ROMAN #2
“Which is why I need her home,” I reply through gritted teeth.
I don’t elaborate. I don’t explain that she is not leverage, or strategy, or breeding stock.
That she is the only person who has ever looked at me and seen something other than utility.
That she is fire and defiance and the only thing that has ever made this life feel less suffocating.
That is not a conversation he is entitled to.
He leans back slowly in his chair, with his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he studies me.
“If she is pregnant,” he says, “and if it is a boy…”
“It changes nothing,” I interrupt.
“It changes everything. You know what our lines look like Roman. Don’t be foolish. Your only male heir could be dead.”
He spits out dead with such vitriol that I am taken aback.
That rule has hovered over every family dinner, every council meeting, every whispered succession conversation since I was old enough to understand what inheritance meant.
Having one son per family has never felt accidental to me.
Not statistically or biologically. It’s as if they hoard it over us to control the men in this society.
We produce daughters in overwhelming numbers and then we guard the sons like rare relics.
It is spoken about as fate, as if nature simply favoured us in reverse, but nothing about The Company survives on fate alone.
“There has to be a reason,” I say, taking my chances that today might be the day he finally answers my questions. “We don’t generate that kind of pattern by chance.”
He watches me with a stoney expression.
“Why, Dad?” I continue, “what happened to make that a thing?”
His eyes narrow slightly. I can see as he considers not telling me, but I hold his gaze.
“Eighty years ago,” he says with a sigh, “the founders authorised a biological intervention. There was concern about the number of male heirs after the world war wiped a lot of us out. They believed if they could increase the probability of male heirs, succession could remain stable even after catastrophic events like World War 2. The goal was to keep the bloodlines of The Company pure and alive for as long as possible.”
“And?”
“And…” he says, “they introduced an injection protocol. It was administered to all of the men including the Founders, council members and senior families.”
“To increase male viability,” I conclude.
“Yes. That was the intention.”
“But it failed…”
“It didn’t just fail, it completely swapped the outcome,” he replies. “What should have increased male births restricted them.”
“To one.”
“Yes, to one viable male per direct line,” he confirms. “As you know, any additional male pregnancies either fail early or never survive childbirth.”
“So, if they engineered it over eighty years ago, why is it affecting us now?”
“The hypothesis is that it altered the genetic coding of every line that followed the injections,” he continues.
“It is the men who are in charge of the gender in pregnancy so that one injection had a knock-on effect for us all. Some members have attempted IVF or hormonal correction but none of it worked…It’s as though the change has permanently embedded itself into the line,” he shrugs once.
“It is like it is written into our DNA.”
I lean back slightly in my chair as I process what he is saying.
It reframes everything I have ever known about The Company.
This isn’t some freak accident; it is quite literally the fallout of men playing God.
If that intervention locked male viability into scarcity, then any confirmed pregnancy involving a potential heir is not just personal...
It is a political currency of the highest order.
I drag a hand down my face as I process the scale of it.
“Jesus fucking Christ… They engineered complete control,” I say after getting my bearings.
“Or thought they did.”
“Why not make it known in the society? Surely that would stop so much pain to everyone who kept trying for more male heirs…”
Dad gives a faint, humourless smile. “Why do you think we stopped as soon as we had you?”
“But what I don’t understand is why bury it for everyone else?”
“It was easier to bury it than have those of less power start to panic. It’s helped in a way. To keep bloodlines pure, I mean.”
“How so?”
“Well… if someone suddenly pops up with another male in their family, we know it’s not through their bloodline. We know they are lying to us.”
“Does anyone else know the full extent?” I ask.
“Only those who need to,” he says. “It is not widely discussed for obvious reasons.”
I nod slowly.
“And Fisher?”
“What about him?”
“Did he have access to the protocol?”
“The medical archive is restricted,” my father’s gaze sharpens slightly. “Why?”
“He’s been collecting data,” I reply carefully. “What if he was somehow running tests on genetics? Or gender? Or fuck, I don’t know… the notes he had in this file,” I tap the one with the diary entries of the girls, “are written like a clinical study.”
“If he is, it’s not authorised,” Dad responds with a frown.
Silence settles around us. I don’t care about legacy politics.
I don’t care about eighty-year-old injections or founders trying to engineer succession like a breeding programme.
The only part of this that matters to me is what it means right now.
If male heirs are that rare, if they are that valuable, then a potential pregnancy isn’t just a private moment between lovers.
It’s motive.
And that means Fae isn’t just missing. She’s an asset. I don’t need to chase genetic theory or understand the science to know that I need her home before anyone realises exactly how valuable she might be.
“If she is pregnant,” Dad speaks eventually, “and if Fisher has even the slightest suspicion… son, this is a problem.”
“I’m handling it,” I snap.
“We will handle this,” he counters. “But you will not storm in blind. You will not act alone again.”
“I didn’t act blindly.”
“You killed a politically advantageous asset.”
“I eliminated a threat.”
“Be careful, Roman,” he sighs. “There are layers to this you don’t yet see.”
“Do you?” I bark. “You’ve only just been informed about one founder and a council member collaborating on a sex trafficking ring.”
I meet his gaze without blinking as I stand up and gather the remaining papers from his desk.
Whilst I may have learnt something today, it didn’t bring me closer to Fae.
My only hope is that Dad can use his connections to help me bring her home.
Do I really believe she’s pregnant? I don’t know.
But I do know that every single founder is hung up on male heirs and he will do just about anything to make sure his future legacy isn’t dead somewhere.
“I’ll send you the encrypted file,” I say. “If you find anything before I do, tell me.”
“You will be informed of what is necessary—”
“That’s not good enough,” I cut in.
“Careful,” he warns as his lips thin slightly.
“I’m done being careful.”
We stand there measuring each other, not as father and son, but two businessmen evaluating the risk of working together. Finally, he nods.
“I hope we can bring her home,” he says.
“Oh, don’t worry, I intend to.”
I turn and walk out of the office without waiting for dismissal.
The rage that carried me into this house no longer burns as hot.
As I descend the stairs, the marble is cool beneath my hand and I realise with brutal clarity that if she is pregnant, then it isn’t just her life on the line and the margin for error is gone.
Every decision from this point forward either brings her home or buries us all.