CHAPTER 32 ROMAN
ROMAN
Riggs disappears. Of course he does. One second he’s leaning against the column with that feral grin of his, watching the scene unfold like it’s theatre. The next, he’s evaporated into the crowd with a flute of champagne and zero consequences.
Coward.
He always knows exactly when to exit. I watch him go as my jaw tightens. Riggs gets to say whatever he wants and walk free while I remain exactly where I am expected to be.
Son. Heir. Asset.
“Walk with me,” he says calmly as I try to hold in my eye roll.
This is what The Company is about. Posturing. It’s not like we couldn’t stay where we are, but then Dad wouldn’t be seen with me and to onlookers that’s unacceptable. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
We move toward the far side of the ballroom, near the marble pillars framing the balcony doors. From here, the noise dulls into something manageable. The chandelier light fractures across the floor between us. He clasps his hands behind his back as I mirror the stance without thinking.
“Quinn arrived earlier,” he says, getting straight to the point.
I fist my hands behind my back. This is the second time he has interrupted my time with Fae over Quinn and it’s getting tedious. We had an agreement. One choice each, and I was to give them both a fair chance. How can I do that when he keeps cockblocking me?
I mean sure, I’m not going to keep up my end of the bargain, but he doesn’t know that. No one but Fae does, and I know she wouldn’t narc on me to my dad of all people.
“I didn’t see her,” I keep my face neutral and my opinions to myself.
“You weren’t looking.” Dad scowls pointedly at me.
That’s not accurate. I was looking. I saw her in the crowd. She’s wearing an awful purple gown that doesn’t suit her skin tone or her figure.
Objectively, Quinn is attractive. Her long blonde hair and brown eyes create a contrast most people adore. She has an hourglass figure that is in fashion right now, but her soul makes her foul. And she’s nothing like my little Tinkerbell.
Dad studies the crowd as he speaks, his voice smooth and conversational. Anyone watching would assume we’re discussing quarterly profits rather than his displeasure that I haven’t greeted some bitch.
“The extension with Harlow Pharmaceuticals is finalised,” he continues. “Three additional manufacturing sites. Distribution rights across mainland Europe. An excellent consolidation.”
I groan out loud before I can stop myself and Dad’s eyebrows furrow, the only outward sign of disappointment.
“Roman,” he mutters, low with an edge of warning.
“Dad,” I sigh, “I know the contract. You told me, and I’ve reviewed it myself. We are going round in circles.”
“I’m just trying to say that her father is pleased,” he adds lightly. “As am I.”
“She is also very suitable,” he jumps in, as if my none reaction is because of her suitability. “She is intelligent and was raised correctly. Quinn understands the expectations of The Company, as well as our family, son.”
“What’s this about?” I snap. “We’ve done this dance before, Dad, it was only a couple of days ago.”
He turns his gaze to me fully now. “You have always understood the value of structure, Roman. It is one of your strengths. Do you understand?”
My jaw flexes again. It’s all we seem to talk about now, it’s tiresome. I can’t remember the last time we went to the shooting range together or to the pub just to watch the football. Everything revolves around The Company and what he wants for my future.
Do I understand? Of course I do, my whole life is built on structure. But my future being negotiated through womb contracts… that I’m not quite grasping.
“Cut the shit and tell me, old man. You know I can’t tolerate this. It’s making me itch.”
“Fine,” Dad gives a curt nod. “Then I will get to the point. You will attend dinner tomorrow evening. Quinn is coming to the house…” He raises his chin, like he’s bracing for battle as the next word leaves his mouth. “Alone.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. A muscle ticks in my cheek.
Across the room, I see Fae. She’s standing on the balcony now with my mum. Her posture is controlled, but I know her. I can see the tension in her shoulders even from here.
Mine.
The word pulses through me before I can stop it as I cut a glance at my dad, standing stoically in front of me.
“I have other obligations,” I reply.
“You will adjust them.”
“I don’t require supervision to date, Dad,” I sigh, changing course.
He no doubt knows my obsession with Fae; Mum has probably informed him on multiple occasions, but I don’t need to play all my cards and give away exactly how little I intend to entertain Quinn.
“This is not supervision,” Dad replies softly. “It’s networking. The Harlow contract strengthens The Company’s medical division by thirty percent, and that is not insignificant.”
Translation: she is not optional. What he doesn’t say is that Fae is inadequate and he doesn’t need to.
It’s written all over his face, in the words he won’t say.
To him, Quinn is profitable and Fae is just a Swallow.
Raising an eyebrow, I wait as I read the look in his eyes and realise he hasn’t finished.
“The men are granted two women for a reason, and all of it leads to strengthening our bloodlines and empires. Having a choice is a privilege, son, one that not many of your cohort can claim. Do not make me regret giving you that freedom.”
“Fine,” I finally relent, knowing I’ll complicate matters if I don’t. “I’ll attend.”
“Good.” He gives a firm nod.
I bite my lip as I look at him. It’s been eating away at me ever since that fat fuck was in my dungeon. I’ve replayed the prisoner’s words, we all have one, over and over in my head. Something about it doesn’t sit right.
If there is something moving beneath The Company, my dad should have caught it already.
He misses nothing. But what if he did? What if he was so consumed by Mum and my graduation that he missed this and I’m sitting on it doing nothing about it?
My jaw tightens as I catalogue every memory I have of him over the last year, from the board meetings to our private discussions and the increased shipments through our pharmaceutical company.
Has he been distracted, or have I made him distracted? Am I… distracted?
Fae flashes through my mind as I feel my irritation spike. Not at her, but at the vulnerability of loving her. Dad always told me that distraction was a weakness, and I have been. I can’t allow that to become a problem. My dad needs to know.
I feel him studying me, waiting for whatever it is I’m about to say.
“Dad, there’s something else…”
“Yes?” His perfectly groomed eyebrow raises again as I look around the room, take a step towards him, and his eyes narrow in suspicion.
“I’ve been seeing a particular symbol circulating,” I say carefully. “It’s a small red cross on personal keychains.”
“I’m not familiar,” he replies after a small pause.
I cut a glance over to Mr. Ackworth and I feel my teeth grind. I know one person here who has that keyring, and he happens to be standing and laughing right next to a man who abused his daughter for a decade.
“And why,” he asks calmly, bringing my focus back to him, “are you interested in a keyring?”
“Curiosity,” I reply, a little too quickly, noting where we are.
“Curiosity,” he repeats, studying me the way he used to when I was fifteen and dismantling rifles faster than the instructors, “is only useful if you have the tools for the answers you find.”
“Noted,” I incline my head slightly.
His gaze drifts over my shoulder, I don’t need to turn to know he’s looking at Fae.
“She is not Quinn.”
The way he says it isn’t cruel or even dismissive, but it still gets my back up. For him, this is just fact, just business. But to me, Fae is anything but business.
“I’m aware,” I respond, not rising to the bait he is putting in front of me.
“Do not confuse intensity with permanence, Roman.” I roll my eyes as my fingers curl slightly at my sides.
Across the room, Fae laughs at something my mother says. It’s brief, but I can see the happiness radiating from her. Her shoulders are no longer hitched up by her ears and her eyes twinkle with something mischievous.
Is what I have with Fae intense? Yes. But our intensity comes from two souls who recognise one another, like storms meeting and realising they are the same ocean.
We may be intense, but our permanence is the ocean itself, vast and immovable, and powerful enough to swallow anything that tries to stand against it.
“She will not interfere with the Harlow arrangement,” my dad continues, pulling me out of my musings. It’s not a question, it’s a boundary, and I meet his gaze evenly.
“I don’t allow interference,” I respond and something flickers in his eyes. Approval, maybe?
The irony is that it’s not the type of interference he is hoping for. If she wanted to burn down the Harlow arrangement tomorrow, I would do it, and if she wanted to destroy my life’s work, I’d let her. The only type of interference I won’t allow is someone coming between us, my family included.
“Good,” he says again. The conversation is clearly over as he places a hand briefly on my shoulder before stepping away, already shifting into another interaction with a donor near the bar.
I lift my gaze again, like a moth drawn to a flame.
Fae stands on the balcony above the ballroom as my mum stands beside her.
The chandelier lights catch the different browns in her hair as I trace the curve of her cheek.
She’s leaning slightly over the railing, watching me in a way she thinks I haven’t noticed.
When she realises I have caught her again, she smiles. It’s not one of those fake or sharp smiles she gives anyone else. It’s that shy one, like it slipped out before she could stop it. It does something violent to my chest and I raise an eyebrow slowly, a wordless statement that I’m waiting.