The Vaughn Nemesis

“You think there is foul play?” Callum said over the phone.

Rowan stood up, wincing as he walked over to his study table. His body still ached from the crash, but his mind was sharper than ever.

“I don’t think, Callum. I know.” His fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “Too many things don’t add up. I need you to dig into the flight records, the passenger list, the maintenance reports—everything.”

Callum was silent for a moment. Then, “This isn’t going to be easy. If someone tampered with your plane, they made sure to cover their tracks.”

Rowan exhaled, his jaw clenching. “Do whatever it takes.”

Another pause. “Even if it means looking into people close to you?”

Rowan’s grip on the table tightened. “Especially them.”

Callum sighed. “Alright. I’ll handle it.”

“Good.”

Rowan ended the call and tossed his phone onto the desk. His head throbbed, his body exhausted, but his mind refused to rest.

Too much had happened in the past few days.

And the worst part?

The feeling in his gut that things were about to get even worse.

—

That night, Rowan barely made it to bed before sleep took him. His muscles relaxed against the cool sheets, his body surrendering to the exhaustion he had been fighting for days.

But the second his mind drifted—

The flashes started.

—

A dimly lit room.

A woman standing at a distance, arms wrapped around herself, staring at him with hollow eyes.

Not just any woman.

Remi.

She looked… different. Younger. Thinner. Tired.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was quiet. Almost lifeless.

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

Rowan felt himself step forward. “What do you mean?”

She let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t even care, do you?”

A sharp pain twisted in his chest.

“I—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “Forget it.”

She turned, walking away.

“Remi wait.”

“Why should I…you don't care. A bleeding woman is nothing but disgust to you.”

Rowan wanted to stop her. To reach out. To say something—

But the dream ripped away before he could.

—

He jolted awake.

His breathing was heavy, his heart racing like he had just run a marathon.

His room was dark. Quiet. Safe.

It was just a dream.

Just his imagination.

Right?

Rowan exhaled, running a hand down his face.

But for some reason—

The ache in his chest remained.

What did the dream mean? A bleeding woman is disgusting?

Rowan groaned. Restless. He turned but then his injury stretched and he winced. 

He groaned again. 

Everything was just frustrating. He wished he could open up a rip in earth for fast healing and recovering of memories. 

His life was just too confusing at the moment. 

*****
The next morning, his phone rang before he could even pour himself a cup of coffee.

Callum.

Rowan exhaled sharply and answered. “Tell me you have something.”

“I sent over the CCTV footage and the reports,” Callum said, straight to the point. “Check your email.”

Rowan walked to his desk, already pulling his laptop open. “Efficient as always,” he muttered. “Remind me to give you a raise.”

A short silence. Then—

“I doubt I deserve that.”

Rowan’s fingers stilled over the keyboard.

Something in Callum’s voice sounded… off.

Before he could push, Callum cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Then he hung up.

Rowan frowned, staring at the phone for a beat.

What the hell was that?

Shaking his head, he clicked on the email, downloading the attachments. The first was a CCTV clip—grainy, timestamped a few days before the crash.

A man in a maintenance uniform.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he watched. The guy moved like he belonged, like he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. But then—

He approached the plane.

Did something near the engine.

Rowan leaned in, his pulse picking up.

A few minutes later, the man casually walked off.

Like he hadn’t just set up an attempted murder.

Rowan exhaled, clicking on the second attachment—a report of the same man’s death.

Shot in an alley. Two days after the crash.

No witnesses. No arrests.

Rowan clenched his jaw.

Someone had cleaned up after him.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the man’s personal details.

A name.

A background check.

And then—

A family connection.

The man's last recorded employer was linked to a businessman named Lucious Davenport.

Rowan froze.

His frown deepened.

Who the fuck was that?

He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the desk as he stared at the name on the screen. Lucious Davenport. The name meant nothing to him. But the way it was connected—through a dead man who had sabotaged his plane—meant everything.

He wasn’t stupid.

People didn’t go through this much trouble over a simple business rivalry.

This was personal.

Rowan inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he grabbed his phone.

There was only one person who could give him answers.

He dialed.

The line rang once. Twice.

Then—

A quiet sigh. “Rowan.”

“Where are you?” Rowan asked.

A brief pause. “My estate.”

“I’m coming over.”

—

Fifteen minutes later, Rowan stepped into Sebastian Vaughn’s private study, the air heavy with the scent of aged whiskey and old books.

His grandfather sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, watching him carefully. The usual cold authority in his eyes was missing. Instead, there was something… tired.

Rowan didn’t waste time. He pulled up a chair, sat down, and met his grandfather’s gaze head-on.

“Tell me about Lucious Davenport.”

Sebastian’s fingers twitched.

Rowan didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed, the way his hands clenched before relaxing again.

That alone told him he was about to hear something he wasn’t going to like.

Sebastian exhaled slowly. “I was hoping you’d never have to know.”

“Well,” Rowan said flatly, “here we are.”

His grandfather hesitated. Then, finally—

“Lucious Davenport,” he began, “is a name that, once upon a time, held the same weight as ours.”

Rowan stayed silent.

“He built his empire in the shipping industry while our family was rising in technology,” Sebastian continued. “For years, the Vaughns and the Davenports were… friends. Business allies. Partners, even.”

Rowan’s jaw tensed. “And then?”

Sebastian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And then he lost.”

Silence.

Rowan frowned. “Lost what?”

Sebastian’s grip on his glass tightened. “Everything.”

Rowan sat back, processing.

“Davenport believed that as long as the Vaughns thrived, he would never regain what he lost,” Sebastian murmured. “Our technology were more advanced, it gained more traction, Lucious had abandoned the idea and we worked on it. Jealousy and hatred he broke our friendship. And so, he made it his life’s mission to see us fall.”

Something cold crawled down Rowan’s spine.

“This wasn’t just about business, was it?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No. It became personal. Deeply personal.”

Rowan exhaled, rubbing his temples. “How personal are we talking?”

His grandfather hesitated again. Then—

“He orchestrated the accident that killed your parents.”

The world stopped.

Rowan stilled.

His pulse roared in his ears.

“…What?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened. “The crash that took their lives was not an accident. It was him.”

Rowan’s fingers curled into fists. “And you knew?”

Sebastian exhaled, his gaze heavy with something Rowan had never seen before. Regret. “We suspected for years but could never prove it.”

Rowan swallowed, his throat dry.

This wasn’t just revenge.

This was a vendetta.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

His plane. The attack.

It had never been about him.

It had been about his name.

Sebastian looked away, voice quieter now. “And then… there was you.”

Rowan frowned. “What about me?”

His grandfather finally met his gaze.

And what he said next—

Shattered everything.

“You weren’t entirely adopted.”

Rowan’s breath caught.

The room tilted slightly.

“What the hell does that mean?” he rasped.

Sebastian exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. “After your parents died… you disappeared.”

Rowan’s blood ran cold. “I—what?”

His grandfather’s face was grim. “We searched for months, Rowan. Months. And when we found you—” He hesitated. “You were in an orphanage. You weren't exactly adopted. You are a Vaughn by blood.”

Something sharp clawed at Rowan’s chest.

“You mean to tell me,” he said slowly, voice eerily calm, “that I was taken to a fucking orphanage after my parents were murdered?”

Sebastian’s silence was all the answer he needed.

Rowan shot to his feet. “And you never told me?”

His grandfather sighed. “We thought it best—”

“You thought?” Rowan’s voice rose. “You thought it was best to let me believe I had been taken in by my aunt and uncle out of love when in reality, I was dumped into an orphanage until you finally decided to claim me?”

Sebastian closed his eyes briefly. “It was more complicated than that.”

Rowan laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, pacing. “Not only was my plane tampered with by someone connected to Davenport, but you’re now telling me that my entire childhood was a fucking lie?”

His grandfather watched him carefully. “You were always a Vaughn, Rowan. That never changed.”

“Bullshit.”

Sebastian’s expression hardened. “You think I don’t regret what happened? You think I don’t wish I had found you sooner?” His voice cracked. “Do you think I don’t hate myself for letting you slip through the cracks?”

Rowan froze.

Sebastian Vaughn never showed emotion.

Never.

And yet—

There was something raw in his eyes now.

Pain.

Guilt.

Grief.

For the first time in his life, Rowan saw his grandfather not as the untouchable patriarch of the Vaughn family—

But as a man who had lost, too.

Rowan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

His mind was spinning. His pulse was pounding.

He needed space.

Needed to think.

His chest ached.

His childhood. His family. His parents.

All of it—

A lie.

He expected it, though.

Somewhere deep down, he had always known. Had always felt it.

But he had never realized how complicated it was.

His throat tightened as his grandfather spoke one last time.

“Lucious Davenport doesn’t just want the Vaughns ruined,” Sebastian said quietly.

“He wants us dead.”