Chapter Two

Everette’s pov

I stand at the top of the marble steps of my family’s mansion with my hands in my pockets, watching the driveway curve through the manicured gardens. The staff are arranged in two neat lines behind me.

Appearances matter here.

“Do you think Miss Regan will arrive in one piece today, sir?”

Adam’s voice has the serious professional tone as always, but this time it’s slightly amused.

I glance sideways at him. Adam Whitmore has been in this house longer than I have been alive. He raised my father, then he helped raise us. He is technically our butler but to us, he is practically family.

He is also the closest thing I have ever had to a male steady hand on my shoulder.

“She always arrives in one piece,” I say. “It’s everyone else around her who doesn’t.”

A small smile touches his mouth. “That’s a fair assessment, sir.”

Somewhere beyond the gates, tires hum against pavement and I wait, eager to see her.

Regan had left two years ago after Father publicly humiliated her in a board meeting. Told her she was emotional and lacked the discipline to lead men twice her age.

Which was a cliche, because between the two of us, I’m the emotional one.

So she left and went to Europe, promising she would return when she had something so undeniable that even Theodore Carrington would have no other choice but to bend.

The gates open and a sleek black Aston Martin glides up the driveway. The car stops at the base of the steps, the driver's door opens and Malik steps out, adjusting his cloth.

He looks like he has been through something. His shirt is untucked, the button holes are missing some buttons and there is a faint flush across his collarbone.

I bite back a grin.

He opens the back door and Regan steps out. Black hair slightly tousled, like fingers have been tangled in it, silk blouse tucked into high-waisted tailored trousers that fit like they were sewn onto her skin. Stilettos sharp enough to stab through bone.

She adjusts her blouse with zero shame and I shake my head, smiling despite myself, and jog down the steps.

“Hi, big bro,” she calls, her voice bright.

“I see you didn’t waste time,” I replied, pulling her into a hug. She smells like expensive perfume and home. “Did you even make it out of the Jet before dragging Malik to the back seat?”

I nod toward Malik, who pretends not to hear us while trying to look professional.

She laughs, low and unapologetic. “Oh please. I’m celebrating.”

“You closed it.”

She pulls back, her eyes gleaming. “I did. North Atlantic Petroleum,” she says, savoring every syllable. “They thought I was there to discuss partnership logistics. They underestimated me, called me sweetheart twice and even offered me coffee instead of real numbers.”

I chuckled, "they didn't know who they were dealing with.”

She laughs as we begin walking toward the house. She waved the servants away casually and they scatter like trained birds.

“I let them think I was decorative,” she continues. “Let them talk over me. Let them explain their own projections to me like I was an intern.”

Adam steps forward as she reaches the entrance. She softens immediately and hugs him. “How have you been, Andy?”

“I have been good, Miss Regan,” he replies warmly, though he still stands straight, still proper. “Welcome home.”

She smiles, walking inside and I follow. “So? What did you do?” I ask her.

She glances at me over her shoulder.“I flirted with the CFO, Played dumb and asked for a tour of their offshore drilling simulation room.” She smirks. “While they were busy assuming I didn’t understand geological mapping, I memorized the coordinates of the secondary site they were hiding.”

I slow down slightly. “They were sitting on an undeclared reserve?”

“Bingo.” She snaps her fingers. “A new oil field, not yet disclosed to their shareholders. I tipped our research division anonymously, we verified it and then I cornered their board with it.”

“You blackmailed them.”

“I negotiated,” she corrects sweetly. “They give us controlling interest in that site, we don’t expose their little omission.”

My chest tingled with pride. “That land is worth billions.”

She stops at the grand staircase and turns to me. “With this, no way Dad denies me what I deserve now.”

“Well,” I say softly, “he would be a fool to. Dad doesn’t deserve you.”

She studies me for a second, and then laughs. “You’re so sweet and so simple minded, brother. Sometimes I can’t believe we’re related.”

“Simple minded?”

“You still think he operates on logic.” She steps closer. “Father operates on dominance. If he makes me COO, it won’t be because I earned it. It will be because he believes I have already taken it.”

She straightens her shoulders.

Regan Carrington was born a daughter.

But she has always been more of a son.

Dominant energy, aggressive in boardrooms. Competed with men twice her size and crushed them without raising her voice.

Men in the energy industry don’t fear women.

They fear her.

“So,” she says, flicking imaginary dust from her sleeve, “what was the urgent news about?”

“Dad wants to talk to us,” I reply. “He’s in his office.”

“You think he wants to congratulate me?”

I hesitate. Hope is dangerous in this house but she doesn’t wait for my response. She strides down the hallway toward Father’s office and pushes them open confidently.

“Dad—”

She stops.

I step in behind her. Father is not behind his desk, he is on top of it. Between the legs of a woman young enough to be Regan’s age mate.

They break apart quickly.

“Oh look at that,” Regan drawls, crossing her arms. “Fucking the help now, are we, Dad?”

I chuckle and drape an arm around her shoulder. “Not just the help,” I say mildly. “I believe that’s his secretary.”

The lady smooths her skirt, looking at us nervously.

“Oh,” Regan says brightly. “A girl on her back trying to climb the corporate ladder. I should have known.”

The lady approaches us, extending her hand. “I’m so sorry about us meeting like this. Your father has told me so much about you both. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

We both ignore her hand.

My father has always paraded women in front of me. Models……Socialites……Executives.

A silent message.

This is what you should want.

This is what you’re not.

Research says men like him often use performative displays of heterosexual conquest to assert dominance over sons they consider disappointing…….I learned that in a psychology elective at Stanford.

Knowing it doesn’t make it hurt less.

“And we have heard nothing about you,” I said pointedly. “Which isn’t a surprise because Dad changes women like he changes his suits.”

The lady’s smile tightens slightly. Father moves to the cart and pours himself a drink, watching us over the rim of his glass.

“Is this what you called us here for Dad?” I asked sharply. “Thought we were past you parading your numerous flings.”

“She isn’t a fling,” Theodore Callington says, dropping his glass and heading towards the lady. He takes her hand and places a kiss on it. “I called you here to introduce you properly. This is Angela.”

Angela stands straighter.

“My fiancée,” Father continues. “And the new COO of Carrington Energy.”

Shit.

“What?” Regan shrieks beside me.