Greg X Rowley Novels & Stories

Gabriel pulled out his phone, swiping to a picture — a still from the café’s security camera. The man. Sitting alone in the corner. His face clearer now. Emery’s breath hitched. “That’s him.” Gabriel nodded grimly. “His name is Rowan. Used to work for Cole Enterprise’s legal division.” Her eyes widened. “What!” “He resigned three months after you left.” His gaze sharpened. “And now he’s in Paris, sitting in your favorite café, watching you and your son.” Her knees nearly gave out. Gabriel caught her before she could stumble.

Riley, who was walking beside the princess, turned his head, “Your Highness.” “It's about Greg Sehel, isn't it? He's ....” Rowena let out a long breath. He even suddenly stopped walking and said, “Commander Sehel was very kind. I miss him so much. You know ... even though he was fierce and a little bit crazy, he was one of the soldiers who would play with me and Xylan when we were kids.” “He was ... a good person and you ... don't have to feel guilty about his death, Riley. He was just doing another favor, it's just that … now he's lost his life,” Rowena explained.

Then— The door swung open. “Alec, we need—” A voice cut through the moment like a blade, and we both jerked back. Rowan, Alec’s right-hand man, stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Alec let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. “What?” Rowan’s gaze flickered between us before he cleared his throat. “It’s about Rowley.” Alec straightened, his entire demeanor shifting back into sharp control. “What about him?” Rowan hesitated. “He’s making his next move.”

The cars began to roll away, one after the other, like a funeral procession. She didn’t move until they were all gone. Inside the cab , hands trembling, she opened her browser and typed his name. Kingsley Rowe. And there it was. The search results were like being hit by a train. Kingsley Rowe — CEO of Rowe Industries. Billionaire entrepreneur. Former MIT prodigy. Board member of 12 major corporations. There were photos of him in tuxedos at galas, on yachts, in interviews, handshakes with presidents, smiling beside world leaders.

“Or he’s Reeves’s lawyer using a different approach to get me to talk outside of the inquiry’s protection.” “Call Webb.” She was already dialing. Webb answered on the third ring. He sounded like a man who had not been asleep. “Ms. Adeyemi.” “Graham Rowe just messaged me. He says he’s not working for Reeves. He says he’s been inside the network for eleven years and knows where everything is. He says there are things you don’t know.” She paused. “Is he yours.” A silence. Three seconds. Four. “No,” Webb said. “He’s not ours.”

Gabrielle scowled at the disclosure. "Yeah, a woman!” "And who could she be?" Gabrielle sprang to her feet. "Regina!" A familiar masculine voice answered from the door, startling the ladies as they cracked their eyes to the door. "Rowan Greys!" Gabrielle's blue eyes broadened in terror, and her jaws slacked in panic. "Hey, baby doll!" Rowan sniggered while chewing his gum, he don a black hoodie and black trousers. He has brown shining eyes, and sharp jawlines, his left arm was heavily tattooed and he loves chewing gum —his father was once a mafia syndicate but not until Mr. Reagan slew him.

"Your son's just like you—same looks, same personality, and even the same interests." Rowan was still working as the CEO of Freehill Finances under the Stephen alias. Even without Mattel Group's backing, his net worth was well over 100 million dollars. And just like him, Rowley was fascinated by the world of finance. "Rowley just made a small profit the other day, earning about five million dollars. That's very impressive for his age." Nestled in his arms, Natalie looked up at him. "But Rowley said that you made ten million dollars, so he lost."

He was quiet tonight, scrolling his phone, but every time the Jeep hit a bump his knee brushed the back of my seat and I felt it like electricity. And then there was Rowan. Rowan was the reason we were on this road at all. Riley’s on-again-off-again fuck buddy from college, the one she swore she was done with until he texted her three days ago saying he was “passing through” and needed a ride. Six-foot-three, messy chestnut hair, green eyes that looked like they’d seen too much and liked it. He wore a faded flannel open over a white tank, sleeves rolled, ink crawling up his left arm.

When he got up to greet Greg, he added, “Dad, don’t you like drinking tea? I ordered their famous Earl Grey tea for you so you can try it.” After sitting down, Greg asked, “What do you want?” Greg really did not like this eldest son of his, especially because Rowan had ruined his reputation and almost destroyed Pierce Group. Rowan had an extremely innocent expression as he asked, “Why are you asking that? I came to Detroit this time for work, so I decided to also pay you a visit.” Greg had a cold expression. “When did you become so filial?” Greg did not believe Rowan’s words at all. His eldest son was so scheming that even Greg himself could not figure out what was going on in his mind at al