THE KASTELLAN HEIR.

WELCOME TO THE EMPIRE.

Ronan walked into his office wearing a heavy frown, his thoughts a noisy jumble. Would Vivienne actually go through with sending that wedding invite? It would be a foolish move, given how clueless they still were about his new life. Then again, pride tends to blind people to the truth.

“Bunch of clowns,” he muttered, walking around his large wooden desk.

“Yeah, quite the bunch of clowns,” a sharp female voice broke into the room, catching him off guard.

“Jeez, Sienna!” Ronan said, frowning harder. “When did you get in here, and how did you even catch that?”

She shrugged, leaning on the doorframe. “I walk quietly, I hear well, and honestly, you probably wouldn’t have noticed an explosion over all that brooding.”

He let out a breath and dropped into his chair.

“What’s going on, Ronan?” Sienna asked, taking the seat across from him. “Who were those clueless people?”

He studied her for a beat. Sienna usually kept a mask of polite distance. This was the first time he’d seen real curiosity show on her face.

“Just personal stuff,” he answered shortly.

“Hmm. Doesn’t look like you’ve got it handled. If something’s bothering you, you can always talk to me. Also, don’t vanish like that again without telling me first. I’m in charge of keeping one of the wealthiest men on this continent safe.” She gave a quick, rare smile.

He couldn’t help smirking. “Sounds like you take your job a little too seriously.”

“They pay me to worry when you go off script, which I’m guessing will happen a lot.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re the boss. My grandfather told me plenty about the Kastellan men. Rules were never your strong suit. But why would I hold that against you? You’ve got the whole world under your feet. You’re Mr. Kastellan.”

Those words rolled around in his head. A twisted grin spread across his face. He was Mr. Kastellan, plain and simple. Suddenly, that wedding invite felt like something to look forward to. On that day, they’d finally see exactly what he was capable of.

“You’re right, Sienna,” he said. “Guess you’ve got plenty of work ahead.”

She laughed softly. “Can’t wait, honestly. By the way, you’ve got a flight booked to the capital. One of your jets is fueled and waiting at the mansion. We leave by midnight.”

He blinked. “Hold on. When was that set up?”

“I went over your full schedule with you this morning, Ronan. I’m guessing you tuned out,” she teased. “It’s a meeting with stakeholders at headquarters. Should be short, and you’ll get two free days afterward to enjoy the city.”

“Unbelievable,” he sighed. “And you’ll be there too?”

“Of course, sir.”

They reached the private hangar thirty minutes before midnight. His eyes felt heavy, and the whole night had a dreamlike quality to it. This was a private section of the airport reserved only for Kastellan aircraft. As they walked toward a gleaming jet, he suddenly stopped.

Etched in gold near the boarding steps were the words: RONAN KASTELLAN.

His jaw dropped. He turned to Sienna, who wore a look of quiet satisfaction.

“Yep. That’s yours. Your grandfather had your name added to the top plane in the fleet right before he passed.”

He ran a hand across the cool metal, adrenaline cutting through his exhaustion. “This is unreal,” he whispered. He’d never even stood near a private jet before, let alone owned one.

The pilot greeted them with a sharp salute, and once they leveled off at cruising height, Ronan drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sienna, meanwhile, worked the entire flight, sorting through documents and legal notes he’d need for the meeting. By the time they landed, she looked worn out, but every paper was in perfect order.

A limo waited on the tarmac already. As the engine started, Sienna finally dozed off. He picked up the folder beside her and realized she’d been working nonstop for six hours straight. She was something else.

They arrived at the city estate, a stunning penthouse, just as sunrise crept over the skyline. Sienna woke with tired eyes but didn’t give him a second to admire the view.

“You look like death warmed over, Sienna,” he remarked.

“That’s what happens when you handle the business of a tycoon,” she shot back, already barking orders at the staff. “Quick shower, Mr. Kastellan. Your suit’s ready with the maids. Breakfast in twenty minutes. Meeting’s in two hours.”

He decided to push his luck. “Why the rush? I own the company. We go whenever I feel like it.”

She stopped and turned, eyes flashing with surprise and grudging respect. “Didn’t take you long to settle into the role, did it?”

Two hours later, they stepped outside. He noticed roughly two dozen guards spread across the property, more than he’d seen back home. They wore sharp suits, but he caught the slight bulge beneath their jackets.

“Why do I need an army trailing me?” he asked as they climbed into the limo.

“For protection. As a Kastellan, you’re a target around the clock.”

“Because I’m rich?”

“Because you’re powerful. People want to knock down anyone with power, just to prove they can. Right now, your rivals are staying quiet because they don’t know a new heir has taken charge. The moment you walk into that boardroom, they’ll come out of hiding.”

“That’s messed up,” he muttered, his pulse picking up.

“You’ll adjust. Here, take a look at this.”

Sienna reached beneath a hidden panel in the limo and pressed a button. A concealed compartment slid open, revealing a small arsenal. He gasped. He recognized a few from films, but seeing them up close felt different. There were tactical shotguns, a couple of high-end rifles among them.

She lifted one out with practiced ease.

“Careful, Sienna!” he yelped, flinching.

“Relax,” she teased. “This one’s my favorite. Simple to use, hits hard.”

“You… you actually know how to fire that thing?”

“My grandfather trained me. The wildest thing he ever pulled was balancing a target on his own head and telling me to shoot it off.”

His eyes went wide. “You didn’t… did you?”

She grinned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “I did. Missed both the target and his head. We nearly gave each other heart attacks.” She laughed, and it was so infectious he found himself laughing too. “Maybe someday we’ll try it with you.”

“I’ll kill you first,” he said, eyeing the gun like a live bomb.

“No, silly. I meant you’d hold the target. I wouldn’t hand you a weapon yet, not with how much you’re shaking.”

He smirked, sinking back into the leather seat. “What if I paid you a million dollars to be the target?”

“Consider it done, Mr. Kastellan,” she replied instantly.

The strength of money, he thought. It could buy loyalty, silence, and apparently, someone’s willingness to risk their life. He was starting to enjoy being a Kastellan.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​