Chapter 2
926words
Kevin and the inner circle of assistants couldn't help but notice their boss's new habit: between meetings, James would fixate on his phone with uncharacteristic intensity. Gone were the Bloomberg terminals and Wall Street Journal updates, replaced by garish fan forums exploding with "OMGGGG" and "QUEEN SLAYED MY EXISTENCE" comments.
He'd even had Kevin create him an anonymous social media account with a generic starfield profile picture and the cryptic username "L_S_2319"—about as far from "James Trent, CEO" as humanly possible.
James studied streaming platform algorithms and voting systems with the same furrowed concentration he usually reserved for detecting tax loopholes in acquisition contracts.
"Kevin," James called after a budget meeting adjourned, his tone as grave as if discussing their next billion-dollar venture, "what's the status on our 'comment section defense strategy' and 'anti-troll campaign'?"
Kevin's eye twitched slightly as he maintained his professional demeanor: "Sir, everything's in place. We've engaged the top digital reputation firm and a specialized data analytics team. They've established a 24/7 monitoring system for all mentions of Ms. Sullivan. Any negative content triggers immediate screenshot archiving, reporting, and positive counter-messaging. Legal has templates ready for takedown notices and cease-and-desist letters."
"Not good enough." James's eyes narrowed. "I want response time under three minutes from detection to neutralization. Budget constraints are removed. Make it happen."
"…Of course." Kevin made a note, wondering if the Pentagon's cybersecurity response time was this aggressive.
Digital warfare alone couldn't satisfy James's growing obsession. He needed something tangible, something visible—a public declaration of allegiance that couldn't be missed.
One evening, James stood at his office window watching the city light up beneath him. His eyes fixed on the massive LED displays dominating the commercial district, cycling through luxury car and designer fashion ads.
Without turning, he spoke: "Kevin, I want every premium LED billboard in this city… no, in every major metropolitan center worldwide. Buy all available slots for the next seven days."
Kevin blinked in surprise: "Are we announcing a major acquisition, sir?" To his knowledge, they had no product launches or corporate announcements pending.
"No," James turned, his expression leaving no room for questions, "Run Sophia's 'Starry Sky' jewelry campaign. The full three-minute cut. I want her face to be the first thing people see when they look up, anywhere in the world."
Kevin: "…"
It took him a moment to process this. Commandeering the world's premium advertising real estate just to play one woman's jewelry commercial on repeat? This was…
He did some quick mental math and realized this single display campaign would cost more than their entire Q3 marketing budget.
"Is there a problem?" James asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that preceded executive terminations.
"Not at all! On it immediately!" Kevin pulled out his phone and began firing off texts to their media buyers worldwide.
With ruthless efficiency, within sixty minutes, prime displays in financial districts, tourist hotspots, and international airports across six continents switched to Sophia's mesmerizing face and those celestial sapphires.
The internet lost its collective mind.
#SophiaGlobalTakeover
#WhoDroppedBillionsOnThisAd
#SophiaSecretBillionaireBacker
Fans went ballistic with joy, casual observers stood slack-jawed, and the trolls temporarily retreated in the face of such overwhelming financial firepower.
James skimmed the social media analytics report, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction before his eyes caught on a new issue.
During an executive lunch, he overheard two marketing assistants chatting nearby.
"Maison Mercier is so snooty—they only gave Sophia the Asia-Pacific ambassador title."
"Right? I heard they're still deciding on their global face, but they think she's 'not established enough internationally.' Such BS."
James's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
Maison Mercier? The 150-year-old French luxury house that still acted like they dressed Marie Antoinette? They thought his star (as he'd begun thinking of her) only deserved a regional contract?
He set down his utensils, dabbed his mouth with surgical precision, and spoke to Kevin in a deceptively casual tone: "Set up a call with Mercier's APAC president this afternoon." A pause. "Actually, get me their global CEO directly."
Kevin felt a familiar sense of dread: "Sir, are you considering…?"
"Trent Holdings is exploring acquisition opportunities in the luxury sector. Maison Mercier has caught our interest," James stated as casually as discussing the weather forecast. "Post-acquisition, my only stipulation would be Ms. Sullivan's immediate elevation to lifetime global brand ambassador with the most comprehensive compensation package in the company's history."
Kevin felt sweat forming at his hairline. He cleared his throat: "Sir, Mercier has rejected acquisition offers from LVMH and Kering. The founding family is notoriously protective of their independence—"
"Then we'll make an offer that renders their independence financially irresponsible," James cut in, his eyes glinting like steel. "And if necessary, hint that our competitors might be interested. They'll see reason."
Kevin: "…I'll draft the approach immediately."
As he mentally composed the initial outreach, Kevin wondered if any human being in history had ever considered buying a billion-dollar heritage brand just to upgrade a celebrity's endorsement title.
That night, James scrolled through his burner account, examining fan-captured photos of Sophia's face lighting up skylines from Manhattan to Tokyo. The forum buzzed with theories about Mercier potentially upgrading her contract. A warm glow of satisfaction spread through his chest.
The feeling surpassed anything he'd experienced closing eight-figure deals or crushing market competitors.
He was starting to understand the strange, intoxicating power of devotion.
Even if his version came with a few more zeroes than the average fan could manage.
