET UP.
Only a month prior, Henderson had approached Charles about the "vacant space" in the office. The lack of a personal assistant for the executive wing was causing delays, a "lacking part" in the well-oiled machine of the company.
At the time, Charles hadn't even looked up from his phone. "Go ahead, get someone to occupy the post," he had snapped. "Make sure not to get a dormant like you, by the way."
Henderson had left that office with a heavy heart and a mission. He had contacted Diane, knowing she was overqualified and desperate for the paycheck.
He hadn't warned her about the monster in the corner office. He couldn't afford to.
Now, as Diane stood in the wake of Charles's departure, she realized she hadn't just started a job. She had entered a cage.
THE MEETING AT THE OFFICE.
Fears was an understatement to the feelings grumbling at the pit of Diane's stomach. It wasn't just a flutter of nerves; it was a cold, acidic churning that made every step toward the executive wing feel like a walk toward a gallows.
She was going to the office of Charles Bennet. Based on the hushed, terrified whispers she had heard in the lobby and the sheer, oppressive scale of the glass-and-steel skyscraper, she already knew that this office would provide enough trauma to last a lifetime, let alone the prospect of being trapped inside those four walls with Charles alone.
The office door still seemed miles away, though it sat at the end of a long, silent corridor lined with mahogany and smelling of expensive wax.
Diane slowed her pace, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her thrift-store bag. She closed her eyes for a second, whispering a plea to the only person who had ever truly loved her.
"Mum, I'm going into this job for you and for myself," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I just want to get paid. I want to earn enough so we can finally settle the debt with him. If I can pay off the arrears, maybe he will finally cancel that cursed contract he held with Dad before he died."
The memory of her father's passing was a wound that hadn't yet closed
made worse by the predatory legal chains he had left behind. Anything she faced in this office—no matter how cruel or demanding Charles Bennet might be—was a price she was willing to pay. It was better than the alternative. She would rather face a thousand cold-hearted bosses than be forced to marry Ben, a man as old as her father, whose eyes held a predatory gleam that made her skin crawl.
The Encounter
As Diane got closer to the towering double doors, she saw the nameplate. It was labeled "CHARLES BENNET" in heavy, embossed gold lettering. The name nagged at the back of her mind like a forgotten song. It sounded familiar,painfully so but she shook the thought away.
Where on earth would a girl from her background have crossed paths with a titan of industry like Charles?
As she reached out to knock, her chest tightened until it was hard to breathe.
The air in the hallway felt thin, sucked out by the sheer gravity of the man behind the door. Yet, through the terror, a spark of iron resolve flared. She was ready to face it all.
Knock! Knock!
Diane waited. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the frantic thumping of her own heart. No response came. She checked her watch; five minutes ticked by like hours. Swallowing hard, she knocked again, her hand shaking.
"Come in!" a voice called out.
Diane froze. "Wait, what? That's the voice of a lady," she thought. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, but she pushed through the hesitation.
She pushed the heavy door open, and her cheap heels stepped onto a floor of luxurious marble, veined with gold that caught the afternoon sun. Her eyes immediately darted to the center of the room, landing on a woman with a sleek, beautiful face and an air of effortless arrogance.
The woman, Lara, was leaning over a massive desk, her hands rhythmically kneading the shoulders of a man buried in a high-backed leather chair.
"Honey, you invited her?" Lara asked, her voice dripping with a mix of boredom and territoriality.
She didn't stop the massage; she seemed to delight in the fact that Charles was currently "drowned" in the sweetness of her touch.
Charles reacted instantly. He sat upright, rephrasing his posture and smoothing his silk tie as he spun the chair around.
The golden chair seemed to frame him like a throne. "Oh, yes, Lara. She's a new worker. I need to have a word with her regarding her duties. Do you mind giving us a few minutes?"
Lara offered a thin, feline smile. "All fine," she said, straightening her flay gown.
She gathered her things and headed for the door, the fabric of her dress swinging rhythmically with the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack of her Zara high heels. She didn't look back at Diane, treating her as little more than a piece of office furniture.