ROWAN CARTER
The door shut behind Logan with a quiet click. The office fell silent again.
Too silent. For a few seconds, I remained exactly where I was — standing near my desk, posture straight, expression neutral. Anyone watching through the glass walls would think nothing had happened.
That was the trick. Control the surface. Always. But the moment I was alone, my jaw tightened. I walked back to my desk slowly and set my palms against the polished wood, staring down at the city beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Father chose my mother over yours.
I let out a quiet, humorless breath. He always knew where to strike. It wasn’t the company that bothered me. Not the heir clause. Not even the competition.
It was the reminder.
I was nine when my father remarried. Nine when I learned t
