ROWAN
As soon as his fist hit my jaw, my head jerked. I barely flinched.The metallic taste of blood pricked the corner of my mouth, but I didn't even lift a hand in return.
Instead, I straightened slowly, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and just looked at him.
The type of look that doesn't need fists to hurt.
"Can you two stop?!" Abigail's voice cut through the air—sharper than Caleb's punch. She stood between us now, pissed off and breathless.
I didn't move. I kept my eyes on Caleb, who was now pretending like he hadn't just thrown the weakest punch of his life. But I didn't swing back. I just turned around and started walking off.
"Rowan! Where are you going?" Abigail called out, her voice softening. Guilt leaking through like she finally realized the weight of what just happened.
"Somewhere I'm actually valued as a friend."
I didn't look back. If I did, I'd probably end up saying everything I've held back for weeks.
Like how she's become someone I barely recognize. How the guy she's changing herself for doesn't even have the decency to treat her like the damn queen she is.But I held it in.
Instead, I walked away with her silence chasing my footsteps.
And before you start judging me—no, this isn't some jealous ex-lover rant. I'm not in love with her.
…Okay, maybe I was. Once. I wouldn't call it love though. It was something quieter. A spark. A pull.
Something that felt like more but didn't need a label. Crush? Platonic obsession? Who knows.But here's the thing—I do love her. As a friend.
A real one. And real friends don't just sit and watch while someone they care about dives headfirst into a dumpster fire of a relationship.
I've known Abigail since before Caleb even knew how to spell her name. Hell, he met her through me.
And still—she picked him. The jerk with a jawline and nothing else to offer.
I shook my head and laughed under my breath.
Yeah. Enough about Abigail. If I keep thinking about her, I might punch a wall.
What I need right now? A distraction. A reset. A little ego boost, maybe.And—no, don't laugh—I need to get laid.
There. I said it.
Virgin?
Yeah. Surprise. Not really.I've never gone past kissing, and whatever Rhea Elevane has in her head about me fulfilling her sexual fantasies?
Please. I wouldn't even know where to begin.
Imagine that story: "Rhea Elevane took Rowan Ashford's virginity."
Yeah, even I don't believe that.
When I got home, the place was quiet. No maids. No forced greetings. Just the kind of silence that felt like peace. I stepped in and was immediately greeted by tiny footsteps—Bambi.
She ran up to me like she'd sniffed my entire soul.
I bent down, scooped her up. "Did Grandmother feed you well while I was gone?"
She shook her head like she actually understood me, and I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips.
Grandmother wasn't in the living room. I headed upstairs, knocked on her door—no answer. I opened it slightly and found her asleep, soft and serene.
I adjusted her blanket and closed the door quietly behind me.
After tucking Bambi into her crib and giving her a treat (because she absolutely demanded one with those eyes).
I finally dragged myself to my room.
Shower. Pajamas. Lights low.
I lay on my back, staring at my phone
screen.
Rhea Elevane. Her name glowing like temptation.
I hovered over the call button for what felt like hours.
Then… I pressed it.
Ring.Once.Twice.
And now we wait.
She picked up.
Silence.
"Rowan, I'm assuming?" Her voice was a velvet blade—cool, direct.
"Yes," I breathed, instantly regretting how soft I sounded.
"If this is about the document," she said, not missing a beat, "I'll have it sent to you tomorrow. By dispatcher."
My brow arched. "Then why give me your number?"
I could almost hear her smirk. "Why do you think I gave you my number?"
Touché.
But before I could deliver my comeback, she cut in, her tone sharpening just slightly.
"I don't mean to be impatient, but… isn't it time you gave me an answer to my question?"
I leaned against the wall, watching the city lights flicker outside my window. "Should we meet tomorrow?"
Before she could respond, a muffled male voice interrupted on her end. "What are you doing?"
Without hesitation, she replied coolly, "I don't think that's any of your business."
There was a pause. Then—crash.Something heavy slammed against something even heavier.
And then, silence.Call ended.
I stared at the phone like it owed me an explanation. What the hell just happened?
The next day was chaos.
There was no time to chase shadows or unanswered calls—Abigail had been compromised.
She'd been sent to infiltrate a politician suspected of heading a human trafficking ring.
And now? He knew exactly who she was. The bastard would do whatever it took to erase her.
But not before we got to him first.
She'd already discovered one of his ring locations.
Not the final nest—but close enough to burn a trail.
I grabbed my phone and dialed. The call connected instantly.
"Hey, Alex."
"Arian—sorry, Rowan." He corrected himself mid-sentence.
I clenched my jaw. "You make that mistake in public, we're both dead."
"Got it. Everything's ready. I know why you're calling—nothing will go wrong. I promise."
"Call Mikail. Station them everywhere. Once I count to three, you better already be there. Focus. On. Me."
Those last three words weren't for flair. They were life insurance.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my cuffs. Black hair slicked back, dark eyes sharp, suit flawless. I was wearing a Kiton—subtle flex.
Expensive, but never loud. I looked like money, and more importantly, I moved like danger wrapped in silk.
I stepped out, and the office practically paused. The stares were loud, even if the room stayed quiet.
"Isn't there something different about him today?"
"I didn't know we had such a hot manager."
"Even though I've seen him like this three times, I still can't get enough."
"If he looked like this every day, maybe I'd show up on time."
They whispered like I couldn't hear them. I could. I just didn't care.I didn't dress like this often—attention was never my thing.
But today was a performance. One I intended to steal.
I didn't drive myself either. Naomi was behind the wheel—our trusted driver and one of our best handlers. She'd stay with the car and assist with the capture.
I sat in the backseat, watching street lights flicker across the window. The calm before the storm.
We pulled into the garage of a mansion that reeked of overcompensation. Naomi parked and dipped her head slightly before I got out.
A swarm of bodyguards moved toward me, ushering me in like I belonged there.
I walked in like I owned the damn place. Because power? It's not in the money. It's in how you wear it.
The smell hit me first. Heavy cologne, stale cigars, and something I didn't want to identify. I didn't flinch—these people were used to rot.
That's why they didn't notice it anymore.
The room was wide and dark, lit with multicolor LEDs trying too hard to be seductive.
Desperate opulence.
"Mr. Rowan!" Alex called out, smiling too wide. I smiled back—cool, controlled—and grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray.
He nodded toward a man approaching.
"This is Mr. Rowan. You know—started from nothing, owns his own company now. Open-minded, too."
Smooth. Scripted.
"And this," Alex continued, "is Mr. Dominik, our host tonight."
Dominik looked exactly how I expected him to.
Greasy charm, untrusting eyes, handshake like a wet fish.
"I've heard a lot about you," I said, keeping my tone even. "Alex speaks highly of you."
Dominik smiled like a man who doesn't trust anyone but enjoys the performance.
"That's nice. Hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Rowan."
"I will." I raised my glass. My other hand stayed in my pocket, near steel.
His attention shifted toward someone entering the room. His eyes lit up.
"Miss Elevane! Your fiancé didn't come with you?"
My head turned before my brain could process the name. And there she was.
Rhea.
Smiling like she meant it—but I could see through it. That was a performance smile. A social chess move.
She walked up to Dominik and gave him a warm hug that was entirely too familiar.
And then… her eyes met mine.
Rhea
I walked into the hospital, heels clicking against the pristine tiles, a single flower in hand.
VIP Room.
There he was. My fiancé. Face bruised, and bandaged. Unmoving.
He should've known better than to lay a hand on me last night.
Now look at him—half-conscious and alone.I tilted my head, feigning concern, and placed the flower in the vase beside him.
Attached to it, a note.
"Recover well."
And beneath the fake smile? Satisfaction.