Covenant General Hospital smelled of antiseptic and despair.Rohen’s shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he hurried down the fourth-floor corridor, still wearing his valet uniform from the gala. He’d come straight here, unable to go home, unable to face Lira’s tears or his own failure. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and unforgiving.Room 447. The number was burned into his memory.He pushed through the door and stopped cold.Mira lay in the bed, her skin translucent against the white sheets, dark circles beneath her closed eyes. IV lines snaked from her thin arms. The heart monitor beeped steadily, each sound a reminder that she was still here. Still alive.For now.“Mr. Ashtekar.”Rohen turned to find Dr. Henrik Strauss standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand, his expression carved from stone. The doctor was tall, silver-haired, with the kind of aristocratic face that had probably never known real hardship.“Doctor.” Rohen’s voice came out hoarse. “I know the pay

The Veymar estate sprawled across three acres of manicured lawns and marble fountains, a monument to old money and older cruelty. Rohen stood in the doorway of the grand sitting room, watching his wife’s family gather like vultures around fresh prey.He’d returned from the hospital an hour ago, slipping through the servants’ entrance as always. No one had asked where he’d been. No one cared.“Quiet, all of you.” Matriarch Isolde’s voice cut through the chatter. She sat in her usual high-backed chair, a queen holding court, her emerald necklace catching the chandelier light. “We have urgent business to discuss.”The room fell silent. Olivier lounged on the sofa, legs crossed, looking bored. Dante Severan stood near the window, swirling brandy in a crystal glass. Lira sat near her grandmother, hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. She hadn’t seen Rohen yet.Other relatives filled the remaining seats—cousins, uncles, business associates. All of them draped in designer clothes, all of t

Armitage studied him for a long moment. “You’re learning fast.”The rooftop terrace overlooked the Aegean like a throne room over a kingdom. Marble floors, linen canopies billowing in the breeze, the sea stretching endless and blue below. Rohen stood at the edge, hands in his pockets, watching sailboats drift across the water like white birds.Behind him, voices murmured in multiple languages—French, German, Italian, English. Lucien’s trusted advisors, CEOs of Europe’s most prestigious hotel groups, all gathered for one purpose.To merge their empires with his.“Mr. Ashtekar.” A woman in an immaculate gray suit approached, extending her hand. “Margaux Beaumont, CEO of Luxe Européen Hotels. We’re honored by this partnership.”Rohen shook her hand, noting the deference in her eyes. She ran a company worth $30 billion, and she was honored to work with him.The meeting lasted two hours. Documents signed, champagne poured, hands shaken. A merger worth $70 billion, completed over canapés an

Rohen found Lira in their small room that night, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. She stared at the floor, her shoulders hunched with the weight of impossible expectations.“You should do it,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.She looked up, eyes wide. “What?”“The Avalon contract. You should compete for it.”Lira shook her head immediately. “Rohen, I can’t—”“You can.” He sat beside her, taking her hand. “You’re an interior designer, Lira. A brilliant one. You have talent they don’t.”“Talent doesn’t matter.” Her voice cracked. “Olivier has connections. Dante has money. I have nothing but a portfolio of projects no one’s ever seen.”“The Avalon CEO doesn’t care about connections or money,” Rohen said, choosing his words carefully. “They care about vision. Innovation. Someone who can create something extraordinary.”“How do you know that?”Because I am the Avalon CEO, he thought. Because I would choose you over all of them without hesitation

The servants’ quarters felt different tonight.Not because the basement room had changed—it was still cramped, still smelled of mildew, still had the same thin mattress and flickering overhead bulb. But Rohen lay there smiling, staring at the water-stained ceiling, feeling like a king.Lira had won.His underestimated wife, Lira, had walked into a boardroom full of executives and claimed a fifty billion dollar contract on her own merit. The look on Isolde’s face when she’d opened that portfolio. Olivier’s rage. Dante choking on his wine.Rohen replayed it in his mind like a favorite song.He’d spent the evening with Lira after the family dinner collapsed into chaos. They’d escaped to the gardens while the Veymars argued in furious whispers, trying to process what had happened. Under the stars, Lira had laughed and cried and held him tight.“I can’t believe it,” she’d whispered. “They actually chose me.”“I never doubted you,” Rohen had said, and meant it.For the first time since thei