The Beast of Brooklyn

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Violet

I could strangle Seb right now.

Every damn time I’m presenting, he does this—sits there with that sparkle in his eye, like he’s just thought of the funniest joke.

He knows I’m on the verge of breaking. Collapsing into immature laughter.

It's like when someone delivers terrible news, and your first instinct is to laugh because you know it’s the absolute worst thing you could do.

This is an important meeting—probably the most important of my career so far, as a junior software developer at Knightwell Technology, a major powerhouse in the tech industry. And I swear, if Seb so much as winks at me right now, I’m gone.

To make matters worse, Austen Wells, our Chief Technical Officer and second in command to the CEO, is here, his piercing gaze only piling on the pressure. I try to conceal my trembling hand as I click on the last slide, relief flooding me I’m almost done.

“Thank you for your time,” I say, pasting on a polite smile, doing everything in my power to block Seb out of my peripheral vision.

“That’s why I believe the modifications we’ve made to the code will have a significant impact, improving detection accuracy and efficiency across the board.

” I click out of the presentation and glance at Mark, our team leader, for confirmation that I can sit down.

He gives me a tight nod before leaping to his feet, ready to resume his overzealous charm offensive on Austen.

“Thank you, Violet,” Mark says, his voice slipping into the smarmy tone he reserves for senior executives.

“Actually, before you sit down... it’s Violet, isn’t it?” My pulse spikes at the sound of Austen’s quiet, authoritative voice. “I have a question for you.”

I meet Austen’s steely gaze head-on, willing myself to radiate confidence, even though my heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I can’t tell if the look of astonished disbelief creasing his forehead is good or bad.

“Of course, Mr. Wells,” I say, clutching my laptop so tightly it’s a wonder the screen doesn’t crack.

“I’d be happy to address any concerns you have,” Mark interjects, practically bulldozing me aside in his rush to regain control.

Mark’s been on edge all week, building up to this meeting. I mean, he usually operates like he’s got a rod up his ass, but lately, his micromanagement has been off-the-charts.

Not without reason—this project is worth millions of dollars, and Knightwell Technology is leading the pack in securing a contract with a global bank to create AI-based software that detects financial fraud. A deal that could make or break someone’s career.

“Violet,” Austen repeats, ignoring Mark, his focus locked on me. “That was impressive.”

Mark slinks back into his seat, visibly deflated, his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

My ego does a triple backflip. Praise from the tech genius and co-founder of Knightwell Technology is a rare commodity.

“I’m curious,” he continues. “You’ve coded the system to identify patterns of behavior across multiple transactions. That’s a different approach. How did you teach it to prioritize behaviors over isolated data points?”

I force myself to take a calming breath before answering. “I focused on how behaviors connect over time—like timing, locations, and amounts. It lets the system spot trends that match money laundering tactics instead of flagging isolated transactions.”

It’s an idea I’ve been percolating for a while, and recently, it clicked into place.

Austen considers that for a beat, then gives a slight, thoughtful nod.

“Interesting. You might have given us the edge we need, Violet. That we be all, thank you.”

I nod, cheeks flushing with pride despite my best efforts.

“Well, the framework was solid,” Mark cuts in with a tight smile as I return to my seat. “We’ve been refining it as a team for months.”

Seb smirks as I collapse into the chair next to him. “Yeah, refining Mark’s mess,” he whispers.

“And who originally coded that prioritization model?” Austen asks, his tone sharp. “Was it part of the framework from the beginning?”

Mark freezes, clearly caught off guard. “Ah, well, it... it was a collaborative effort,” he hedges, his words dripping with forced cheerfulness.

“It was Violet,” Seb blurts, his voice clear and unwavering, earning a withering glare from Mark. “She cracked it.”

Austen’s lips curve into a faint smile, his shrewd gaze lingering on me. “Impressive,” he repeats, this time with a weight that sends my confidence soaring.

I murmur a quiet “thank you,” my eyes bugging out at Seb, who mouths, “What?”.

The meeting wraps up soon after, with Austen steering the discussion toward timelines and deliverables—a territory in which Mark excels. Thankfully, by the time Austen is sweeping out of the room, Mark’s mood has picked up drastically.

Mark shifts his focus back to us, addressing us with an air of superiority. “I think that went well overall,” he says, clasping his hands together. “But Seb, a word of advice—try not to speak out of turn next time.”

Seb leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “I was just saying the truth. Violet deserves some credit.”

Mark’s jaw hardens, but he doesn’t argue. “We’ll debrief more tomorrow. For now, good job, everyone.”

Seb nudges me as we gather our things. “See? Even Mark can’t deny it. You’re the brains behind this, Vi.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help, Seb.”

“What?” Seb snorts. “Must be all those times I distracted you with Warhammer video game strategy.” He flashes a grin as we make our way toward the elevator, but whether he knows it or not, he’s always been my sounding board, offering insights that somehow make everything click.

“I’ll tell you what,” Seb says with a low whistle, hitting the call button. “I wouldn’t mind working in this executive suite. Have you seen the offices up here? They’re bigger than my apartment.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not hard,” I quip, earning myself a middle finger salute.

I glance around, shifting slightly on my feet. “Is there a restroom nearby? I must’ve drunk a gallon of coffee just to survive that meeting.”

I take another glance around and shake my head. “Actually,” I say, just as the elevator doors slide open. “I’ll check around and catch up with you downstairs.”

“Okay, Vi. I’m outta here. Warhammer is calling.”

I roll my eyes and wave with a smile as he disappears behind the closing doors. I love Seb. The place would be dull without him.

In search of a restroom, I venture down the expansive hallway, my heels sinking into the sumptuous carpet as I admire the framed accolades adorning the walls.

The meeting ran on into early evening, so it’s deserted.

The admin staff have left for the day, and Mark mentioned that the executive team is offsite for a client function.

Growing desperate and still unable to find one, I peek into an open office door and spot an adjacent ensuite, figuring it won’t do any harm if I pop in there quickly.

My jaw drops when I step inside. Polished, dark hardwood floors contrast against soft beige walls, and a massive mahogany desk anchors the room, its glossy surface pristine save for a crystal paperweight, a gold fountain pen, and a minimalist laptop.

Behind it, a leather executive chair sits with a commanding view of the city through towering windows that stretch across the far wall.

The windows frame a breathtaking view of the Manhattan Skyline twinkling at night.

I dart into the ensuite, pulling the door closed, leaving it slightly ajar in my haste. The bathroom is just as spectacular, a sanctuary of polished marble with a rainfall shower that could house a family of four.

Finishing up, I turn on the faucet and quickly wash my hands, drying them with a towel.

I freeze when a thunderous crash echoes through the room, followed by a loud clatter and a string of curses. Panic flickers through me that I’m caught in the middle of a burglary.

Cautiously, I inch toward the crack in the door and peer through the gap—only to stifle a gasp.

This is no burglary.

Oh, hell no.

The only theft taking place is the loss of a woman’s clothes, and she’s more than willing.

“Oh, yes, Chase, please...,” she cries as he swipes everything off his desk, sending paper and objects clattering to the floor. She sprawls back against the sleek wood, chest heaving, her entire body arching as he spreads her legs and rips off her panties with a sharp tear.

She’s supermodel-gorgeous—long, lithe legs, cascading blonde waves, and a body so succulent it could have been airbrushed.

Of all the offices in all the buildings in Manhattan, it had to be his. Chase Knight, the ruthless CEO and billionaire owner of Knightwell Technology—the biggest bastard ever to grace this planet. A demon cloaked in Armani.

He carries his cutthroat reputation like a badge of honor, and it’s well-earned. He started in private equity, where he orchestrated hostile takeovers for fun.

I’ve only been in a room with him a handful of times.

Enough to know he’s the kind of man you never cross.

With broad shoulders and muscles that pull at the seams of his impeccably tailored shirts, he’s the embodiment of power.

If his dark, brooding gaze and machine of a body weren’t intimidating enough, the rumors are.

They say he can end someone’s career with a single, calculated remark.

Once, I had the misfortune of a shared elevator ride where I cowered in the corner like a mouse while he eviscerated someone on his phone so scathingly my ears rang for the entire morning. I’m sure he had no idea I was there. People like me are invisible to men like Chase Knight.

“Oh, Chase,” the woman shrieks like a banshee, “fuck me, please.”

Jesus, this could be a contender for the Cringe of the Year awards. How long is this going to take? I’ve got places I need to be. And now I’ll have to hide out in here until they’re done, praying he doesn’t decide to fuck her in the rainfall shower.