Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
EDWARD
“Mr. Carson, we will be arriving in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
Early morning light grazes skyscrapers as I look out the window. Yellow cabs crawl bumper to bumper, horns blaring. Delivery trucks idle at every intersection. The city’s chorus of engines and smell of exhaust remind me of how chaotic Manhattan mornings are. This is heaven.
Today is going to be busy. The first thing on my agenda is to inform Richard Bower that I have acquired a controlling interest in his company. As the city slowly woke up, my mind shifted from the chaos outside to the decisive steps I’d soon be taking.
Over the past five months, I meticulously acquired shares of outstanding stock—each transaction bringing me closer to my goal.
During this period, I contacted the remaining majority shareholders (excluding the Bowers family) and carefully persuaded them to sell their shares to me.
This was a deliberate strategy, reminiscent of the film in which the protagonist purchases struggling companies and dismantles them.
When assessing assets, whether it is real estate, contracts, or even staff, I meticulously sort out the valuable from the worthless.
Once taken over, the next step is to offload the underperforming parts at a profit.
Bower Holdings, when divided, proves to be more lucrative than keeping it intact.
There was very little of Bower Holdings’ day-to-day business that I planned to keep.
The building itself is what I eagerly anticipate acquiring.
Its grand facade and prime location are ideal for my plan to bring all my US businesses under one roof.
When I decided to combine all my offices, I knew I wanted to be in New York.
The bustling city is not only my birthplace, but it’s also where my retired parents savor their golden years.
Though content, they quietly wish their only child weren’t still single.
As my forty-fourth birthday looms six months away, I remain without a girlfriend or anyone I can picture myself committing to.
And, truth be told, my tastes—especially in the bedroom—differ from what’s considered normal.
I consider myself a Dominant, but I know I want more than what most imagine.
I want a submissive who’s willing to let me guide every aspect of her life—her choices, her routines, everything.
This connection goes beyond the bedroom and shapes the fabric of our lives together.
For me, the word “Daddy” isn’t just a label, but an expression of the deep and unconventional bond I seek.
Years of exploring BDSM have made me realize this is the relationship that feels right: a unique, profound intimacy between Dominant and submissive, one both intense and affectionate.
In dark corners of BDSM clubs, I’ve seen many Daddy/little girl dynamics.
Some favor childlike innocence, others lean toward adolescent rebellion.
I’m not drawn to caretaking an infant mindset or wrangling a defiant pre-teen.
My interest lies in a space blending playful youthfulness and mature understanding.
Over the years, my life has been a revolving door of submissives, each one unique, yet none ever sparking that deep, undeniable thrill within me.
My heart never raced, nor did I find myself lost in thoughts of wanting to share every waking moment with them.
I would sit alone in my dimly lit study, surrounded by leather-bound books and the faint scent of vanilla candles, wondering why it remained so elusive to find that singular person who could truly fulfill all my desires and needs the way I longed for.
I remember the story of how my dad met my mom on their first day of classes at NYU.
She was sitting under a sprawling oak tree, engrossed in a thick philosophy book.
He took one look, and he just knew she was the one.
Just six months after that serendipitous encounter, they were exchanging vows, and two years later, I came into their lives.
“Mr. Carson, we are pulling up, sir.”
I gaze out at the expansive windows of the grand Art déco-style building, admiring the intricate geometric patterns and bold, sweeping curves that define its architecture.
The sunlight dances across the polished surfaces, casting a warm glow that highlights the rich, opulent details of the design.
A smile spreads across my face as I take in the elegance and charm of this architectural masterpiece.
My team of attorneys assured me that the documents were hand-delivered to Richard Bower’s doorstep at the crack of dawn.
They waited for him to open the envelope, and they said his expression upon receiving the news was one of utter disbelief.
As events inside the building unfolded, I considered how he could have been so oblivious.
His company had been hemorrhaging money for years, sinking deeper and deeper into financial ruin due to mismanagement.
After reviewing his books, it was clear the primary culprit was his son, Chad.
The younger Bower was living the high life at the company’s expense.
Expensive cars, trips, and clothes were just a few of the things he purchased.
He also wasted money on high-end escort services.
The little fucker couldn’t get his dick wet without paying for it.
Six months ago, I sent my right-hand man, Liam, to observe company operations. His fake background and request for low pay made hiring him easy. While there, he reported on everyone at Bowers Holding—information crucial to deciding who would keep their job this morning.
I meticulously went through every report and found only one person who held the golden ticket.
The brightest star in the company was Chad Bower’s executive assistant.
At first, I didn’t even want to believe that this person, who worked so closely with the asshole, was as good as Liam’s report showed.
However, Liam forced me to review the very detailed report again on Cassandra Bell Lincoln, also known as Cassy, as she preferred to be called.
She started at Bower Holdings at twenty, working up to executive assistant. College degree or not, she excelled where others with master’s failed.
She was quick-thinking, detail-oriented, and had rare common sense. I value that. My business success owes less to my business degree than to my common sense for reading people and situations.
After rereading the report on Ms. Lincoln, I instructed Liam to conduct a comprehensive background check.
A few weeks later, he handed me the new report, and I was impressed once again.
She is a native New Yorker. Four years prior, her parents died in the second tower on 9/11.
She has no other living relatives. She currently lives in a small apartment in Queens.
Her financial report was surprising. Ms. Lincoln has a knack for investing in the stock market.
What impressed me was that she lived modestly, leaving most of her money in the bank to earn interest.
At the end of the report, there was something I didn’t ask for: photos of Ms. Lincoln.
The first time I saw them, I was mesmerized.
She was five feet five, with thick, long, chestnut brown hair and sapphire blue eyes.
Her face was round with high cheeks and full lips, teasing to be kissed.
Then there was her body. Holy shit, what a body!
Curves for miles, waiting for my hands to touch every luscious inch.
Never in my forty-three years had I had such a reaction to a woman before. She was something out of my dreams.
Even though Liam assured me she was trustworthy, I didn’t want to put her in a position to know that I was taking over the company she was working for.
But this didn’t stop me from keeping a close eye on her.
When the last piece of the takeover was in place, I allowed myself to get close enough to hear her sweet voice.
Most days, she was the last to leave work.
New York was dangerous in the daylight, but at night, the scum came out, preying on the innocent.
Cassy was innocent. There was no doubt in my mind.
I had to ensure she was safe, so I assembled a security team to escort her home safely.
Once I saw where she lived, I purchased her apartment building and upgraded the locks and security.
I used the fact that I was buying the property to gain access to her apartment.
It was wrong, but I needed to know everything about her.
What I found was nothing I expected. The decor was very feminine, as expected.
What shocked me was the collection of well-loved plush animals throughout the apartment.
One stuffed owl was tucked under the baby-pink ruffled bedspread on her twin-size mattress.
The room was large enough to hold a full-size or even a queen-size mattress, which was a clue.
Then there was the collection of children’s movies.
She was frugal with her money when it came to where she lived, but she spent quite a bit on her DVD collection.
I should know because I had all the titles she had and many more.
They are ready to be moved into my home here in New York, along with all the other items, to prepare for my little one.
After learning Cassy was a little, something primal in me ignited. I quickly doubled her security, installed hidden hallway cameras, and tracked her movements obsessively. Three or four nights a week, I’d sit in my blacked-out Bentley near her building until 3 AM, watching for her lights to go out.