Rise of the Sovereign: Wayne Stark

Chapter Two

Wayne walked hopelessly down the slick pavement of the Romanos estate, each step heavier than the last. The rain came in slow sheets, soaking through his clothes and matting his hair to his forehead. He didn’t care. He welcomed the cold. The sting of water on his skin felt less cruel than the slap he’d received hours earlier.

The house he approached was a sleek, modern two-story villa nestled at the edge of the estate grounds—a wedding gift to Lena from the Romanos’ real estate division. It had ivory walls, sharp glass architecture, and landscaping manicured to perfection, like a magazine cover. To outsiders, it was a symbol of success. To Wayne, it was a palace with no king.

To the world, he was Lena’s husband. But inside that villa, Wayne was a shadow. They had been married for over two years, yet never once had he stood in front of her like a real man and spoken heart to heart. She took the bed. He slept on the floor. They moved around each other like strangers, joined by a name but divided by silence.

As thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, a pair of footsteps approached on the rain-slick street. Wayne barely turned—until an umbrella hovered above his head.

He looked up.

Lena.

She stood in a fitted black coat, a burgundy scarf wrapped neatly around her neck, her heels tapping softly against the wet pavement. Her expression was unreadable, but her presence alone sent confusion ripping through Wayne.

“Why are you walking in the rain?” she asked quietly, her dark eyes searching his face.

“I…” He swallowed. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Come with me,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

He followed silently, stunned. She’d never looked at him this way before—like maybe, just maybe, she saw something in him.

She led him to her car—a matte graphite Lexus UX 250h, modest by Romanos standards but elegant, practical, and worth around $35,000. The hybrid purred to life as she turned the key. Inside, the cabin was immaculately kept, the soft leather scented with designer perfume and quiet restraint.

The rain continued to tap softly on the roof as Lena drove, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Then came the question.

“So,” she asked, voice low, “what do you need money for?”

Wayne hesitated. What was this—concern? Or something else?

“My friend. David. He was in an accident. He needs surgery. I wasn’t trying to cause a scene at the burial…”

She didn’t respond right away. Just exhaled—softly, like someone letting go of something tightly held.

“It’s okay,” she finally said.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, filled only by the rhythmic sweep of windshield wipers.

They pulled into the driveway. The villa’s lights cast a soft amber glow on the driveway tiles as they entered.

Inside, the living room was warm and refined. Cream walls, a silver chandelier, and a tufted velvet sofa set. On that couch sat a young man—Peter Arnold—laughing alongside Gift, Lena’s mother.

“Oh, here she comes!” Gift chirped. “Lena, meet this handsome guest—just returned from abroad. The son of Mr. Arnold…”

Her smile faltered the moment Wayne stepped in behind Lena.

Peter rose smoothly, dressed in a tailored navy suit. His cologne hit before his words. “Hi, I’m Peter Arnold. You know me, right?” He offered a hand and a grin.

The Arnolds were titans of industry—their billion-dollar food and beverage empire often made even the Romanos seem provincial. Gift had moved fast when she heard Peter had taken interest in Lena—especially after learning her marriage to Wayne had always been contractual.

Peter’s eyes drank Lena in, head to toe. “You’re beautiful,” he said, no shame in his bluntness. “Hard to imagine someone like you ending up with…” He glanced at Wayne. “…a pauper. But your mom explained. Contract marriage. Makes sense now. And now that your grandfather’s gone, I guess you’re free.”

Lena coughed, her smile tightening. “That’s… not really—”

Peter interrupted, “No worries. You’ll need time to settle things. I get it.”

Then his gaze shifted toward Wayne.

“You must be Wayne Stark.”

Wayne said nothing. His expression was unreadable.

Peter smirked. “I heard the Romanos are cutting you off. Leeching time’s over, huh?”

He stepped closer. “Why are you staring like that? Got something to say? Step out of line, and I’ll beat you like a dog.”

Gift laughed—light, awkward. She pretended he was joking. He wasn’t.

Lena cleared her throat. “Peter, maybe you should go now.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Of course. I’ll check in soon, princess.”

On his way out, he leaned toward Wayne. “Hey, if you ever want a job cleaning toilets at my dad’s company, I might hook you up.” He casually flashed a wristwatch worth half a million dollars before slipping out the door.

Wayne didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared ahead.

When they were alone, Lena turned to him.

“I’ll help you,” she said softly. “Don’t tell my mom.”

She pulled a sleek black card from her purse. “There’s $300,000 on this. Use it to save your friend—and buy some proper clothes. I don’t like how people look down on you. It affects me, too.”

Wayne blinked, stunned. “Thank you, Lena.”

Before the moment could settle, Gift returned—with a man in a charcoal suit and a thick envelope in his hand.

“Hi, sir,” the man said to Wayne, “I didn’t get a chance to greet you earlier. These are your divorce papers.”

“What?” Lena gasped.

Her mother frowned. “Wayne, did you know about this? Did you ask for a divorce?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Gift cut in.

“Does it matter? Your grandma called. She said if we want to stay in the family’s good graces, you need to divorce Wayne. End of story.”

Lena’s hands curled into fists. “Why does everyone keep deciding my life for me?”

“I’m your mother,” Gift snapped. “I know what’s best.”

Wayne reached out calmly. “Let me see the papers.”

He flipped through the pages slowly, then looked up. “A pen?”

The room froze. Even Gift seemed stunned.

“You’re really going to sign it?” Lena whispered.

“What else should I do?” he murmured. “I was just a tool. A placeholder. A way to help your family claw its way back.”

“Watch your mouth, you jerk,” Gift snapped. “We’ve carried your burden long enough.”

Wayne didn’t argue. He placed Lena’s card gently on the coffee table, beside the divorce papers.

Then—

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

His phone rang. He answered it, his eyes widening.

“What?!” he gasped.

All eyes turned to him.

“I need to go,” he said. “I’ll sign it when I’m back.”

He ran out before anyone could stop him.

⸻

At the Hospital

Wayne burst through the double doors, rain still dripping from his coat.

“Please—my friend. David. He was admitted this morning,” he told the nurse breathlessly.

She nodded. “Ah—Mr. Wayne Stark. Room 13. VIP.”

He froze. “VIP?”

“Yes, sir. Someone came in and made the arrangements. Said his name was Zack. He also said…” She smiled sweetly, unsure. “He said… you’re his master.”

Wayne blinked. “What?”

“Master,” she repeated gently.

Confused and unnerved, Wayne hurried down the corridor.

Inside Room 13, David lay in a private suite, looking peaceful. Color had returned to his face. His breathing was steady. Machines beeped softly in the background.

Wayne stood at his side, overwhelmed with relief.

A genuine smile found its way to his lips. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t forced.

But the nurse’s words lingered.

Master…?

What the hell was going on?