Didn't Know What To Do
Silence.
Callum stared at him.
Not with anger—not yet.
But with something cold.
Something Rowan had never seen in his assistant’s eyes before.
“You hired my brother?” Callum repeated.
Rowan ran a hand down his face. “Yes.”
Callum exhaled sharply, stepping back.
Then he laughed.
It wasn’t amused.
It wasn’t even angry.
It was empty.
Rowan didn’t like that.
Callum shook his head, crossing his arms. “Wow.”
Rowan sighed. “Callum—”
“You had every investigator at your disposal.” Callum’s voice was tight, controlled. “And you went to him?”
Rowan frowned. “I needed someone discreet. Someone who could work outside Vaughn surveillance.”
Callum scoffed. “Right. Because hiring Sebastian fucking Hale is the epitome of discretion.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched. “He got the job done.”
Callum’s entire expression shifted.
“Of course, he did.” His tone was sharp. Bitter.
Rowan’s frown deepened. “Callum—”
“No.” Callum held up a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t get to talk your way out of this.”
Rowan watched as Callum’s composure cracked.
And that?
That was rare.
Callum was always steady. Always in control.
But now?
His hands were clenched into fists.
His breathing was off.
And his eyes—for the first time ever—were filled with something dangerously close to resentment.
Rowan exhaled, his voice lower. “What happened between you two?”
Callum’s lips pressed into a tight line.
For a long moment, Rowan thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then, finally—
Callum sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“My brother is not the kind of person you should trust,” he muttered.
Rowan leaned against his desk. “I know that already.”
Callum let out a humorless laugh. “Then why hire him?”
Rowan met his gaze. “Because I was desperate.”
Callum’s jaw tightened.
Rowan watched as something flickered in his assistant’s eyes.
Then—finally—Callum sat down in the chair across from him.
And he told him.
\---
Years Ago – Callum & Sebastian
Callum had a brother.
Not just any brother—his twin.
Sebastian Hale was born exactly four minutes after Callum.
But where Callum was disciplined, loyal, and structured—
Sebastian was ruthless, ambitious, and dangerously unpredictable.
They had been close once.
Brothers. Best friends.
But everything changed when their father died.
Sebastian disappeared from the family.
And when he returned?
He wasn’t the same.
Callum had tried.
He had given his brother chances.
But Sebastian was too far gone.
Lies. Deception. Greed.
Stole Callum’s money.
He burned every bridge.
He betrayed Callum in ways he never recovered from, betrayed Callum tomhis gamblers to have him beaten up and everything.
And now?
They were strangers.
More than that—they were enemies.
\---
Back to the Present
Rowan listened.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t argue.
Because for once, he understood.
Callum leaned back, running a hand down his face. “So, yeah. That’s why I’m pissed.”
Rowan exhaled. “I get it but he is different and clean. He is a good investigator.”
Callum scoffed. “Do you?”
Rowan nodded. “Yeah.”
Callum narrowed his eyes. “Then tell me. Why did you really go to him?”
Rowan hesitated.
Then, quietly, he admitted, “Because I knew you wouldn’t help me.”
Callum stilled.
Then—he laughed.
But it was cold.
Callum stood up. “You know what, Rowan? I need a fucking break.”
Rowan’s brows furrowed. “What?”
“I don’t have a life outside of this job,” Callum snapped.
Rowan blinked. “Since when is that my problem?”
Callum scoffed. “Exactly. You don’t care.”
Rowan frowned. “That’s not—”
“No,” Callum cut in, shaking his head. “I work my ass off for you. I fix your messes. I make sure your empire doesn’t collapse under your own fucking attitude. And you don’t even appreciate it.”
Rowan opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Because—shit.
Callum wasn’t wrong.
Callum exhaled. “I need space. A few weeks.”
Rowan’s chest tightened.
Callum had never asked for time off.
Not once.
And now he was done.
Rowan cleared his throat. “Callum—”
Callum held up a hand. “I’m leaving for a while. Figure your shit out.”
Then he turned to leave.
But before he did—
He looked over his shoulder.
One last time.
And he said, “You know what your biggest problem is, Rowan?”
Rowan crossed his arms. “Enlighten me.”
Callum’s eyes darkened.
“You treat everyone like they’re beneath you.”
Rowan stiffened.
Callum continued, “You think being cold and untouchable makes you powerful. But all it does is push people away.”
Rowan stood frozen, watching Callum walk away.
The door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the room.
It was quiet now.
Too quiet.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.
Then his eyes landed on the small white card on his desk.
A gala invitation.
He frowned.
Callum must have dropped it before leaving.
Rowan picked it up, scanning the details.
Annual Charity Gala for Medical Advancements.
A slow, bitter chuckle escaped him.
Of course.
Another damn event he had to sit through, shaking hands with people he didn’t respect, pretending to give a damn about causes he barely followed.
He tossed the card back onto the desk.
Not his problem.
Not anymore.
\---
Thirty Minutes Later
Rowan was still pacing.
His office felt too big.
Too empty.
He picked up his whiskey glass, took a long sip, and then set it down—hard.
His eyes landed on the gala invitation again.
Callum’s words replayed in his head.
“We have been friends for years... your mistake? You never accept them. And you always put it on others.”
Rowan let out a humorless laugh.
He wasn’t wrong.
And that?
That pissed him off even more.
With a sigh, he picked up his phone.
One text.
To his tailor.
Find me something for a gala. Black. Sharp. Discreet.
A reply came instantly.
Done. It’ll be delivered within the hour.
Rowan tossed the phone onto his desk and exhaled.
Fine.
He’d go.
Not because Callum told him to.
But because—
Because he needed a distraction.
\---
Rowan stepped out of his car, adjusting his cufflinks as the camera flashes went off.
Photographers lined the entrance.
He ignored them, walking past with a sharp nod to the event staff.
Inside, the venue was grand—a five-star hotel ballroom filled with high society.
Men in expensive suits.
Women in dazzling gowns.
Rowan barely glanced at them.
He made his way to the bar, ordering whiskey neat.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” a voice drawled beside him.
Rowan turned.
James Luther.
An old acquaintance, dressed in a crisp navy tux, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Rowan exhaled. “Neither did I.”
James chuckled, lifting his glass. “To unwanted obligations, then.”
Rowan clinked his own against it. “To wasting our time.”
They both drank.
James glanced around. “So, tell me, Vaughn—what are you thinking? What's on mind?”
Rowan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Business.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Bullshit.”
Rowan didn’t react.
Because James was right.
This wasn’t about business.
This was about Callum’s words still gnawing at him.
About the fact that he had spent the last twenty-four hours questioning everything.
And most of all—
About the woman he still couldn’t get out of his goddamn head.
James followed his gaze and smirked.
“Well, well,” he mused. “Dr. Laurent.”
Rowan’s fingers tightened around his glass.
She was across the room, speaking to an older man—probably a potential investor.
Her gown was black, elegant but simple.
Hair pulled back, exposing her neck, her shoulders.
She looked—
Rowan took another sip of his drink.
He wasn’t going there.
James nudged him. “You two have an interesting history, don’t you?”
Rowan exhaled shar
ply. “You don’t know anything.”
James smirked. “I know you’re staring like a man ready to risk it all.”
Rowan shot him a glare. “Go fuck yourself.”
James chuckled, patting Rowan’s shoulder before walking away.
Rowan stayed put.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t approach her.
But he kept watching.
Because for the first time since finding out everything—
He didn’t know what the hell to do.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
