Chapter 7
DONOVAN
I wake up at five forty-five out of habit, the kind that comes from years of reviewing reports before the rest of the world is awake.
My tablet is in Dad’s office, where I left it last night after going over acquisition documents, and I need it for the morning briefing.
The hallway is quiet as I head toward the office, but when I pass Logan’s wing, I hear it.
The violent sound of a zipper being ripped, something heavy hitting the floor, and muttered cursing that carries through his closed door.
I’m at his door before I fully process what I’m doing, running on instinct honed from years of crisis management.”
I push open his door without knocking.
Logan’s shoving clothes into a duffel bag with the kind of violence that says he’s pissed and wants everyone to know it. His lip is split, already swelling. There’s a bruise forming along his jaw.
“What happened?” I ask, though I can guess.
“Ask Dad.” He doesn’t look at me, but continues throwing shirts into the bag. “Better yet, don’t. I’m done with this family.”
“Logan—”
“Save it.” He zips the bag and turns to face me. His eyes are red, whether from crying or rage, I can’t tell. “I’m leaving with Chelsea. First flight out.”
I lean against the doorframe, studying him. The middle brother has always been the weak link. Too soft for the business. Too desperate for approval.
But this is new. This is him actually walking away.
“What did you do?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “Why do you assume I did anything?”
“Because Dad doesn’t throw punches unless someone crosses a line.” I gesture to his face. “And that looks like a line got crossed.”
Logan laughs, bitter and sharp. “I fucked Chelsea while Samantha was out. She walked in on us. Then Dad decided to play white knight and beat the shit out of me for disrespecting his precious standards.”
Right. Logan’s never been discreet about anything.
“Where’s Samantha now?”
“Dad’s private wing.” He says it like an accusation. “He can have her. Clearly, he cares more about her feelings than mine.”
I process this information slowly. Dad let her into our private wing. The area nobody sees. The space we keep separate from everything and everyone else.
That’s not like him.
“You’re really leaving,” I say.
“I’m really leaving.” Logan hoists the bag over his shoulder. “Tell Kai I said goodbye. Or don’t. I doubt he’ll care.”
He pushes past me and disappears down the hallway.
I stand there for a moment, listening to his footsteps fade. Then I head downstairs.
The dining room is empty when I arrive at seven. I pour coffee and settle into my usual chair with my tablet, scrolling through overnight emails while I wait for breakfast.
Dad walks in ten minutes later, looking tired. There’s bruising on his knuckles.
“Logan’s gone,” I say without preamble.
“Good.” He pours himself coffee and sits across from me. “He needed to go.”
“What happened?”
Dad gives me the abbreviated version. Logan cheated. Samantha walked in on it. Then she fell into the tunnel system and ended up in his wing. The confrontation between Dad and Logan ended with Logan’s split lip and departure.
“She’s staying?” I ask when he finishes.
“She’s staying.” He meets my eyes. “The blizzard’s coming in. She has nowhere else to go. And Logan doesn’t deserve her.”
I want to ask what makes him think we do, but Kai walks in before I can.
“Morning.” He drops into his chair and immediately starts loading his plate from the breakfast spread. “Where’s the entertainment?”
“If you mean Logan, he left.” I take a sip of coffee. “With Chelsea.”
Kai pauses mid-reach for the bacon. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Huh.” He resumes filling his plate. “Guess that means more bacon for us.”
Only Kai could reduce family drama to breakfast portions.
“Samantha’s staying,” Dad adds.
Kai grins. “Even better. She’s way more fun than Logan anyway.”
The door opens again, and Samantha walks in.
She enters the dining room slowly, and I notice the limp immediately. She’s trying to hide it, putting weight on her left leg carefully, but every third step makes her wince. There’s a bandage visible on her palm, and when she moves, she does it gingerly, as if her ribs are bruised.
“Morning,” she says, her voice steady.
“Morning.” Dad stands and pulls out the chair beside him. “Sit. Eat.”
She sits, and I watch her scan the table, taking in the food, the coffee, and the three of us watching her.
“Logan left,” Dad tells her gently. “Early this morning.”
“I know.” She reaches for the coffee pot. “I heard him packing.”
Kai passes her a plate. “His loss.”
She smiles at that, small but genuine. “Thanks.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I keep stealing glances at her, trying to reconcile what I’m seeing with what I know about Logan’s girlfriends.
They’re usually vapid. Decorative. Interested only in his money and the lifestyle it provides. Samantha is none of those things.
I pull up the news on my tablet, scrolling through headlines while I finish my eggs. A particular story catches my eye.
“Did you see this?” I turn the tablet toward the table. “Augmented reality glasses that overlay navigation directly onto your vision. Walking directions, restaurant reviews, and real-time translations. All on lenses that look like regular eyewear.”
Kai glances over. “That’s either brilliant or the beginning of a dystopian nightmare.”
“Both, probably,” I say.
“It’s incredible when you think about it,” Samantha’s voice cuts in, and I look up.
She’s leaning forward slightly, her eyes bright with interest. “Two hundred years ago, we were sharing communal sponges to clean ourselves. Now we’re creating technology that can translate languages in real time and overlay digital information onto our physical reality. ”
I blink. That’s not the response I expected.
“Communal sponges?” Kai makes a face.
“Romans used them in public bathhouses,” she explains. “Shared sponges on sticks. For…well, you know. Personal hygiene.” She wrinkles her nose. “The same sponge. Multiple people. No soap.”
“That’s disgusting,” Kai says.
“Yes.” She takes a sip of coffee. “We went from that to indoor plumbing, then to smartphones, and now to augmented reality. The rate of technological advancement is exponential. It took us millennia to figure out basic sanitation, and now we’re developing new world-changing technology every few years. ”
I set down my fork. “You think the acceleration is sustainable?”
“I think it’s inevitable.” She shrugs. “Once you hit a certain threshold of knowledge and resources, progress compounds. Each innovation makes the next one easier. Faster. We’re not just building on what came before anymore. We’re building on the systems that helped us build what came before.”
“Meta-innovation,” I say, nodding. “People usually find this stuff boring,” I tell her.
“Well, they aren’t paying attention.” She picks up a piece of toast. “The world is changing faster than it ever has in human history, and everyone’s too busy scrolling social media to notice.”
“You notice.”
“I try to.” She meets my eyes. “Don’t you?”
I do. I’ve always been fascinated by the intersection of technology and human behavior.
I’ve never met anyone who could articulate it the way she just did.
“There was a marketing campaign last month,” I say, pulling up another article. “For a new AI assistant. They staged a public debate between the AI and a philosophy professor about consciousness. The whole thing went viral. Brilliant strategy.”
Samantha’s expression shifts. “That was my campaign.”
I stare at her. “You worked on that?”
“I pitched it, actually.” She leans back in her chair. “The client wanted traditional advertising. You know, the boring stuff. I convinced them to stage the debate instead and frame it as a genuine philosophical question rather than a product launch.”
“It was genius,” I say, and I mean it. “You positioned the AI as intellectually legitimate. It made people curious instead of skeptical.”
“And it quadrupled their projected sales in the first week.” She’s trying to sound modest, but I can hear the satisfaction underneath. “The video hit ten million views in forty-eight hours.”
“How did you get a philosophy professor to agree to it?”
“I didn’t.” She grins. “I found an actor with a philosophy degree. Someone who could actually hold their own in a debate but understood we were selling a story.”
I laugh. “That’s borderline unethical.”
“It’s marketing.” She takes another sip of coffee. “We disclosed it afterward. The whole point was getting people to engage with the question. Whether the professor was real or not didn’t matter once they were already thinking about it.”
“You’re sneaky.”
Dad clears his throat. “This campaign. The one that quadrupled sales. You came up with the entire concept?”
“With my team, yes.” Samantha nods. “I lead strategy for our firm’s tech clients.”
I’m re-evaluating everything I thought I knew about her. She isn’t Logan’s decorative girlfriend. She’s a woman who understands how to manipulate public perception and craft narratives that people don’t even realize they’re buying into.
Exactly the kind of person who could have an ulterior motive for dating my idiot brother.
“I want to show you something,” I say, standing abruptly.
She looks up, surprised. “Now?”
“Now.” I gesture toward the door. “My office. There’s a project I’m working on. I’d like your opinion.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I do have a project. But mostly, I want to get her alone, away from Dad and Kai. Somewhere I can ask the questions that have been building since she walked into this dining room and revealed she’s not who I thought she was.
She hesitates, glancing at her half-eaten breakfast.
“Bring the coffee,” I tell her.
That decides it. She grabs her mug and stands. “Lead the way.”
My office is on the second floor, tucked into the corner with windows overlooking the mountains. I unlock the door and gesture for her to enter first.
She walks in slowly, taking in the space.
“This is beautiful,” she says, moving toward the window. “The view alone…”
“It’s why I chose this room.” I close the door behind us and cross to my desk. “The project I mentioned. We’re acquiring a wellness tech company. They’ve developed an app that uses AI to provide personalized mental health support. Therapy without the therapist.”
I pull up the marketing materials they sent over.
“They want to position it as affordable healthcare,” I continue. “But I think they’re missing the real story.”
Samantha sets down her coffee and leans over the desk, studying the materials. Her brow furrows in concentration. “They’re positioning it wrong,” she says after a moment. “This should be about accessibility, not affordability.”
“Explain.”
“People don’t want cheap therapy. They want therapy that doesn’t require them to take time off work, or find childcare, or sit in a waiting room feeling judged.
” She taps the screen. “This app gives them support at two in the morning when they’re having a panic attack.
In their car during lunch break. Anywhere, anytime, without the barriers that keep people from getting help. ”
“You’re right,” I say slowly. “It’s not about price point.”
“Exactly.” She straightens. “The campaign should focus on moments. Real situations where traditional therapy isn’t an option. Show the app being there when nothing else can be.”
She’s brilliant. Genuinely, legitimately brilliant.
I find myself staring at her, watching the way her mind works through problems. The way she lights up when she talks about strategy and human behavior.
“What?” She catches me looking.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just thinking about how to implement this. You’re right about the positioning.”
“I usually am.” She grins, then glances at her watch. “I should probably let you get back to work. I’ve taken up enough of your morning.”
“You haven’t.” The words come out before I can stop them. “This was helpful. Really.”
“Anytime.” She picks up her coffee mug and heads toward the door. “Thanks for showing me the project. And for breakfast.”
“Samantha.”
She pauses, hand on the doorknob, looking back at me.
I want to ask her why she was with Logan and what she’s really doing here. But something stops me. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at me now, open and genuine. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t want to ruin whatever this morning was.
“If you need anything,” I say instead. “My office is always open.”
Her smile is softer this time. “I’ll remember that.”
She slips out, closing the door quietly behind her.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the space where she was. Then I move to the window, watching the snow begin to fall harder.
Why was she with Logan?