Mr. Lawrence's office exuded power — sleek, cold, and deliberate.
Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the skyline, the city lights glinting like jewels beneath him. The air smelled faintly of leather and whiskey, the kind aged men drank slowly while making ruthless decisions.
His desk, a slab of black marble with gold veins, stood at the center — spotless except for a silver laptop, a crystal glass, and a single pen perfectly aligned. Behind him, dark wood panels framed abstract art, and the low hum of hidden speakers filled the silence. Every inch of the room whispered dominance. The lighting was soft but precise, casting long shadows across the polished floor. When he leaned back in his chair — calm, sharp-eyed — he looked less like a businessman and more like a ruler surveying his kingdom. A young man, probably in his thirties, slender and with a faint scar on his chin was standing before him, his head bowed and his hands behind him.
"Speak," Lawrence's voice was calm, but laced with the kind of steel that made disobedience impossible, never looking up from his what he was scribbling down.
The man bowed his head lower. "It's done, sir. The girl drank the wine… just as planned."
A slow smile curved Lawrence's lips, the kind that never reached his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the glass of whiskey in his hand which he reached on his desk.
"And do you know which among the girls? Megan...or Morgan?" He said as he sipped from his glass and spat it out. Very scorching.
I...I don't know sir. But I know that one of them from the image you gave me took the wine. Ordinarily."
For a long moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking of a clock on the far wall. Then Lawrence stood, moving toward the window where the night spread vast and unbothered.
"Good," he murmured, watching the darkness. "This is only the beginning. Let them dance and laugh while their world crumbles beneath them. Whichever of them that took the wine, I don't care, I just want them out of my way, " Then he paused, and gazed the the man before him. "Now, do you understand this game?"
The man nodded quickly, sweat beading at his temple. He dared not speak again.
Lawrence turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Keep your ears open. When she wakes… we'll know how much damage was done."
He lifted his glass in a mock toast, his smile cruel. "To the Adams family… and their inevitable ruin." He said, not to anyone in particular but mainly to himself. "Give me a brandy, this particular whiskey is too scorchy." The man quickly bowed, and without wasting any second, he went to his wine barrel, pulled out a bottle of brandy and served him.
"Yes, " he said as he closed his eyes when he tasted the wine, keeping his chair swivelling. "That's more like it.
This was Lawrence Blackwood. Sitting comfortably on his swivel chair and romancing the taste of the whiskey in his mouth, he couldn't help smiling. The smile that follows a blank stare at an insignificant object, streaming with thoughts of what he had done and what he'll still do. He was the CEO of Adams and Heavens, the one signed to pass the company to Megan once she comes of age. The only one Mr. Adams trusted his company to. His closest friend, even though he wasn't the social type.
"Pass the company over?" He smirked. "In their dreams in death."
When he heard that the couple had been assassinated, his face was looking the most sorrowful. But behind this face and cringed forehead, a smile crept. A smug one. One game played successfully. One hindrance already taken care of. Or rather, two. Mrs. Adams would have also been a trouble if to say she wasn't in that car that winter night. Now remaining their two girls, and everything will become his at last. Everything.
-----
"Meg you shouldn't really be worrying about going for this lecture today. You need to rest more."
"Shh... Nanny might hear us," Meg said as she sat before her dressing mirror, Mo helping her comb her hair. "Besides I have my singing classes to attend. I'm really fine now Mo."
Morgan wasn't really happy about this idea. She feared her sister might be stressed and fall ill again. But anyways, she can't even go for lectures without her. It would be...well, different.
"Right, do you remember something?" Mo suddenly began smiling at her, through the mirror. Those smiles that means she has a great news, a mischievous one and Meg wasn't really ready for that.
"Remember what again?" She queried impatiently.
"You now have a boyfriend! Meg, you're finally dating him. Michael. He proposed to you being his girlfriend in a very indirect way and that's kind of... romantic."
Meg gave her sister a weird gaze from the mirror. As if she was speaking in a foreign language. What nonsense indirect proposal?
"Look Mo, I'll say it again and continue saying it. I'm not interested. Come on," She tried changing the topic, adjusting in her chair. "Remember we need to be extra careful out there today. We're being aimed at." She said, her tone now sounding serious.
"I summoned for the guards already because I'm not risking my life out there. So don't worry, we won't go alone today."
"Hmm," Meg nodded in thoughts. Securities? Well, not bad. She hated going with them when her parents were alive, but now...now was very important. Now, her very existence is in danger.
Lectures began by eight am that day, and they arrived few minutes late after spending hours of hurrying over their breakfast and arguing with each other. Two men, armed and cladded in ash suits went with them, Mo carrying her grey Bentley which she ordered the previous month, and Meg been driven too with her usual black porche Macan. Changing cars like Mo wasn't her thing. To her, the one year old porche was the best.
"I just hope that bald Sir Grey isn't in class yet. You know I have the singing classes first, and he surely will lock me out once he comes in before me." Meg said as she peered the surrounding through her dark glasses. It was quite serene, peaceful.
"You're the cause of your own lateness. Assuming you just accepted dating a saviour. Your saviour. We wouldn't have been arguing for hours!"
Meg scoffed as the car came to a halt at the car-filled garage and the men stepped out to open their doors. Mo came down first with her usually quiet majestic gait, her sharp black heels ready to crush anybody that would dare stand on her way. Meg waited few seconds before stepping down finally, the securities guarding their sides cautiously.
"Alright, I'll see you after classes...be safe!" Mo bid as she hugged her before finally leaving for her classes. Meg watched as the fluffy spotless shawl she wore around her shoulders looked so good. Right there, she planned on stealing it for a moment.
Turning away slowly and moving to the direction of her own hall, she remembered the security beside her, her gaze fixing mainly on his long compact carbine. She imagine herself holding that gun. Aiming at a forehead and blasting the hell out of it. You just wait murderer. I'll still get you, it's a sure thing.
"You can wait here," she said to the tall bearded muscular bodyguard. "I'll be fine, don't worry." The guy simply obeyed and stood loyally beside her car, his arms still very firm with his gun. Megan was sure she'll be fine. Even if someone was waiting to kill her in that garage, it won't be immediately after poisoning her. The enemy was smart.
She only had to peep through the window to see the bald head of her music instructor, Mr. Grey before knowing her fate. Normally, he was nicknamed 'The Baldie ' by his students, and Meg really liked addressing him by that suitable name to Mo or any of her friends. He was standing and explaining words she could only hear inaudibly, gesturing and nodding that his rocky head. She could also see May, her song partner who sang the alto. She was sitting with her hands on her jaw, gazing like one who has drowned in her own thoughts.
"What's does she even know she's listening to?" She muttered with a sympathetic gaze as May before turning to leave the window. Now, her destination. Where would she go now? The next lecture was still far behind the time. Like about 30 minutes.
"It's even better I missed that boring class. I would've been snoring by now." She mumbled, hugging herself as she kicked a little stone lying on her way. She decided to go to sit at the steps behind the campus. They were marbled and about fifty, and she sat at the forty-fifth stair, her book in her laps.
The air was warm, laced with the scent of cherry blossoms and late-winter petals that danced on the breeze. It was a rare sunny afternoon, and students filled the central lawn like bees in a field — reading, laughing, flirting, dreaming.
She looked around her, again. This freedom was deserved than the Baldie's class. She loved every bit of the breeze she was enjoying.
Her legs were tucked beneath her, her book open in her lap. But she wasn't reading. Not really. She began humming—a soft, nostalgic tune her mother once taught her. Her voice floated on the air like silk, effortless and pure. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, highlighting the caramel warmth in her skin and the delicate glints in her dark hair. Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks as she closed her eyes and let the tune carry her.
She didn't notice the figure standing at a distance, motionless. Captivated.
James Landon.
He had just arrived at Roosevelt that morning — a late transfer. Tall, muscular, and strikingly elegant in a sharp black coat and boots, James looked every bit the mystery he was.
But now...
Now he was just a man caught under a spell.
"She's..." he whispered. "She's real?"
He couldn't look away. The girl under the sunlight — she looked like something straight out of a painting, a vision of serenity and strength all at once. He was marvelled at the beauty. Who's she?
And then she opened her eyes.
They locked. For a heartbeat.
She offered a polite, unsure smile — just a twitch of her lips — before standing up quickly and walking away. She tried to steady her steps. His gaze made her a little bit embarrassed.
But it was too late.
James was already lost.
---
He searched for Michael with his sharp eyes through the windows of each lecture hall as he walked down the hallway, being guided into his new class by a staff assistant.
Then Michael, seated near the window, turned sharply when he heard the name.
"James Landon?"
He called out with an excited tone. Their eyes met across the room. A beat passed. Then another.
A smirk curled on James' lips as he approached.
"Well, well. Michael DeLaney," he said smoothly. " Can't believe you came for this lecture this early. We meet again, finally." The two had been very close from Italy, and had left there for London together to complete their university. Michael had always wished he abandoned all the schools in Italy for somewhere he loved better, and James saw to registering them already in Roosevelt.
"I know right?" Michael smiled as he gestured him to seat on an empty chair beside him. "You look so good."
They shook hands violently. "You look more than what you just said."
Jnd then, Megan walked into the hall. James turned. His eyes widened.
"Oh my..."
Michael looked towards James' direction and saw it was Meg. His heart stopped beating for a second. She was looking so beautiful, sweet. Then he saw another— the spark in James' eyes, the way his breath caught. Something tightened in his chest.
"Don't tell me," James murmured. "She's here too?"
"You know her?" Michael asked, his voice sharp.
"Not yet," James said, his eyes never leaving her. "But I will."