“Yes?”
“If this conversation were optional,” he says, “you wouldn’t be calling.”
“No.”
There’s a brief pause. “Then we shouldn’t delay.”
I lower the phone, my pulse elevated. The apartment remains quiet, yet everything feels different. Whatever world Kiren Sovarin inhabits has already reached into mine. And I won’t pretend his presence hasn’t started to matter.
6
KIREN
The following afternoon, I send Rowan an address and a time. I don’t ask if she’s available. I don’t offer alternatives. If she doesn’t want to come, she won’t.
Her reply comes back with a single word. No delay. No questions.
I read it once, then again. The absence of negotiation does something to me I don’t examine too closely.
By evening, the private dining room off my penthouse is secured. The restaurant caters to guests who understand the value of silence, and the staff understands even more. They serve, they disappear, and they remember nothing. The lighting is low but not sentimental, intentional, and contained, with nothing about tonight left to chance.
I arrive early. I always do. The table I choose keeps the entrance in view without advertising that I’m watching it. Old habits.They don’t require thought anymore.
The room fills slowly. Conversation stays low. Glass touches glass in soft intervals. The staff move smoothly, present only when needed, and are invisible the rest of the time. It’s designed to feel private without being isolated. I prefer it that way.
When Rowan steps inside, she doesn’t announce herself. She doesn’t need to. I notice her immediately. Not because she demands attention, but because my focus narrows without permission.
She pauses just inside the door, coat folded over her arm, taking in the room before committing to a direction. Her hair is pulled back, practical as always. No performance or effort to impress. She sweeps the space once, quick and decisive, and then she moves toward me like she’s already chosen this outcome.
When her eyes meet mine, the connection is immediate. Not warm. Not cold. Just certain. She studies me for a second, like she’s deciding how much she wants to reveal.
“Kiren,” she greets when she reaches the table, stopping beside the chair I've already pulled out for her.
“Rowan.”
I rise and gesture toward the seat. She hesitates only a fraction before sitting, her posture upright but relaxed. The hostess retreats without prompting, leaving us alone with menus. She picks up the menu but doesn't study it closely, her attention already elsewhere. When the server arrives, she orders quickly, choosing a light entrée and water instead of wine. I make noteof it without comment, ordering the same to avoid creating an imbalance.
For the first few minutes, we keep it easy. Polite. The kind of conversation that establishes pace without exposing anything that matters. She asks about the hospital expansion that Sovarin Biomedical is funding. I give her the facts. Timeline, budget, and scope. No spin, no embellishment. Just the information.
I watch her while I speak. She listens the way she works, focused and disciplined, already deciding what she believes.
“You don't oversell,” she observes at one point, her fingers resting lightly near the rim of her glass. “Most people in your position do.”
“I prefer accuracy.”
“That explains the way you move,” she replies, her gaze lingering on my face.
I tilt my head slightly. “Elaborate.”
“You don't seek attention,” she continues. “But people notice you anyway without realizing why.”
“Attention tends to arrive on its own,” I reply. “I see no reason to invite it.”
One corner of her mouth lifts briefly, amusement crossing her face before disappearing. “You're comfortable being evasive."
“I’m selective.”
She nods once, accepting the distinction without pressing further. The food arrives, plates set down carefully before the server retreats again. Rowan eats slowly, her mind clearly elsewhere even as she maintains the appearance of engagement.
