Chapter Three: Fear in Heels
The click of Kimberley Monroe's heels echoed like a metronome of doom across the marble floor of Monroe Designs headquarters.
It just like there's
Fear In The heels
Every employee within earshot sat up straighter, fingers flying across keyboards, coffee cups abandoned mid-sip. The Queen had arrived—and no one wanted to be her first victim.
She moved with purpose, dressed in an obsidian pantsuit that shimmered under the sleek office lights. Her expression was unreadable, sculpted to perfection, much like everything else about her.
"Morning, Miss Monroe," her assistant, Liana, chirped, practically jogging beside her to keep up.
Kim didn't look at her. "How many meetings today?"
"Five. Board review at ten, the marketing pitch at—"
Kim stopped.
Liana nearly collided into her.
Kim slowly turned her head toward the display wall in the lobby—a digital loop showcasing the brand's best fashion campaigns. Right now, it showed an ad from two years ago, grainy and outdated.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Who's in charge of media rotations?" she asked, voice like silk dipped in cyanide.
Liana paled. "That would be Jared from digital."
"Call him."
"Y-yes, right away—"
"No. Don't call him," Kim said sharply, her gaze locked on the dated screen. "Fire him."
Liana blinked. "Fire—?"
"I don't pay people to be lazy. That ad has been up for three days. If I noticed it, our clients noticed it. Monroe Designs doesn't sell 'stale.' We sell power."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll—handle it."
Kim kept walking.
She stepped into the executive elevator, leaving a trail of fear and perfume in her wake.
By the time she reached the 32nd floor, Jared's termination letter was already printing.
Her office was a minimalist's dream—floor-to-ceiling windows, a long matte-black desk, and a single red flower in a crystal vase. She liked beauty, but never clutter. Not in her life. Not in her business.
She slipped off her coat and tossed it onto the valet hook, not missing a beat as her phone buzzed.
Caramel: "Don't Tell me you caused chaos already
Kim: "Stale ad =not my fault unemployed keeps calling him
A knock at the door.
Liana peeked in, cautious as ever. "Your 9:30 with the PR consultant is here."
"Send her in."
The woman who entered had perfectly curled hair and a hopeful smile. Kim already hated her.
"Miss Monroe, it's such an honor," the consultant began.
Kim gestured to the seat in front of her desk without smiling. "Talk."
"Well, I was reviewing your public engagement—your brand is strong, but some audiences think Monroe Designs feels… inaccessible."
Kim's face was blank.
"I think we could benefit from a softer touch. More behind-the-scenes content, maybe a few personal stories. Something real and relatable."
Kim blinked. "I'm not relatable."
The woman stuttered. "Well, yes, but that's why it would be powerful to—"
"You want me to dilute my brand so broke girls feel seen?"
"No! I mean… not like that."
Kim stood. "This company runs on perfection, not pity. If people want relatability, they can buy knock-offs on Instagram. We sell fantasy. Control. Confidence."
The woman fumbled with her notepad.
Kim took a slow step closer, towering in her heels. "Do you know why people fear me, Miss…?"
"Dee-Dee," she stammered.
"Dee-Dee. People fear me because I'm not afraid to be unlikable. And if your strategy relies on making me palatable, you're in the wrong damn room."
Dee-Dee nodded quickly, cheeks burning. "Of course. I'll adjust the pitch."
"Good. You have twenty-four hours to bring me something that doesn't insult my intelligence. You're dismissed."
As the woman scurried out, Liana reappeared with a tablet. "You have a message from HR. They want to confirm Jared's last check."
"Approve it. And blacklist him."
Kim turned toward the window, her reflection a blade of elegance.
This was her world. Structured. Controlled. Feared.
And that's exactly how she liked it.
Outside, the clouds began to darken slightly, as if the universe sensed the chill in her bones.
Because Kimberley Monroe was flawless.
And no one—no man, no intern, no consultant—was going to soften her edge.
Not today.
Not ever.