Monday morning.
And I already had a headache.
Not from work—though that would've been convenient.
No, this headache came from something deeper. The kind that pressed behind your eyes and pulsed through your skull. The kind that didn't come from caffeine withdrawal or lack of sleep… but from loss.
From the sheer frustration of being so close to signing a deal that could have changed everything—and losing it at the last minute.
I sat in my office, high above the city, the glass wall behind my desk giving me a perfect view of Agass in motion. People bustled three stories below, cars honked, shops opened, life moved on.
Completely unaware that I'd just been outplayed.
All it took was one man.
Sebastian Brusten.
I clenched my jaw, the name alone enough to stoke the ache behind my eyes.
The Jaden land in Wellington wasn't just property. It was legacy—untouched, massive, and brimming with potential. For years, it stood like a silent crown, waiting for the right king to claim it.
My grandfather, Adam King, had tried.
So did my father.
And now me.
Three generations of Kings chasing one prize. And each time, it slipped through our fingers.
Five years ago, Harris Jaden—heir to the Jaden estate—had rejected a collaboration offer from my grandfather. Said he wanted to farm the land himself.
Three days later, he died.
Cardiac arrest on the way home from work.
Naturally, the rumors came.
People whispered that our family had something to do with it. That it was more than coincidence.
I'd asked my grandfather about it once—bluntly.
He'd looked genuinely stunned.
We're ruthless in business. Not murderers.
Never that.
After Harris's death, the land remained in limbo. A few relatives drifted in and out, but no one stayed. No one claimed ownership.
Until recently.
A phone call came. One simple call from the Jaden household—and suddenly the land was up for sale. Just like that.
I moved fast. Booked a meeting. Had my legal team draw up a contract. I was ready to close the deal this morning.
But by the time I arrived?
Sebastian had already bought it.
Of all people, he beat me to it.
The Brustens were nothing if not slippery. Their empire was all gloss and shine—luxury bars, five-star hotels, high-end nightlife in Ashford. But behind the scenes? It was a cesspool.
Drugs. Girls. Black-market trades. The kind of business that needed no advertising but ran hotter than any brand on the street.
And yet… they still thrived.
Not that we were saints either.
We just played the game differently.
Our influence ran deep—on the books and off. What the public saw was King's Estates. But underneath, we had power. Manpower. Information. Connections. And enough dirt to wipe competitors clean off the map if we ever chose to.
In my grandfather's time, five families ran the shadows.
Each ruled their city:
The Brustens ran Ashford.
The Dellmans controlled Wellington.
The Normans ruled Everstead.
The Reiners dominated Rosemere.
And we—The Kings—reigned over Kingsland.
They were allies when convenient, enemies when profit demanded it. There was no loyalty—only leverage.
Clashes were inevitable. And my grandfather? He was the one they feared.
When disputes broke out, he didn't just mediate. He commanded.
No one challenged him.
No one dared.
But he's gone now.
And the board isn't the same.
Sebastian's father, Mark Brusten, had always been my father's biggest rival. Petty. Loud. Opportunistic. He built his empire off flash and fear.
Now Sebastian was following his blueprint—just with a quieter, deadlier calm.
And I'd let him win.
Because I was away on business in Rosemere.
Just one delay. One missed meeting.
That was all he needed.
And he took it.
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, running a hand over my face. The ache behind my eyes throbbed harder.
The worst part?
I didn't even know what Sebastian planned to do with the land.
He hadn't released a statement. No grand project announcements. Nothing.
Silence.
And silence, in business and in war, is a weapon.
A soft knock snapped me out of my spiral.
The door creaked open, and Mary stepped inside, holding a green file.
"Here's the file you asked for, sir," she said, placing it on my desk. "I added the recommendation letter to her documents as well."
I nodded and flipped the folder open.
Lily Morgan.
The girl who'd walked into my office fifteen minutes late and still had the nerve to argue with me.
She was either brave…
Or stupid.
But I had to admit—it made me smile.
Not many people dared to interrupt me. Even fewer survived it.
Her résumé sat cleanly on top, clipped neatly with a second application.
Dan Cooker.
Two top candidates. Only one position.
Both had strong academic records. Solid extracurriculars. Leadership roles during college. Experience, presence, clarity. Better than the usual desperate batch of charmers and chancers who applied for proximity, not the job.
"How did they score on the tests?" I asked, still flipping.
"Dan scored 97% on the aptitude test," Mary replied. "Lily scored 96%."
Very close.
"And the oral interview?"
"Lily scored 40 out of 50. Dan scored 35."
I closed the file slowly, pressing my thumb against the cover.
"Anyone else?"
"No one passed the first stage," she said.
Of course not. I'd designed the test myself.
Minimum passing score: 70%. Anyone below that? Not worth my time.
I leaned back in my chair.
Two applicants. One position.
Mary waited, still standing—hands folded, posture sharp, eyes expectant.
"Your thoughts?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She hesitated, but not for long. "Dan seems more… consistent. I believe he'd perform well in the role."
Exactly what I expected her to say.
Mary had worked with me for years. Loyal. Smart. Efficient.
But she was also keenly aware of who came near me—and more importantly, who she didn't want near me.
She wasn't the first woman in business to prefer distance between me and other women.
And she wouldn't be the last.
But I wasn't hiring a shadow.
I needed someone who could think for herself.
Boldness. Precision. Nerve.
Lily had all three—and she hadn't even been hired yet.
"Send them both employment letters," I said, snapping the folder shut.
Mary blinked. "Sir… we only have one opening."
"Then we'll make two."
She stared. "Dan as…?"
"Secretary."
I met her gaze. "Lily will serve as my personal assistant."
Her lips tightened, but she nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Handle onboarding. I want them both ready by Monday."
She nodded again and turned to leave.
The door closed behind her, and I leaned back, exhaling slowly. The ache in my head hadn't disappeared—but at least one thing had been settled.
I'd lost the Jaden land.
But maybe, just maybe…
I'd gained something else.
Because if there's one rule in business—
One rule in war—
If someone moves in silence… assume they're building a weapon.
And I needed to know what Sebastian was planning.
Before it was too late.