Chapter One
Rowan
The city hums beyond the tall glass windows of La Belle Époque, a five-star restaurant perched on the thirty-second floor with a view that makes the skyline look like scattered diamonds on black velvet. Crystal chandeliers drip soft gold light over white tablecloths and deep red leather booths. The air smells of seared wagyu, aged wine, and expensive perfume.
Six months since Cade came home, they’d said. As if the man had been off fighting a war instead ofchoosingto move two states away, only to stroll back and slot straight into the family firm like he’d never left.
I push through the heavy oak doors, nodding once at the maître d’ who knows me by name. My charcoal wool coat is still dotted with a few stray raindrops. I don’t particularly want to be here. Celebrating Cade’s return feels forced, like we’re all pretending this is some wholesome family milestone instead of David gently steering his son back into the fold, so he can take over the social-facing side of Mercer Security.
Home systems for the rich. Surveillance tech that skirts every grey line in the book. Spyware that “we can’t control who buys it.” And a fat contract with the city’s police department that keeps the lights on and the lawyers happy. I handlethe tech development side… algorithms, encryption layers, the quiet backbone thatactuallymakes the money disappear into offshore accounts when necessary. Cade? He gets to smile for cameras, shake hands with clients, and look brooding in tailored clothes, while the press calls him the “charming face” of the company.
I spot Mom immediately. She stands up in the far booth, waving with that bright, practiced smile she’s had since I was a kid. The red dress hits just below her knees, hugging her figure in a way that makes her look closer to fifty than sixty. Her blonde-grey hair is curled softly around her face, catching the light like she’s still the woman who used to tuck me in after Dad left.
A small, genuine smile pulls at my mouth just for her. She’s always been my biggest supporter… through the rocky years with David, through college, through every messy relationship that never quite stuck. David’s been decent too, in his own stiff way. He paid for my degree, handed me a real role at the firm when most stepfathers would’ve kept their biological son front and centre. The early tension between us dissolved somewhere around my twentieth birthday. I was ten when Mom first brought David home. I was angry, quiet, and convinced he’d replace the father-shaped hole I still poked at sometimes. He never did, he just… stayed.
But Cade… Cade has always beendifferent. Watchful and quiet in a way that feels deliberate, like he’s cataloguing every word, every glance, and every shift in the room. Mom loves that about him, says heactuallylistens. Those dark brown eyes of his don’t miss much.
I reach the table and lean down to hug Mom, breathing in her familiar perfume. “You look lovely, Mom.”
She laughs lightly and waves the compliment away, cheeks pink. “Oh, stop it, darling.” Then she gestures to the empty space in the curved booth opposite her. “Sit, sit.”
The only spot left slides me directly next to Cade. He’s leaning back against the plush deep-red leather like he owns the entire restaurant, one arm draped casually along the back of the booth. A glass of whiskey sits in his other hand, the amber liquid catching the light as he takes a slow sip. Dark navy polo clings to his shoulders and chest, no suit for him, he looks relaxed. David, on the other hand, is still in his grey suit from the office, tie loosened just enough to look intentional. I didn’t have time to run home and change. Black button-down, sleeves rolled to my elbows, and dark trousers.
David gives me a warm nod. “You want a drink, Rowan?”
I manage a small smile, and nod, already wishing I wereanywhereelse. Keeping the peace… that’s what tonight’s about. David flags down a waitress without missing a beat.
“Large latte, please.” I don’t even glance at her, just pick up the leather-bound menu and scan the entrées like they might offer an escape route.
“No whiskey tonight?” David asks, a teasing edge in his voice.
I shake my head, eyes still on the menu. “Early appointment in the morning. I’d rather not.”
He nods, respectful as always. “Good man.”
Then something nudges my ankle under the table, deliberately. I frown and glance down, the toe of one of Cade’sfamiliar black boots lingers against my leg for a second longer than necessary. I slowly lift my gaze to him.
He’s watching me. One dark brow slightly raised, that tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t say a word, just nods once toward the waitress standing at the edge of the table.
I turn my head. She’s young, pretty in that polished restaurant way, cheeks flushed pink as she writes down the drink orders. Her eyes keep flicking to me, then away, then back again. A nervous little smile plays on her lips.
Mom’s grinning like she’s already planning a wedding.
I clear my throat. “Can you give us ten minutes, please?”
The waitress bites her lip, still smiling. “Of course, Mr. Adley.”
I give her a tight, polite smile and roll my eyes the second her back is turned, shaking my head.
Mom leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ladies do love the blondes.”
I look up at her, exhaling through my nose. “No, Mom… the majority would prefer someone like Cade.” I gesture weakly in his direction without actually looking at him. “You know… tall, dark, and handsome.”
Because he is, objectively. Brooding dark messy hair that somehow looks intentionally effortless. Sharp jawline. The kind of build that comes from actual gym time instead of just running on spite and caffeine like I do. My own hair is dirty blond, darker than golden, kept short on the sides, longer and curly on top. One stubborn curl always falls into my face no matter how muchproduct I use. I have to tame it every morning. Cade just rolls out of bed looking like that.
Cade leans forward, forearms resting on the table now, that deep voice low and curiously amused. “Handsome?”
I finally meet his eyes, dark brown and watchful.
