2025-04-23 17:26:11Three days had passed since Rowan dropped the divorce papers and left.
No calls. No messages. Not even a ghost of a presence in the apartment they once shared. Lena didn’t care. At least that’s what she told herself every time she slipped off her heels and stepped into the silence of their—no, her condo.
Lena did not sign the divorce papers, or rather, she had no time to sit down to sign some papers which were practically useless. She believed Rowan would eventually come to his senses and return to her on his knees, begging for her to accept him back. The world was cruel to poor losers like him. As for her, she would eventually drop the dead weight. She just needed to clear her head first.
She had her promotion. She had respect. She had Dominic Voss—the silver-tongued exec whose gaze always lingered too long.
And yet…
“Ma’am,” her assistant called from the doorway, a tight expression on her face. “The CFO from QuantumBridge just canceled the meeting. They said they'll be ‘shifting their partnerships elsewhere.’”
Lena’s brow creased. “What? We were this close to signing that merger.”
“I know,” the assistant said. “They didn’t give a reason.”
Lena waved her off and sat back. Her heels ached. Her head was pounding.
Just a bad day, she thought. Everyone has one.
But then the emails started flooding in.
Subject: Urgent – Redacted Funds
Subject: Supplier Contracts PulledSubject: Delays on Delivery. Immediate Action RequiredBy noon, three major accounts had gone cold. Clients who’d practically begged to work with her just last week now refused to take her calls. Her mother, the manager of her department, walked into her office in the afternoon, her face pale.
“They're saying there's a leak,” she whispered. “Legal’s involved. And the regional director… he’s looking into your projects personally. What is going on, Lena?”
Lena blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Her mother hesitated, eyes flickering with doubt. “Are you sure you didn’t mess with the numbers? All this progress… it came too fast, Lena. You were top of the board for months. You don’t fail me, girl.”
The words stung deeper than she expected.
**************
Lena’s heels hit the sidewalk in rushed, clipped steps. Her driver had called out sick—again—so she was left navigating the madness of evening traffic like any other ordinary person. She hated being late. Especially tonight.
The Obsidian Tech gala was the biggest corporate gathering of the quarter. Every major player in the city would be there—investors, CEOs, partners, the press, and most importantly, Echelon Eight Group, the biggest firm in the world. She was going not just as a guest, but as the newly celebrated golden girl of the company. The woman who closed two of the most difficult partnerships in the last six months.
Except now... both of those deals had just fallen through. She’d barely reached her building when her phone started ringing.
Unknown Number.
She picked it up.
“Miss Aston,” came the voice of Mr. Granger—one of the key investors at Apex Holdings, one of Obsidian’s biggest partners. “I assume you’ll be attending the gala?”
“Yes, of course.” She tried to steady her tone. “Why?”
“There will be a follow-up meeting afterward. The board wants to have a word. Some questions have come up. I’d advise you to be there. Promptly.”
Her stomach dropped. “Is something wrong?”
There was a long pause. Then: “Just... be prepared.” The line clicked off.
Lena stood frozen on the curb, phone still pressed to her ear as the wind blew past her.
Prepared for what? Bad? Good?
As the elevator took her up to the 14th floor, her inbox was already stacking with red flags.
Subject: Termination of MOU – Westline Digital
Subject: Urgent – Delay in Fund ReleaseSubject: Notice of Compliance ReviewEach ping was like a pin to her spine.
Inside her condo, the walls felt too quiet again. She kicked off her shoes and paced, biting down on her bottom lip. She opened her laptop, pulling up the latest numbers. The math didn’t add up. None of it did.
She called Calvin—the firm’s junior financial analyst, who always double-checked her files.
“Did something change with the QuantumBridge account?” she asked, trying to sound composed.
“No, I mean... it did, but I thought you knew. All the backend assistance we used to get—like the algorithm targeting and optimization systems we used for the pitches—those were handled by your private partner, weren’t they?”
Lena paused. “My what?”
Calvin cleared his throat awkwardly. “Rowan. I mean... I assumed you guys worked together.” Her mind reeled.
Those pitch decks... the perfect presentations... the data insights that somehow got them in rooms no one else could.
Rowan.
She sank onto the couch, fingers pressing into her temple.
She remembered now. The late nights he’d be tapping away on his laptop, casually asking her about her client list. He always claimed he just liked helping. She thought he was just messing around, playing pretend businessman while she carried the real weight.
But now... without him...
It felt like the scaffolding had been ripped from under her success. And no one was coming to catch her.
Still, she shook her head. No. She’d fix this. She just needed to look sharp tonight. Smile. Keep it all together. Rowan was nothing but a loser, and really, Dominic or any other person could do what he did and more. Or she could simply hire her own PA.
She moved to her wardrobe and pulled out her black velvet gown—the one that screamed “power” and “untouchable.” Her hair was quickly swept up, and makeup was applied with precise hands. As she added the final touch—diamond earrings she bought herself—her phone buzzed again.
A message from her mother:
“Be careful tonight. The board isn’t happy. Something about tampered projections.”Her pulse quickened. Then another ping.
Dominic Voss: “Car’s waiting downstairs. Let’s not keep the sharks waiting, superstar”
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, then turned off her phone and grabbed her clutch.
Previous Chapter
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Chapter 34: And The Lion
“You’ve been living from paycheck to paycheck. You sleep four hours a night, chase tips like a dog, and then expect me to believe we’re going to have a future together? I’m sorry—no, I’m not sorry—I just can’t keep pretending you’re not dragging me down. If you were in my shoes, you’d probably do the same. No one wants to suffer!” The crowd went still. No one expected that level of venom. Jason stared at her like she’d just gutted him. “You think I’ve been dragging you down?” he whispered, voice razor-thin. “You wanna talk about weight? About management?” He took a step forward. Carson tensed beside her. “Who paid for your textbooks when your dad stopped sending money because his business crashed? Who walked three miles in the damn snow to bring you your meds when you had mono and your roommates bailed on you? Who sat with your mom for fourteen hours in that roach-ridden clinic while she was fighting pneumonia, because all three of her sons were too busy ‘networking’ at brunch?”
Chapter 33: The Lamb
PRESENT DAY Jason almost tripped out of the boardroom, disbelief draping over him like a second skin. One minute, he was just Jason, a campus nobody with a part-time job at Billy’s Diner Grill. The next, he was walking out with a Lexus at his side, ready to be presented to the most powerful man in the world as “his son for the evening.” The surreal nature of the moment made his heart drum in his ribs—but it also ignited something else: a fierce, electric thrill. He paused in the lobby, hands trembling, doubt creeping in. Me? But Elena’s voice had been firm, unwavering. “You fit the role, Jason. Just be yourself—carry yourself like you already own the place.” So he’d smiled, nodded, climbed into the car that cost more than a starter home, and drove away from everything he thought he knew. By midday, he was back at college—his second home, and his daily battlefield—sunglasses masking his fatigue, hidden in a sleek but borrowed jacket. The campus buzzed with the usual midday fre
Chapter 32: A Boi From De Streetz
Jason's shift at Billy’s Diner dragged toward night like molasses down a dirty counter. One more coffee. One more plate of fries. One more fake smile for a customer who wouldn’t tip anyway. He wiped the grease off his brow with the back of his hand, apron stained and shoes soaked from the busted dishwasher pipe beneath the sink. “Hey, Jason. Make sure you lock the doors on your way out. I don't want them niggas sniffing around my restaurant at night,” Mr. Billy barked, keys already dangling in his hand as he slipped on his ancient windbreaker. “If anything goes missing, you're paying for it. You hear me?” Jason nodded without looking. “Got it, sir.” Mr. Billy grunted something about ungrateful youth and disappeared into the night, leaving the creaky screen door flapping behind him. Jason exhaled. He worked as a waiter. A chef. A cleaner. And apparently now, a security guard. All for seven bucks an hour, under the table. No benefits. No breaks. Just bitter coffee and the promise
Chapter 31: Smoke And Mirrors
Rowan’s private lift opened straight into the top-floor suite of Echelon Eight. It still felt strange, riding up fifty stories alone. No chime, no polite “ding,” just doors that parted like stage curtains whenever the biometric scanner recognized his pulse. Inside, Elena already had the war-room look on her face: hair twisted in a low knot, glasses perched halfway down her nose, one finger flying across a tablet while the other hand paged through three color-coded folders at once. She never seemed rushed, only calibrated. Rowan stood before the glass, the skyline sprawled beneath him like a chessboard on fire — towers glowing, cars streaming through arteries of light. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, subtle but real. Elena saw it. She’d been watching him for years, and she could count on one hand the times that smile had appeared like that — genuine, not calculated. The last time, if she remembered right, was the day he found out his secret investment in a failin
Chapter 30: The View From The Top
Victoria Lang’s office was suspended near the summit of LangCorp’s glass tower, commanding a full, ruthless view of the city below. The skyline stretched beyond her floor-to-ceiling windows, its jagged beauty reflected across panels of taaffeite, a rare violet gemstone mined only in trace amounts deep in East Africa. The stone shimmered faintly in the daylight — subtle, almost unreal — worked seamlessly into the walls like it belonged there more than concrete ever could. Rowan’s gaze lingered. “That’s not marble.” Victoria didn’t look up from her tablet. “It’s taaffeite.” He let out a low whistle. “You lined your office with stones rarer than diamonds.” She finally looked up, one brow lifted. “What else would I use? Wallpaper?” Then she stood, heels clicking softly against polished stone. “Sit, Rowan. Let’s talk.” Not a single object in the room was placed without purpose — the furniture was sharp, clean-lined, the air tinged with the faintest note of sandalwood and something
Chapter 29: When The Queen Came Downstairs
Far above the Manhattan skyline, nestled on the uppermost floors of the Monarch Tower, stood LangCorp Innovations LangCrop, a sleek empire of steel and tinted glass with its own gravitational pull, sat beautifully over a huge space of land. Thirty-eight stories of technology, luxury, and influence. The name LangCorp alone turned heads in global boardrooms. Their revenue could cripple small countries. Their clientele included governments, oil conglomerates, and elite institutions. It was the kind of company people bowed to, but even LangCorp couldn’t compare to a single unit of Echelon Eight. And that, perhaps, was what made today interesting. A black Bugatti Divo hummed low into the private underground entrance, its matte finish reflecting nothing, just like the man inside it. The driver stepped out, tall, unreadable. Rowan Kane adjusted the cuff of his jacket and glanced once at his reflection in the mirror by the elevator. Clean lines, clean eyes, clean intentions — and a hidde
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