Chapter Two: Nineteen Minutes
2084 Words
Rose POV
I don’t run.
I never run.
But I don’t slow down either.
The moment I step away from him, I feel it that shift in the air. The kind that happens when someone powerful realizes they might be losing control.
Good.
Let him feel it.
My skates glide smoothly against the pavement, but my mind is already elsewhere. Calculating. Counting.
Timing is everything.
And right now, time is collapsing.
Nineteen minutes.
Behind me, footsteps.
Fast.
He didn’t let it go.
Of course he didn’t.
“Wait!”
I stop.
Not because he asked. Because I planned to.
I turn slowly. Rex Bastian closes the distance between us, and the casual confidence from before is gone. Stripped clean.
What’s left is tension.
Sharp. Focused.
“You said twenty minutes,” he says. “For what, exactly?”
I study him for a moment. He’s not a fool that’s good. But he’s not used to being wrong, either.
That’s dangerous.
“You’re about to make a decision that will cost you everything,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “You’re overstepping.”
“Am I?”
“My intelligence team is one of the best in the country. If they didn’t see this coming, you shouldn’t either.”
There it is.
Pride.
“This has nothing to do with your intelligence team,” I reply. “And everything to do with timing.”
He watches me more carefully now.
“Eighteen minutes,” I add.
His eyes flick to his watch. He hates that — hates that I’m controlling the pace of this conversation.
“Explain,” he says.
“No.”
His expression darkens. “You expect me to blindly trust you?”
“I expect you to decide whether you’re willing to take a risk.”
“You’re a stranger.”
“And yet,” I reply, “you didn’t walk away.”
Silence.
That lands. Because it’s true.
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “If I don’t sell and this goes wrong.”
“You lose everything.”
“And if I do sell?”
I hold his gaze.
“You regret it.”
The words settle between us heavier than they should.
Then his phone buzzes.
“Yes.”
“Sir.” The voice on the other end is fraying now, barely holding together. “Losses are increasing. We need confirmation. Do we proceed with the sale?”
Rex’s eyes lock onto mine.
Waiting. Testing.
I don’t move. Don’t blink. Don’t give him anything except certainty.
“…Hold,” he says finally.
“Sir?”
“Hold the position.” His voice firms. “No one sells anything until I say so.”
A beat of hesitation. Then.“Yes, sir.”
He ends the call.
“You better be right,” he says quietly.
I don’t answer. I already know I am.
“Seventeen minutes.”
He lets out a dry laugh with no humor in it. “You’re either very confident or very reckless.”
“Neither.”
“Then what are you?”
I meet his gaze.
“Someone who understands how the world really works.”
That shuts him up.
I glance at my watch. Time is moving faster than it should.
“I have to go.”
His head snaps up. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to just stand here and wait?”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
It isn’t authority in my tone. It isn’t arrogance either. It’s something quieter and harder to argue with.
Certainty.
He studies me like he’s trying to peel back layers that refuse to open. “Who’s your source?”
“Not something you need to know.”
His lips press into a thin line. “You’re very comfortable giving orders for someone in your position.”
“And you’re very uncomfortable not being in control,” I reply.
That lands hard.
Something flickers in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or something close to it.
“Sixteen minutes,” I remind him.
He exhales sharply. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Or I’ll regret ever listening to you.”
“That too.”
A silence settles between us. Not hostile. Not friendly. Just charged.
Then. “Marry me.”
I blink. “You’re persistent.”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t even know if I’m right yet.”
“I know enough,” he says. “You’re calm when you shouldn’t be. Confident without proof. And you’re walking away from a situation most people would try to control.”
“And that makes you want to marry me?”
“It makes me want to understand you.”
That one almost catches me off guard.
Almost.
“I’m engaged,” I remind him.
“For now.”
I don’t respond to that. Because the way he says it doesn’t sound like a challenge.
It sounds like a prediction.
“Fifteen minutes,” I say instead.
He watches me quietly. “You’re not normal.”
“Neither are you.”
A faint smirk. “Fair enough.”
I turn to leave.
“Rose.”
I pause.
“Don’t disappear,” he says.
I glance back once. “That depends on whether you listened.”
And I walk away.
The banquet hall is already alive when I arrive.
Bright lights. Expensive perfume. Laughter polished to a shine.
Everything about this place is performance.
I step inside and feel the shift immediately, eyes turning, not because I stand out, but because I don’t belong. I’m wearing the wrong kind of invisible here. These people are dressed to be seen. I’m dressed to be dismissed.
Good.
Let them look. Let them judge.
It makes everything easier.
I scan the room slowly.
And then I see her.
Vivian Cadoso.
Still elegant. Still sharp. Still carrying herself like every room owes her something. I’ve always found that interesting, how some people confuse ownership with presence.
I walk toward her.
Slowly. Deliberately.
“Mrs. Cadoso.”
She turns.
Recognition crosses her face, quick, involuntary. Then her expression closes like a door being shut.
Before I can speak.
Slap.
The sound cuts clean through the music. Conversations die. Heads turn. My cheek burns, but I don’t move. Don’t reach up to touch it. Don’t give the room anything to read.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes are cold and completely unbothered.
“You’re breaking up with my son today,” she says.
The words fall into the silence like something final.
I stare at her.
For a second, just a second, I almost laugh.
Because she thinks she’s in control. Because she thinks she’s ending something tonight.
Because she has absolutely no idea she already lost.
But I don’t say that.
Not yet.
“Why?” I ask instead.
Her lips curve slightly.
And the look in her eyes says everything, this isn’t just a breakup. This is a declaration of war.
- Writer
