6. Task And Torture

Rowan's POV

I cut the bacon with clean, practiced movements, careful and silent. The knife slid through with ease, and I chewed slowly, almost mechanically—like I had no one sitting across from me. Because, in my head, I didn’t.

Nina tapped her manicured nails against the edge of her water glass, trying her best to mask the irritation in her tone with a thin layer of forced cheer. She was my twin sister. 

“So, how’s your new position going, huh?” she asked, her voice a little too sweet.

“Good,” I replied, eyes still on my plate.

“The CEO stuff might be hectic, no?” She tried again.

“Not much,” I said, taking another bite.

The truth was, Nina had done everything to get this position. She groomed herself for it. She studied business like her life depended on it. Said all the right things to all the right people—especially our father.

But it hadn’t been enough.

Because he chose me.

And Nina was handed a ring instead.

An engagement to Adrian—our father’s idea of keeping her “occupied.” Adrian had a fashion company and more I*******m followers than business sense. Nina smiled beside him in photos, played the supportive fiancée, and attended events she didn’t care about just to look like she was part of something.

But she hated it.

Hated being dressed up as a trophy instead of the one leading a boardroom.

Now she sits across from me, her barely concealed bitterness leaking through every word.

“Must be nice,” she said casually, stirring her drink. “Getting everything handed to you without lifting a finger.”

I paused mid-bite, then set my fork down, slowly looking up at her.

“I didn’t see you complaining when you were busy playing dress-up in Milan with your fiancé.”

“Don’t,” she snapped, her smile vanishing. “Don’t act like I wanted that. You know I was meant to lead this company.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Maybe. But you weren’t ready.”

She scoffed. “And you think you are?”

“I don’t need to think,” I said coolly, reaching for my glass. “I’m already here.”

Nina stared at me, lips pressed tight, like she wanted to throw her drink in my face. I wouldn’t have blamed her.

Nina leaned forward, her voice dropping into something sharper. “You know he always treated you differently, right?”

I looked up, slowly chewing, then dabbed the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “Differently or better?”

She scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Just asking.”

“You got the company,” she said, her tone tightening. “I got a fiancé I didn’t choose and a front-row seat to someone else living my life.”

I leaned back in my chair, eyeing her. “You think this job is a reward? It’s a war zone in a glass building. Be thankful you got the runway and not the wreckage.”

“Spare me the poetic suffering,” she snapped. “You wanted it. You always did. You smiled through every meeting like you were already wearing the crown.”

“And you think Dad didn’t notice you sulking every time a decision didn’t go your way?” I shot back, finally letting a sliver of heat reach my voice. “You wanted the title, Nina. Not the work.”

Her eyes flared. “That’s not true.”

“No?” I raised an eyebrow. “Then why were you always looking for shortcuts? Always trying to charm, to influence, to win people over instead of proving your place?”

She fell silent for a second—just enough to let the words sting. Then she laughed bitterly. “And you think being cold and calculating makes you better?”

“No,” I said, finishing my drink. “But it made me CEO.”

She stared at me. “He always believed in you more.”

I didn’t respond right away. I just looked at her—really looked. The same ambition in her eyes. Same fire. But always slightly out of sync with the way this world worked.

“Maybe he did,” I said finally. “Or maybe he knew this world would eat you alive, and he thought Adrian’s world would at least look good while doing it.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. For a second, we just sat there in silence—siblings on opposite sides of the same battlefield.

Then I picked up my phone and stood up from the table.

“If you want the chair so badly,” I said without looking back, “earn it.”

******************************************************

I stepped back into the building, phone tucked into my pocket, mind still halfway in the boardroom when the ding of the elevator pulled me back.

My gaze shifted—and there she was. Elena.

She stepped into the elevator, hair tied up in that effortless way, dress hugging her like it was tailored by the gods. Of course she looked completely unbothered. Like she hadn’t called me a brat in a designer suit just hours ago.

I moved, and just before the doors closed, I reached out and tapped the button—too smoothly, if I’m being honest. The doors slid open again, and I stepped in.

She glanced at me, then quickly averted her gaze to the floor.

Smart. I pressed my floor number. So did she.

Of course.

Her perfume lingered in the air—something soft, floral, but grounded with a warm undertone I couldn’t place. I wanted to lean in closer, just slightly. Breathe her in. Maybe trail my mouth along her neck, just to see if she’d taste as good as she smelled—

“I found those files.”

Her voice cut through my thoughts like cold water.

I blinked.

“What files?”

She raised an eyebrow, barely turning toward me.

Oh. Those files.

Right. The dusty, forgotten, likely spider-infested files from the archive room.

“Okay,” I said coolly, straightening my suit jacket.

I could’ve left it at that. But where’s the fun in that?

“Great,” I said. “Here's your next task.”

She tilted her head slightly and looked at me like she wanted to strangle me with my tie.

I turned just enough to meet her gaze. “I need a presentation ready by this evening. It’s for our next project proposal—layout, strategy, and projected numbers. You’ll find everything in the internal system. Use your head. Impress me.”

She opened her mouth—probably to protest—but I cut in smoothly.

“Oh, and don’t be late. I don’t tolerate delays.” I offered her the faintest, most infuriating smile. “Especially from those trying to prove they belong here.”

She didn’t answer.

I leaned back, completely unfazed. “Oh, and Miss Hart… this company runs on accuracy. Don’t mix up a single line.”

The way her jaw clenched said enough.

Let’s see how long she lasts.

******************************************************

I passed by the surveillance room like I usually did—half-focused, skimming through emails on my phone—until something caught my eye on the main screen.

There Elena was. 

She was supposed to be working on the presentation I’d assigned—due by evening—but instead, she was at the workstation, half-turned in her chair, laughing with two of the interns.

Smiling. Talking. Relaxed.

Like she didn’t have a single deadline hanging over her head.

I tilted my head slightly, watching her gesture with her hand, animated, like she belonged in some college group project.

She wasn’t slacking entirely—her screen had a few slides open—but the casual posture, the comfort, the ease... it grated on me.

I straightened my blazer.

Five minutes later, I stepped onto the office floor.

The moment I entered, heads turned. Conversations died. Elena didn’t even notice until I was standing right beside her desk.

She looked up—smiling at first.

Until she saw my face.

I gave her exactly three seconds to say something.

She didn’t.

Perfect.

“Miss Hart,” I said, my voice calm and cutting. “I wasn’t aware we started paying new hires to socialize.”

“I—I was just—”

“Talking,” I finished for her. “Yes, I saw. On the security feed. Fascinating display of mediocrity.”

I let my gaze drift to the interns. “You two,” I said sharply. “Back to work. Unless you want your names next on my desk.”

They scrambled, practically running.

I looked back at her.

“I gave you one task. One.” My tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Cold was always louder than rage. “And you can’t even pretend to take it seriously?”

“Here’s how this works, Miss Hart,” I continued, stepping closer. “I don’t reward charm. I don’t excuse laziness. And I don’t have patience for people who think this company is their playground.”

“I’m not lazy,” she said quietly, her jaw trembling like she was on the verge of breaking. “I was—”

“Talking,” I cut her off again, “I asked for results. Is the presentation finished?”

“N-no. I’m halfway through—”

“SHUT UP!" I shouted as the color drained from her face as she shivered.

A soft gasp escaped someone behind her.

“If the presentation isn’t on my desk by six,” I said, “you’ll regret ever coming to this office.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice just enough—but not too much.

“And one more thing—” I glanced at her outfit, eyes trailing up with calculated cruelty—“If you’re going to dress like you’re trying to seduce your boss, make sure your work’s just as attractive.”

She flinched.

That tiny tremor in her posture, the way her lips parted in shock but no words came out—

It was perfect.

And as I turned and walked away, a slow smirk tugged at the edge of my mouth.

Let’s see how long that fire in her eyes lasts.

Because I intend to burn it out—
slowly.