Hiding Things
Remi knew him.
Not just from now. Not just from their encounters at the hospital or their taunts and stolen moments at events.
She had known him before.
Before the accident. Before the gaps in his memory.
So why couldn’t he remember her?o
And more importantly…
What had he done to make her look at him with so much hatred?
Rowan closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
He needed answers.
And it was time he started looking for them.
Rowan stepped into his office, his mood foul. His mind was still spinning with thoughts of Remi, of the past he couldn’t remember, of the truths that had been kept from him. He needed time to think.
But, of course, peace wasn’t an option.
Because sitting in his chair, legs crossed like she owned the place, was Gigi.
She was swirling a glass of wine—his wine—and smirking like she hadn’t just barged into his space uninvited.
Rowan exhaled sharply, already exhausted. “Get out.”
Gigi’s smirk didn’t waver. “Not even a hello? That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”
Rowan didn’t bother responding. He walked around his desk, setting down his phone, ignoring the way she leaned forward like she was expecting a warm welcome.
“I heard you were out last night,” she said, her voice casual but laced with something sharper. “A little birdie told me you were at that fancy awards ceremony. And then… a yacht party. Alone, of course.”
Rowan sat down, rubbing his temple. “Gigi—”
“Except,” she cut in, “you weren’t alone, were you?”
Rowan’s fingers stilled. He lifted his gaze, expression blank.
Gigi tilted her head, her nails tapping against the rim of her glass. “Imagine my surprise when I saw the photos. You—my fiancé—dancing with another woman. Kissing her, even.”
Rowan leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “I called off our engagement.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”
“It’s over, Gigi,” he said, his voice clipped. “It’s a done deal.”
Her smirk faltered for the first time, but she covered it quickly, standing up and placing her glass down on his desk. “Rowan, baby, I get it. You’re confused. You’ve been through a lot—”
“Don’t.”
Gigi froze mid-step.
Rowan’s voice was low. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some lost little boy you can manipulate. I don’t trust you.”
She flinched, just slightly, before regaining her composure. “You should trust me. I’m the only one who’s been by your side through everything.”
“Really?” Rowan scoffed. “You mean the part where you tried to control every aspect of my life? Or the part where you lied to me, knowing I couldn’t remember half my past?”
Gigi’s jaw tightened. “Rowan—”
“No,” he snapped, pushing back his chair. He stood, towering over her. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you. I don’t care what story you spin next, who you cry to, what desperate stunt you pull. You and I? We have nothing in common anymore.”
Her lips parted, eyes wide. For a second, just a second, she looked genuinely shaken.
Then, just as quickly, she masked it.
“You’re making a mistake,” she whispered.
“No,” Rowan said, his voice ice-cold. “I made a mistake. And I’m fixing it. Now get the fuck out.”
Gigi stared at him, breathing hard, her face pale with barely contained rage.
Then she grabbed her purse, turned on her heel, and walked out without another word.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Rowan exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
Finally. Fucking finally.
For the first time in years, he felt like he was cutting off a dead limb. Gigi had been lingering in his life like a disease—one he hadn’t even realized was infecting him. But now she was gone. For good.
And yet, the relief was short-lived.
Because the real problem wasn’t Gigi. It wasn’t the media, the Vaughn family pressure, or the business empire on his shoulders.
The problem was himself.
The man he couldn’t remember.
The man Remi hated.
His fingers hovered over his phone, debating calling Callum to dig into Remi’s past. But no—Callum was efficient, but he was corporate. He played within limits.
Rowan needed someone who didn’t have limits.
Someone who could dig through the dirt, past the polished PR versions of events. Someone who could find the truth.
He scrolled down his contacts until he found the name.
Sebastian Vance.
He clicked dial, pressing the phone to his ear.
It rang twice before a deep, amused voice answered. “Vaughn. Now this is a surprise.”
Rowan smirked. “Still a nosy bastard, I see.”
Sebastian chuckled. “And you’re still an entitled asshole. So what’s new?”
Rowan ignored that. “Where are you?”
“Depends. You looking for business or pleasure?”
“Neither. I need information.”
A pause. Then, intrigued, Sebastian said, “Now you really have my attention.”
—
They met at an underground lounge—one of those places you had to know about to get into. It wasn’t fancy, not in the traditional sense, but it was private. Quiet.
Sebastian was already there, lounging in a leather booth, a whiskey glass in hand. He looked the same—sharp, calculating, effortlessly lethal.
“Rowan Vaughn,” Sebastian drawled, smirking as he leaned back. “Didn’t think I’d ever get a call from you again.”
Rowan sat across from him, steepling his fingers. “I need you to dig up information.”
Sebastian raised a brow. “On?”
“Remi Laurent.”
That seemed to amuse him. “Ah. The surgeon. The one you were all over in those yacht party pictures?”
Rowan ignored the taunt. “I want everything on her.”
Sebastian swirled his drink. “You could’ve just asked your corporate dogs to pull a report.”
“I don’t want a report,” Rowan said, his voice calm but firm. “I want real information. Raw. Clean. Unfiltered.”
Sebastian tilted his head, watching him closely. “And why exactly are you so interested?”
Rowan leaned forward slightly, his expression dark. “Because I think I knew her before my accident. And I need to know who I was.”
For the first time, Sebastian’s smirk faded. He studied Rowan for a long moment before exhaling, shaking his head.
“Well, shit,” he muttered. “Now that’s interesting.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Can you do it?”
Sebastian smirked. “Easy.”
When Rowan stepped into his office, Callum was already there, standing near the desk with a stack of files in hand. The moment he saw Rowan, his brows furrowed.
“Where were you?” Callum asked.
Rowan’s steps slowed. His eyes turned cold, sharp.
“Excuse me?”
Callum hesitated for half a second before clearing his throat. “I mean, I was trying to reach you. There were reports you needed to sign off on, and—”
“And you thought questioning your boss was a good idea?” Rowan’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
Callum swallowed. “No, sir.”
Rowan didn’t say anything else. He walked past him, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over his chair before sitting down. Callum placed the files on the desk and stepped back, clearly choosing to stay silent.
Good.
Rowan wasn’t in the mood for pointless conversations.
He reached for his phone, already thinking about the mountain of work ahead of him, when a sharp ping cut through the silence.
His eyes flicked to the screen.
A message.
From Sebastian Vance.
He clicked it open.
Sebastian: You said this was going to be easy. It’s not.
Rowan’s brow furrowed. He typed back.
Rowan: What do you mean?
It didn’t take long for Sebastian to respond.
Sebastian: Every real piece of information about you and Remi—the stuff beyond the surface—is either locked, encrypted, or just missing. Even some of the internet records have been tampered with.
Rowan’s grip on his phone tightened. Tampered with?
Who the hell would go through the trouble of burying information about him and Remi?
Rowan: Can you crack it?
Sebastian: Of course I can crack it. But it’s going to cost you.
Rowan exhaled sharply. Money wasn’t an issue. He didn’t care how much Sebastian wanted.
Rowan: Just get it done.
A few seconds passed before another reply came in.
Sebastian: It’s going to take
some time. More than I expected. But I’ll find what you’re looking for.
Rowan leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched.
Someone had gone through great lengths to hide things.
And he intended to find out why.
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