Evander woke before the alarm, as always.
The villa was silent. It was perched above the city skyline like a throne room for a man who didn't believe in kingdoms. Everything around him was designed to function without chaos—no creaks in the floorboards, no flickering lights, no misplaced cushions.
Order. Control. That's how he coped.
Sliding out of bed, Evander walked barefoot to his ensuite bathroom, the chill of the hardwood meeting his skin. No creaks. No warmth.
Rohan, his house servant, had already prepared the shower just as he always did five minutes before he woke. Evander didn't ask how he timed it so perfectly. He just appreciated the efforts.
Evander stepped into the steam of the shower and let the water run hotter than necessary. He tilted his head back, letting it wash over him. Scalding heat over his skin reminded him there were still things he could feel.
Sometimes he stood under the water and imagined a time when he'd woken to soft laughter behind him. When another towel had hung beside his. When tiny post-it notes cluttered the mirror with morning reminders she used to scribble—prenatal yoga at 10, don't forget raspberry leaf tea, come home early?
Now, only fog. Only silence.
Downstairs, Rohan the-only-man-he-trusted-with-his-coffee was already plating his breakfast.
"Morning, sir," Rohan greeted, setting the last plate on the table. "Your usual brioche toast, poached eggs, the French roast you like. . your coffee is extra strong today."
Evander didn't bother replying. A silent nod was enough. Rohan had worked for him since the early days, he didn't need words anymore.
His kitchen was too big for one man, but he never bothered. He took his seat at the sleek marble dining island, the screen of his iPad already lit up.
"Where the hell is Julian?" Evander muttered, sipping his coffee. He'd barely placed the cup down when the device buzzed with an incoming video call.
Julian Reyes, his best friend and his work manager, appeared—tie askew, sleeves rolled up, balancing a protein bar in one hand and a stylus in the other.
"You're late," Evander pointed out, a muscle flexed in his jaw.
Julian flashed a quick grin, unbothered. "You look like you already signed three deals before breakfast."
"I did," Evander replied nonchalantly, raising his mug. "What's your excuse?"
"God gave me a personality." Sarcasm weighed heavy on his voice.
Evander's cold smile told him how little he cared. He didn't respond, instead opened the shared docs. "Update me on the acquisition."
Julian cleared his throat dramatically before briefing, "We've secured the negotiation terms, but there's a catch. The founder wants to stay on board post-buyout. He's old money and doesn't trust anyone under forty."
"Then I'll pretend I'm forty-five and heartless." Evander arched his brow.
"You don't need to pretend."
Evander's mouth tugged at the corner barely. That was his version of a smile.
They had been best friends long enough to know when to joke and when to let him be. They dove into work. Acquisition reports. Negotiation strategies. Legal terms that would terrify the average man and bore the hell out of them. Evander thrived here. This was his battlefield.
Until a second call interrupted his screen. The name Victor Thorne Ashenford blinked on his display.
Evander's body stiffened. He didn't need caffeine now. He clicked the accept option.
His father's face filled the screen. Perfectly pressed navy suit. Every pixel screamed legacy. The man didn't age—he calcified. Not a wrinkle out of place.
"Evan, how is the Milan project proceeding?" It was 7 a.m., and Victor looked like he'd already conquered Wall Street.
"On track! Ahead, even Father."
Victor raised a brow. "Ahead isn't a number. I expect numbers."
He exhaled a rough breath. "Six percent ahead of forecast. Negotiations will be closed by Thursday."
"Good." A pause. "Now onto something that actually matters."
Evander leaned back, knowing what was coming.
"You're thirty-two," Victor began, his voice lowering into that deceptively calm timbre that always preceded control. "You've built your reputation, expanded the business. You've proven yourself, built enough to rival me in half the time. But the board's asking the same question as I am."
"I'm aware." Evander feigned indifference except for the tiny tic in his jaw.
"Then act like it." Victor scoffed.
Evander didn't reply. He didn't need to. He had heard this script a hundred times. Find a wife. Produce a male heir. Secure the Ashford name.
"Where's the heir?" There it was. Again.
"Let it go," Evander dismissed him waving his hand.
"Business isn't eternal. Men aren't eternal. Legacies are." There's a crack in Victor's wolfish smile. It's so brief, Evander almost missed it.
"You expect me to replace…" He swallowed hard.
"No one is irreplaceable, Evan." Victor interrupted too easily.
Evander's stomach twisted, not in rage—he was past rage. It twisted in grief. He wasn't even sure if his father had ever said her name. Not once. Not during the funeral. Not when they buried a woman he'd nearly married, and the daughter she never got to deliver.
No condolences, no tears. Only: "You still have a company to run."
His hand curled around his coffee mug. Memories began flooding in like they always did when the subject of marriage, heirs, or future came up.
Amelia.
Sunlight in human form. Obsessed with weird baby names. Evander remembered the way she giggled when she'd told him she was pregnant.
They'd picked the nursery wallpaper together. They'd almost made it.
Almost.
Until she didn't come home. Until her car flipped on the highway. Until they told him neither of them made it out alive.
Evander remembered the sound he had made that day. It wasn't human. And he remembered standing in front of her grave, whispering "It should've been me."
"Evan, are you even listening to me? Evan..." His father's voice was buzzing in the background that pulled him back from his thoughts. Victor went on, "I gave you freedom to build. You're an Ashford, you don't get to be emotional."
The words landed like a slap. Not because of their cruelty, but because of how emotionless they were. Evander stared at his father's image, that cold, unyielding face. A face he'd inherited but their thought perspective never matched.
Do you even hear yourself? he thought, voice silent only in his mind. Do you know how exhausting it is to be built like a machine and told to feel nothing?
But all Evander said was, "I'll handle it."
"Find a suitable woman. Marry her. Secure the family or the board will start looking for alternatives." Victor ordered sternly.
And just like that, he ended the call. The screen went black.
Evander sat there in silence. The eggs had gone cold. The toast untouched. He looked outside the window, city lights blurring into a golden haze as morning finally claimed the skyline.
Somewhere out there, people were starting over. Waking up beside someone they loved. Kissing their partners. Sending their kids off to school. Laughing over pancakes.
Evander couldn't remember the last time he shared breakfast with someone. Maybe that's why the toast never tasted like anything.
He had an empire and a grave in his heart. Sometimes, he wondered which one weighed more.