The CEO Who Forced Me on a Date: A Single Dad's Battle for Autonomy Against Unwanted "Romance"
The words Lily had overheard, Veronica’s chilling philosophy, fueled a new kind of desperation in me. I couldn’t just stand by, letting her erode my reputation and poison Lily’s perception of the world. I needed to understand Veronica better, to find her weak points, her patterns.
I spent my evenings, after Lily was asleep, hunched over my laptop, diving into the deepest corners of the internet. I scoured old news archives, forgotten social media platforms, even obscure forum posts. I used every search term I could think of: “Veronica Beaumont,” “Beaumont Innovations scandals,” “CEO controversial relationships.” Most of it was either fawning press releases or corporate financials.
Then, weeks into my obsessive search, I stumbled upon a fragmented online profile. It was from a defunct social networking site, barely clinging to existence in a web archive. The profile belonged to a “Mark Jansen.” His profile picture showed a vibrant, smiling man, roughly my age, a decade or so ago.
His posts, scattered and incomplete, painted a picture. Initial enthusiasm for a new business venture, a “mentorship” from a powerful figure. He spoke with awe about “someone incredible” who believed in him, who was helping him “reach new heights.” The dates matched a period roughly ten years prior.
Then, the posts grew more effusive, almost worshipful, about this anonymous benefactor. He mentioned “unforeseen opportunities” and “a new direction.” He gushed about a sudden move, a lavish new lifestyle. He posted pictures of exotic locales, expensive gifts.
And then, just as abruptly as the enthusiasm began, it stopped. The posts ended. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just a sudden, echoing silence. The last post was a generic update about “exciting changes” and “stepping away from the public eye.” Then, nothing.
I tried searching for Mark Jansen, but it was like he had vanished. No current social media, no news articles, no professional footprint. He had simply disappeared from public life after a brief, intense association with Veronica Beaumont. It was too specific, too eerily familiar to my own situation.
He was a “project.” I could feel it in my gut. Another person Veronica had taken an interest in, lavished with attention and opportunities, and then, when their purpose was served, or perhaps when they tried to break free, they were simply… erased.
This discovery sent a cold shiver down my spine. It wasn’t just me. It was a pattern. A modus operandi. Veronica wasn’t just a wealthy woman with an odd obsession; she was a predator, collecting and discarding lives. Mark Jansen was a ghost, a warning.
The next time I found myself at Beaumont Innovations for a forced “check-in” meeting with an HR representative—a meeting I suspected Veronica orchestrated to gauge my compliance—I paid close attention to Sarah Jenkins. She was efficient as always, leading me to a conference room, offering coffee. But something was off.
As I passed her desk, I caught her eye. She quickly averted her gaze, almost too quickly, busying herself with papers. Her usual composed demeanor seemed to falter for a split second. A flicker of something—discomfort? Guilt?—crossed her face before she regained her professional mask.
Later, as she brought me a bottle of water, I tried a subtle probe.
“Sarah,” I said, trying for a friendly, casual tone. “You’ve worked for Veronica for a long time, haven’t you?”
She paused, handing me the bottle. “Ten years, Mr. Thorne. Since I graduated college.” Her voice was neutral, but her eyes held a guarded quality.
“She’s… certainly a force of nature,” I continued, watching her closely. “Must be fascinating to work for someone so driven.”
Sarah just offered a tight, polite smile. “It’s certainly never dull, Mr. Thorne.” She kept her gaze fixed on a point just past my shoulder. The discomfort was palpable, radiating off her. She knew something. I was sure of it.
“She ever take on… personal projects?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light, as if making a passing joke. “Like mentoring someone, taking them under her wing?”
Sarah’s smile tightened even further. Her eyes flickered to the closed door of Veronica’s office. “Ms. Beaumont is very dedicated to her philanthropic endeavors, Mr. Thorne. She believes in fostering talent.”
Her response was rehearsed, a corporate platitude designed to deflect. But the subtle shift in her posture, the way her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as she adjusted a pen on her desk, spoke volumes. She was nervous. She was hiding something.
I didn’t press further. I knew it would be futile. Sarah Jenkins was clearly terrified of Veronica, and probably bound by an ironclad NDA. But her reaction, combined with the discovery of Mark Jansen, solidified my suspicions.
There were others. Other “projects” who had come and gone, their lives touched by Veronica’s manipulative generosity, and then vanished. Sarah Jenkins was a witness to this pattern, perhaps even an unwitting enabler.
The “ghost” project, Mark Jansen, wasn’t just a clue; he was a key. He confirmed that Veronica’s obsession wasn’t a one-off for me. It was a repeated, calculated behavior. If I could find him, if I could find others like him, perhaps we could finally expose her. But how? She had ensured his disappearance was total, and Sarah Jenkins was too afraid to talk. I felt a surge of frustrated despair. I had a piece of the puzzle, but no way to connect it to the larger picture. No way to break through the wall of fear and silence that Veronica had so carefully constructed around her past.
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