THE KASTELLAN HEIR.

THE FIRST MOVE.

A man dressed in a loud, pricey suit had latched onto their group the second they stepped inside the building. He lingered close to Ronan and Sienna, though the guards blocked him from getting any nearer, keeping the private elevator off-limits to anyone else.

“Who was that guy?” Ronan asked Sienna as the elevator rose smoothly and silently upward.

“That’s Warrick, the boss over this branch,” she answered. “He’s a tough one. Firm, capable, and he’s overseen more than seven hundred staff here for eight years straight without ever slipping in output.”

Ronan spotted himself in the polished brass panel of the elevator and smirked. “So tell me, Sienna, how many people actually answer to me?”

She glanced his way, then blew out a tired, half-amused laugh. “Truthfully? There’s no counting them. Between all the branches, holdings, and offices scattered worldwide, giving you an exact total just isn’t possible.”

Ronan chuckled quietly. This was a dream he never thought he’d live. He held sway over countless lives, yet couldn’t name a single one of them.

“Anyway,” he added as the numbers ticked higher toward the top floor, “forget the ‘Mr. Kastellan’ business. Just say Ronan.”

Surprise flashed across her face. She hesitated, then offered a courteous nod. “Understood, Mr. Kastellan. I mean, Ronan.”

The doors slid open, exposing the lone office occupying the entire top level. Ronan walked out and let out an audible gasp. It felt less like a workplace and more like a temple built for wealth. It came with its own barista counter, a sitting area with couches soft as pillows, and a massive desk that looked built for royalty. Three floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, showing all of Halloway City below. Ronan stepped toward the glass and gazed down. The people below looked like tiny insects. Up here, he finally felt like he belonged to the Kastellan name.

A gentle tap came at the door. Sienna let Warrick inside, and he entered wearing a rehearsed, comfortable grin. He appeared polished, though his gaze stayed alert, the look of someone who’d learned how to navigate cutthroat waters.

“Mr. Kastellan, it’s truly an honor to finally stand before you,” Warrick said, his tone dripping with measured respect.

“Take a seat, Warrick,” Ronan said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk.

Warrick lowered himself into it, setting down a slim folder on the desk’s surface. “Warrick here, running this location. I’ll get straight to it, sir. Are there any adjustments you’d like made now that leadership has shifted?”

Ronan looked toward Sienna. She leaned in. “He wants to know if you plan to shuffle departments or swap out any executives.”

Ronan sank back into his chair, pressing his fingertips together the way his grandfather once showed him. He let quiet stretch out before answering. “According to what I’ve reviewed, earnings here have climbed steadily over three years running. Nothing needs fixing if it’s already working well. Keep the team as it stands. We’ll only act if performance slips.”

Warrick’s shoulders eased visibly. He appreciated what he saw here: a young leader who stayed patient and level-headed. It spared him the hassle of an executive overhaul.

“Anything further, sir?” he asked, starting to rise.

“Actually, one more thing.” Ronan tilted forward, his tone shifting into something icy and blunt. “I’d like to acquire a business. What’s the usual timeline for a forced buyout?”

Warrick’s expression stayed unreadable. “For someone bearing the Kastellan name? You could claim anything you wanted. Name the company.”

“Brentford Design,” Ronan said.

Warrick’s brow creased as his memory searched for a match. “Brentford? Doesn’t ring a bell. Give me a second.” He grabbed his tablet and swiped rapidly. His frown grew heavier. “Brentford Design? Sir, that’s a tiny design outfit. Fewer than two hundred employees. It barely registers anywhere. We’d have it absorbed within three days.”

“Three days?” Ronan repeated.

“No problem at all. We snap up whatever shares are available, squeeze their creditors, and ownership transfers to us. Want the founder wiped out entirely? We can drive him into bankruptcy inside a week. And if there’s any shady bookkeeping, which men like him almost always have, we can land him behind bars too.”

“Make it happen,” Ronan said, his expression hardening into something merciless. “I want the entire company. I want the man who runs it stripped down to nothing but what he’s wearing.”

Sienna watched Warrick exit, then faced Ronan, confusion creasing her forehead. “Why do you even care about some struggling design firm, Ronan?”

Ronan stood and reached for his jacket. “Don’t worry about the reasons, Sienna. Just get the paperwork moving.”

“Your grandfather always used your father’s surname, never his first,” she mentioned quietly as Ronan moved toward the exit.

He glanced back. “I’m nothing like my grandfather.”

Skipping the driver entirely, he chose the most reckless vehicle sitting in the garage, a black Lamborghini, and steered it toward the life he used to live. He pulled up outside the house where he’d once existed like hired help inside his own marriage. A knock brought the one face he least wanted to see.

“Ugh, not this clown,” he thought bitterly.

“Well, look who showed up,” Coleman said with a sneer, propped against the doorway. “If it isn’t the washed-up husband.” He stopped short, eyes widening as he clocked the suit and the car humming behind Ronan. “Whose closet did you raid, Ronan? Comes with tissues for that pitiful mug of yours?”

Ronan kept his fingers loose at his sides. Coleman’s cluelessness was almost laughable.

“Coleman, who’s at the door?” Margaux’s voice rang out as she appeared behind him. She stopped cold. Her mouth dropped open. “You again? What do you want here? You still look just as pathetic, Ronan.”

It was an obvious lie. Her hands trembled slightly. She noticed the transformation clearly, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Tires squealing against the driveway pulled everyone’s attention. A polished car rolled in, and Vivienne stepped out, exhaustion written across her face. She halted mid-motion, her stare locking onto his.

The ruler had come back to the den, and the chase was finally beginning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​