Chapter 2: Fiancée

Rowan’s Point of View

I watch as Pamela disappears into the rain, her drenched figure quickly melding into the darkened city streets. The corner of my lips curls into a smirk, the cigarette between my fingers flaring to life as I take a slow, deliberate drag. Something inside me stirs at the sight of her running away, desperate and hopeless—something cold, calculating, and satisfied.

She's infinitely more beautiful when she's angry, I think, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the crisp night air. It’s almost funny how fast she can be driven to that fire-filled side, the one that makes her defiant even in the face of her own despair. And this is only just the beginning.

I flick the cigarette to the ground, mash it with my heel, and stride toward my car. My driver opens the door, and as I slide into the back seat, I pull out my phone. My finger hovers over Tristan Jones's number before I press dial. The call connects in a ring or two, and I can hear the desperation in his voice before he even speaks.

"Mr. Hamilton, please, I—"

"I will accept your proposal, Mr. Jones," I cut him short. My voice is ice-cold, like the rain now beating against the car windows. "But with one condition."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and for a second, I can almost hear the wheels in his head turning, the desperation clawing at him, making him weak.

“What…what condition?” he finally asks, his voice shaking with fear mixed with a sliver of hope.

“Not just one condition,” I correct, kicking back in the seat as satisfaction blooms in my chest. “I'll add more to our agreement. You see, I’m not just buying your daughter’s hand in marriage. I’m buying her loyalty, her obedience, and her complete submission. You’ll make sure she understands that.”

Silence. The kind that stretches across the line, thick with tension. Then, Tristan’s voice returns, weaker now, almost breaking. “Anything. Just…please, Mister Hamilton, help me. Help my company. I’ll make sure that my daughter will end up to you.”

“Consider it done,” I say, my tone smooth, almost pleasant. “I’ll have the papers drawn up tomorrow. You can expect them on your desk by the afternoon.”

I hang up before he can respond, the satisfaction in his pitiful compliance warming me more than the heat in the car. This game is just beginning, and I’m the one holding all the cards.

When I enter my estate, the grand house standing tall and imposing against the night sky, the familiar scent of jasmine greets me—the flowers my grandmother insists on keeping near the entrance. The moment I step inside, she approaches, her cane tapping lightly against the marble floors.

“Rowan, dear,” she begins, her voice warm but laced with exasperation. “When will you ever propose to Lyka Stone? She’s a fine girl, and I’m not getting any younger. I want to see my great-grandchildren before I leave this world.”

I bite back a sigh and give her a calm, unruffled smile instead. “I’ve told you before, Grandma, I’m not interested in Lyka.”

“But she’s perfect for you!” she protests, her concern deepening with each word. “She’s from a good family, well-educated, beautiful—”

“I’m bringing my fiancée this weekend,” I say, cutting her off with the same cool tone from earlier.

The room falls into stunned silence. My grandmother’s eyes widen, her mouth opening and closing like she’s trying to find the words. My mom and sister, who had been chatting quietly on the other side of the room, stop mid-conversation, their heads snapping towards me.

“Your…fiancée?” my sister Rebecca is the first to speak, her voice full of incredulity. “Rowan, how—when—”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” my mother chimes in, her brow furrowing with concern. “How could you keep something like this from your own family?”

I walk past them all, my steps measured, deliberate. “Once we’re married,” I say over my shoulder, my voice carrying through the silence, “you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves. Better, even.”

I take the first, second, and third steps of the grand staircase, not waiting for their reactions. Each echo carries the weight of the decision I’ve just made. This weekend will change everything—for Pamela, for my family, and most importantly, for me.

And as I reach the top of the stairs, I can’t help but think about the expression that will be on Pamela’s face when she realizes just how deeply she’s entangled in this web I’ve spun. That’s when the real game will begin.

I stride into my office, this grand space that comes alive with the soft glow of my desk lamp. The heavy oak door closes behind me with a muted thud. I sink into my leather chair. My gaze falls upon the framed photograph sitting on the corner of my desk.

The photo shows a boy and a girl embracing, faces contorted in pure, unbridled joy. One of those moments of carefree happiness that diametrically opposes what I am doing right now. I stare at the photograph for a moment, my expression unreadable, before setting it down and reaching for my phone.

Drawing it out of my pocket, a new message blinks on the screen. It is from Lyka Stone. I unlock the phone and read her message. Her words spill out in the message, full of anticipation.

[Rowan, I’ll be back in the USA next month. Can’t wait to see you!]