CHAPTER FOUR
1502 Words
THIRD PERSON'S POV
Harold Ross pushed open the glass doors with the usual ease of someone who didn’t know how to respect boundaries. He was here almost every morning, hovering like an irritating ghost in Marcus’s shadow, even if the man barely acknowledged his existence most days.
He liked to say they were best friends, Marcus, of course, had never said that out loud, ever. But Harold told everyone who asked or didn’t–that they were practically brothers.
And brothers didn’t need verbal affirmations, right?
Only, today, the seat across Marcus’s massive desk was empty.
He turned to the secretary. "He in?"
She barely looked up. "Didn’t come in today."
Harold frowned. "What do you mean, didn’t come in?"
She sighed. "I mean, Mr Ross, he’s not here."
"No calls? Emails? Smoke signals?"
She gave him a dry look. "You know he doesn’t call."
Right....Marcus didn’t do updates, he didn’t do explanations, he barely did talking.
Harold lingered for a few more seconds, then exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine. I’ll go check on him."
He strutted back out the way he came, already fishing his car keys from his pocket, he wasn’t worried exactly. Marcus was a control freak—he didn’t just not show up unless something really strange was going on.
Which made today strange.
The drive to Marcus’s mansion was silent, the engine’s purr the only sound beneath Harold’s thoughts.
He’d known Marcus since they were kids, since before the world decided Marcus Miller was a walking nightmare. Before his mother’s murder, before his father went to prison, before he stopped being a boy and turned into something sharper and unreachable.
Harold had been there through it all, sticking close, trying to understand him, trying to matter.
Marcus had always been difficult...always two steps ahead, always a wall you couldn’t climb. He didn’t want friends, didn’t want anyone.
But Harold was persistent, if Marcus was a fortress, Harold was the i***t camped outside banging on the gates every day like "hey, let me in."
And Marcus had let him—sort of. On occasion, barely.
It was enough.
He grinned, remembering the one time Marcus genuinely laughed, when Harold had broken his nose tripping down his staircase. It was the most emotion he’d ever seen on the guy.
Good times.
Still… he couldn’t shake the weird vibe today.
Marcus was many things...ruthless, emotionally constipated, cold, but he was never careless. Missing a day at his company? Without a single word?
Nah...something was definitely off.
Harold pulled up to the gates, rolled down his window and pressed the buzzer.
"It’s Harold" he said. "Tell His Majesty I’ve come to disrupt the silence."
A pause...then the gates opened.
Harold stepped out of his car, keys swinging on his finger as he looked up at the towering mansion like it was staring back at him. The place always gave him the chills, y'know clean, cold and uninviting, like its owner.
He pushed open the heavy front doors, the soft echo of his shoes clicking against the marble floors announcing his arrival. The entire space was bathed in morning light, glass, gold, and silence.
A maid passed by quickly, head low, he flagged her down.
"Hey, where's Marcus?"
She dipped her head slightly. "Still in bed with his fiancée, sir, he says no disturbance."
Harold blinked. "His what?"
She looked up now, eyes wide with innocent surprise, like didn’t you know? But she just gave a tight smile. "His fiancée, he’s asked not to be disturbed."
"Marcus doesn’t do fiancées" Harold muttered, more to himself.
She gave a polite shrug. "If you'll excuse me, I need to return before he comes down."
She hurried off, leaving Harold standing in the foyer, stunned. Marcus had women, sure, but this? Since when did Marcus get engaged and not say a word?
He glanced up the grand staircase.
No, hell no.
Marcus never let anyone into his bedroom, not even Harold, not in all their years of knowing each other. The guy kept it locked like it was holding the crown jewels—and maybe his last shred of humanity.
Even when he brought women over, it was always guest rooms.
Harold narrowed his eyes at the stairs, he was curious, sure....but not suicidal.
So he turned, walked to the sitting room, and threw himself onto one of the plush sofas. Crossed his legs like he owned the place.
"Fiancée" he scoffed to himself.
Yeah. This was gonna be interesting.
After what felt like an hour of waiting and mentally going through every possible explanation for Marcus suddenly having a fiancée, Harold finally heard something—a voice. A woman’s, echoing from somewhere upstairs.
"Unbelievable! You could’ve just said you were done instead of hogging it like a selfish—!"
His head whipped toward the grand staircase just in time to see Marcus appear at the top, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and black trousers, looking completely unfazed. Like he’d just stepped out of a magazine shoot and into an argument he had no intention of entertaining.
Their eyes met, Harold expected maybe a flicker of awkwardness, some tension, hell, a nod...but Marcus didn’t even blink, just walked past him like a ghost, straight toward the kitchen.
Then she appeared.
Dina.
She was halfway down the stairs now, her voice gone, her face blank. The same woman who’d just been yelling seconds ago suddenly looked... quiet and avoidant...like she didn’t want to be seen.
But Harold saw her....all of her.
The yellow sundress flowed around her frame like sunlight soft and warm, and for a second, Harold forgot how to sit properly...his leg slowly uncrossed...his gaze lingered.
She didn’t look his way, she just walked down like she was trying to disappear, even though the way she moved made that impossible.
Then the image that followed shattered the pause like glass—Marcus walking past the hallway, saying nothing, ignoring her completely, like she was background noise.
Harold didn’t wait long before standing up from the couch, curiosity gnawing at him like a bad itch. He followed the soft clink of glass and the low rustle of fabric until he saw Marcus stepping out onto the balcony, holding a bowl in one hand and a tall glass of milk in the other.
Milk.
Harold blinked, of course. The man could rip through multi-million dollar contracts without flinching, but black coffee? Too bitter for the ice king, not that Marcus would ever admit it.
He trailed him out, leaning lazily on the railing beside him, eyes flicking between the calm view and Marcus’s maddeningly calm face.
"So…" Harold started, tone light, teasing "who’s the fine chick?"
Marcus didn’t respond.
Harold smirked. "Come on, don’t be shy, she another of your late-night rescues?"
Still nothing.
He nudged Marcus lightly with his elbow, watching him inhale slowly like someone who had exactly zero tolerance left.
Then Marcus said, as plain and dry as a sun-scorched field "That fine chick is Dina...and she’s my wife."
Harold blinked.
And then he laughed, like really loud. Loud enough to make a couple birds scatter from the tree nearby. He clutched his side, eyes squinting, wiping an invisible tear as he gasped "Your what now? Nah, come again...did you just say wife?"
Marcus didn’t even look at him.
Which, somehow, made it worse.
When Marcus finally lifted his eyes from the bowl of cereal—yes, cereal, because apparently being the CEO of an empire still meant you could crave Frosted Flakes before noon and locked eyes with Harold, flat and void.
"Yes" he said simply.
Harold’s grin slowly dropped.
"…Wait. You’re serious? You actually—when did this happen? How the hell did you get married and I didn’t know?"
Marcus took another bite before answering. "I don’t care if the world knows or not, It’s my life. I can do whatever the hell I want with it."
Harold blinked, then scoffed. "So you just… woke up one morning, decided ‘hey, let me ruin my peace and marry a woman I barely talk to’?"
Marcus didn’t respond, he just kept chewing. Like this was beneath him.
Silence sat between them for a long moment.
Then Harold sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Fine, fine. I support you, man, whatever makes you happy, you know that. You’re my brother, always." He paused as if counting his next words well.
"But uh… I don’t think Selene’s gonna be thrilled about this news."
Marcus froze, the glass halfway to his lips.
Harold turned back, arms folded. "She’s returning next week, she’ll be hurt."
Marcus finally spoke, voice low. "And that’s my problem because…?"
Harold frowned. "Because you never broke up with her."
"I never dated her."
"What?"
Marcus leaned back against the railing. "She was just convenient, you of all people should know that."
Harold's expression shifted, somewhere between disbelief and realization. "Marcus… she didn’t think that.”
Marcus raised a brow. "Then that’s her problem, not mine."
- Writer
