chapter 3

𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐍

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my Manhattan office, watching the city stretch beneath me. From up here, New York looked almost... insignificant. Like a game I’d already won. Every building, every street, every frantic soul rushing below—it all moved the way I allowed it to.

Power wasn't something I chased. I owned it. Controlled it. Wielded it with every decision I made.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my Manhattan office, watching the city stretch beneath me. From up here, New York looked almost... insignificant. Like a game I’d already won. Every building, every street, every frantic soul rushing below—it all moved the way I allowed it to.

Power wasn't something I chased. I owned it. Controlled it. Wielded it with every decision I made.

The phone on my desk buzzed again. Another board update. Right on schedule. I glanced at my Rolex and smiled faintly. Always on time.

Everything about me ran like clockwork. No margin for error. No space for weakness. Valor & Co. wasn’t just a company—it was an empire. And though I inherited the name, the empire itself? That was all mine. Every deal, every takeover, every ruthless move had my fingerprint burned into it.

I turned away from the window and walked back to my desk. Numbers blinked on the screen—precise, clean, brilliant. What others saw as pressure, I saw as poetry.

The door creaked open, and my assistant stepped in, tablet in hand.

"Mr. Valor, the board's assembled and waiting."

I gave a single nod, not sparing him a glance. Formalities slowed things down. And warmth? That didn’t belong in my world. I ran things with logic and results.

The moment I entered the glass-walled conference room, the chatter vanished. Silence swept the space like a command.

I didn’t need to raise my voice. My presence did enough.

"Afternoon," I said simply.

"We’ll keep this brief. Valor & Co. is set to surpass our Q2 projections. The AvelinTech merger closes on Monday. From now on, I expect zero delays, zero deviation. Is that clear?"

Heads nodded in unison. No one spoke.

I launched into the presentation—flawless, efficient, brutal. I outlined every move for the next quarter, pointed out weak points in our international branches, and made it crystal clear that failure was not an option.

"Any concerns?" I asked. I already knew the answer.

Silence.

"Good. This meeting is done."

I rose, buttoned my jacket, and walked out. I didn’t need to wait for reactions. They’d fall in line. They always did.

Back in my office, I sank into the rhythm of data again. My mind didn’t rest. It didn’t need to. This was where I thrived. Structure, control, dominance. No hesitation. No distractions.

As far as I was concerned, I had everything I needed.

I was Rowan Valor. I ruled my world—and that was enough.

The moment I stepped into the mansion, something shifted. Not much, but enough to feel it.

Here, the world didn’t bow to me.

The sound of some dramatic reality show floated in from the living room. Predictable. Grandma’s latest obsession.

I rounded the corner and paused.

Millie was curled up in a blanket on the couch, eyes wide like she was watching a Shakespearean tragedy. Rohn sat next to her, pretending not to care—but the subtle crease in his brow gave him away. And in the middle, regal as ever, was Grandma, sipping her tea like royalty watching chaos unfold on television.

I leaned against the wall, a faint smile tugging at my mouth. Just for a second.

This wasn’t the world I commanded.

But it was the only place that ever commanded me.

"You’re just in time, Rowan," Grandma said, her tone affectionate, though her eyes never left the screen.

"Sit for dinner," she added casually, already absorbed in the next scene.

"Foolish woman, don't walk into that room. It's a trap, you idiot," she muttered under her breath.

I sighed and made my way upstairs without a word.

My room greeted me with its usual sterile stillness. Immaculate. Cold. No clutter, no chaos. Just the kind of order I kept around me to stay in control.

I slipped out of my blazer, draped it over a chair, and stepped into the shower. The hot water dulled the sharpness of the day, just a little.

By the time I came back down, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, the dining table was already set. The staff moved quietly, serving without a word, but the faint hum of the television still echoed in the background.

Millie, of course, hadn't moved an inch. Eyes glued to the screen, plate untouched.

"Millie, come to the table," Mom called, already sounding exasperated.

No response.

I walked over to the plug and pulled it from the socket.

The screen went black.

"Rowan!" Millie shrieked, bolting upright like I’d just committed a crime.

"Plug it in again, and I’ll cut the Wi-Fi to every device you own," I said calmly.

She froze. Her mouth dropped open in betrayal, but she knew I wasn’t bluffing.

With a groan of pure drama, she stomped over and collapsed into a chair.

"You’re such a buzzkill," she muttered, prompting a round of chuckles from the rest.

"Honestly, with the way you act, no girl in her right mind would want to be with you. You all should stop looking for a match. Save some poor woman the trouble," she added, rolling her eyes.

"Millie," Mom warned gently. But Dad and Grandpa were already laughing.

"And what about you, shortie?" Rohn grinned, sitting back in his chair. "Tell them, Mom. Another guy ghosted her—"

Millie slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish, her eyes flashing.

"Shut up!" she hissed.

Everyone laughed, except me. I frowned slightly. I knew exactly what Rohn had almost said.

I glanced at Millie. Her smile had vanished. There was a flicker of something vulnerable behind her eyes.

"Both of you. In my study. After dinner," I said quietly.

She groaned, shooting daggers at Rohn, who only smirked.

"Let it go, Rowan," Grandpa said gently. "I need a word with you too."

I nodded without lifting my gaze.

"Pass me the pudding," Dad whispered to Rohn, trying not to catch Mom’s attention.

Rohn looked between them, hesitated, then reached—

Only for Mom to snatch the bowl before he could.

"You’re diabetic, William," she said flatly.

"Just one spoonful, Olivia," Dad pleaded, like a child begging for candy.

"Go ahead," she replied, without missing a beat. "But you’ll be sleeping in the guest room."

Defeated, he leaned back with a groan.

"Poor Dad," Millie teased. "No wonder Rowan’s like this. Mom trained him with that icy stare."

That earned her a glare from both Mom and me, which immediately shut her up.

Dad looked down at his bland soup with the face of a man betrayed by life itself.

Who’d believe this was the same man that ran one of America’s biggest business empires—now pouting over pudding?