Chapter 12
1212 Words
Almost instantly, a voice cut through the tension.
“Hello, Boss…?”
Their locked gazes lingered for a brief moment longer… charged, wary, unreadable.
The voice cut through the silence again, more insistent this time.
“Hello, Boss? Sir… are you there?”
Rowan finally lowered his gaze.
Only then did he realize the sound wasn’t coming from behind them but from the phone resting loosely in his hand.
He hadn’t even noticed when he’d answered Cedric’s call.
Cathie instinctively followed his movement, her eyes darting to the phone with a slight crease forming between her brows. Confusion flickered across her face, but she held her tongue for now.
Rowan released a quiet breath. Then, as if nothing were wrong, he raised his head and gave her a small, almost careless smile.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said lightly. “Looks like it was just a wrong number. It happens sometimes.”
His tone was casual. Too casual.
Cathie studied his face slowly and carefully, searching for any signs of cracks or lies... anything that didn’t quite add up.
Rowan tilted the phone slightly as if it were merely an inconvenience. “My shop assistant,” he added calmly. “I run a small store. He probably panicked since I wasn’t around all day. I forgot to let him know.”
There it was… simple, harmless, and convincing.
He shrugged slightly, keeping a smile on his face. “Guess he finally got through.”
Cathie didn’t reply right away. Her gaze remained on him—cautious and evaluating. For a moment, it seemed she might say something.
Then she scoffed.
Turning sharply on her heel as she brushed past him. The faint scent of her floral perfume—warm and unmistakably hers—lingered in the air, brushing against his senses like an intentional afterthought.
Rowan watched her leave with a barely contained smirk playing on his lips.
Just as he was about to leave himself, her voice stopped him.
“Oh… hey.”
Rowan halted mid-step and turned slowly.
Cathie faced him now, arms folded loosely, expression guarded. “Tomorrow, I’ll make the arrangements. You need to see my dad. He asked to speak with you.”
Rowan’s brows lifted slightly. “Your dad?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, before adding, “I’ll send you the time and details once everything’s set.”
He nodded, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “It would be a pleasure,” he replied calmly. “I’ll finally have the chance to introduce myself properly.”
Cathie stared at him, her mind racing.
People flinched at the mention of the Valente family. Even powerful men tread carefully when Dylan Valente’s name came up. Just receiving an invitation was treated like a valuable commodity.
And yet...
Rowan stood in front of her, speaking as if it were just a casual dinner invite.
Does he really know who my father is?
Or does he have no idea at all?
Cathie masked her thoughts swiftly.
“Listen,” she said, lowering her voice as she stepped closer... close enough that only he could hear. “I married you for one reason. We both know the agreement. Don’t play dumb. You’ve heard of my father. The head of the Valentes.”
Her eyes locked onto his.
Her chin lifted as she squared herself before him.
“What I want from you is simple. Drop whatever act you’re putting on. Don’t embarrass me. Don’t disgrace me in front of my family.”
She raised her chin slightly higher, daring him to look away.
“You hear me?”
The words landed bluntly.
Rowan smiled.
A small nod followed... as though he’d heard every word, as though the name she wielded didn’t carry empires beneath it. All the while, his attention lingered elsewhere, on her flawless face, the way her curves fit every outfit like intention itself, the sharp pride in her posture.
Goddamn.
Even her rudeness made her more intriguing.
He suppressed a laugh that threatened to surface.
“As you wish,” he said softly. “My queen.”
Cathie shot him a glare as she turned away, but beneath it, something else flickered. A reluctant curve tugged at the corner of her lips as she walked off.
Confident, she thought.
And confidence was exactly what she needed. Not a man who would crumble under her family’s shadow before she even claimed what she deserved.
Rowan stayed where he was long after she disappeared—her scent lingering, her pride, her sharp edges etched into the air.
“Sir! What’s happening over there? I’m already out of the car. I’ve sent some allies to look for you in case...”
Cedric’s urgent voice snapped him back to reality.
Rowan froze.
“…Damn it.”
He dragged a hand down his face and exhaled sharply.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered to himself. “Smiling like an i***t… like it’s the first time you’ve ever fallen in love.”
He lifted the phone to his ear.
“Call off the search,” Rowan said quickly. “Everything's fine.”
There was a brief pause.
“…Sir?”
“Everything is fine,” he repeated... this time with a faint, foolish smile on his face.
“…Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes. Organize all the information you gathered and have the car pick me up at her office. We’ll be heading back soon.”
“…Understood.”
The call ended.
Rowan slipped the phone into his pocket and stepped back into the grand hall.
The crowd had thinned... murmurs of polite farewells, soft laughter, empty smiles echoed around him. Glasses clinked under the dim glow of chandeliers.
Rowan straightened at the entrance, smoothing out his suit and adjusting his tie with practiced ease.
His gaze rose and found her.
Cathie stood near the far end of the hall, Julia beside her, mid-conversation with relaxed and familiar postures. Moments later, an elegant woman approached them—composed and unmistakably authoritative.
Aunt Anika, Rowan recognized her—the same woman Cathie had mentioned earlier.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“What is she doing?” Rowan muttered under his breath.
He was already moving toward them when a server approached, balancing a silver tray gracefully in her hands filled with shimmering crystal glasses beneath the lights.
“Sir,” she said politely, offering him a drink. “Perhaps this will help you relax.”
Rowan glanced at the glass and then back at her, lips curving slightly as he replied, “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”
The server hesitated a fraction too long as her eyes flicked past him toward Cathie, recognition igniting in her gaze.
“Oh,” she said lightly, suddenly more attentive. “You’re Miss Valente’s fiancé, aren’t you? It’s a special night. One drink won’t hurt.”
Rowan studied her for a moment before smiling—a slow, knowing smile with a hint of mischief at the edges.
“Another time,” he replied smoothly as he stepped past her without another word.
As the server returned to the bar, her polite expression faded. From across the room, Helena watched the exchange unfold.
Her eyes went cold.
- Writer
