"Why are you faking this and playing role of Deputy VP, that too under Felix?"
Alister's skeptical voice rings in my ear from the other side of the screen. I lean against the wall of the outdoor space on the 30th floor, London's night sky blinking like starlight scattered on the ground.
"Your younger brother really can't keep his mouth shut, can he?" My tone is casual—too casual for Alister's seriousness.
Alister smacks his lips, trying not to argue. "Ron, it's not about whether or not Felix tells me everything. It's about what you're planning. Bro-" his voice carries his frustration, "do you even realize what situation we are in? Sebastian is stirring trouble with our people in Berlin. Your uncle is spreading rumors about you. Your brother is building his own damn team of loyal people, and your sister is making waves in high society. All of them share the same target!"
He pauses, inhales sharply, pacing back and forth. His tone shakes just enough to tell me he doesn't get what I'm doing and that it's giving him more of a headache.
Not that I plan to explain. Not even to my best friend.
"I know."
"You know what? That those vipers are ready to sell their soul to the devil if it means harming you?" He barks.
I take a long drag of my cigarette, letting the taste of tobacco settle inside me.
Nobody will understand what I'm doing.
Not even Alister.
Such realization draws vivid line between me and even my closest allies.
When it is not entirely about trust and loyalty, more about how this brain of mine works which is only known to me.
And it's been decades since I stopped hoping that someone will understand me if I open up because nobody really managed to do so.
Even Li Zhao once said, You know, you are my best friend yet when you speak, I don't get half of the things you are saying and it hurts me knowing, you understand me the best yet I can not understand you.
My biggest enemy is my own family.
My greatest allies can turn their backs anytime.
I have only four dependable individuals, including Li Zhao and Alister Finch-Davenport.
Even then, without meticulous planning and execution, I can't achieve my ultimate goal. My siblings and cousins? Not a big deal. One move, and they'll crash.
But my uncle, the Vice President, he's different breed , a dangerous one.
"Alister, I know what I'm doing. Just do what I told you to." My voice is calm, but sharp, carrying a no-nonsense edge that cuts any further questions.
He groans, frustrated fabric rustling on the other side of the line. "Fuck you, Aaron! If you weren't my friend, I'd drag you to court for mental abuse."
I nod. "You should time-travel back to when we were seven, surviving boarding school."
He growls. "You think I don't want that?"
"Sure, Mr. Davenport."
He stomps, groaning again, years of pent-up aggression at being my lawyer and friend. "Damn you! You better start paying me more for all this shit!"
My eyes narrow. More pay? I already pay him millions. But then again, he fights my uncle's team of lawyers who eat human brains for breakfast.
"I'll think about it," I say coolly. Cold breeze carrying the early scent of rain soothes my mind, still running at 100 km/min drafting perfect strategies.
"But what if someone recognizes you? Other than the board of directors and the elite circle, nobody knows how you look. But if word gets out, it risks your safety."
He's right.
The Laurents aren't just any European family. Since 1810, we've been entangled in economics and politics in ways ordinary people can't comprehend.
With power came enemies. My ancestors created rules to protect us: outside of directors and the elite, nobody knows our faces.
Never expose another Laurent's face- because one slip could turn the tables on you.
So yes, stepping out of that fortress as Aaron William Laurent is reckless.
Which is why I'm not.
I wear the name Aaron Erikson. A fabricated CV. A harmless employment record.
A real man who once lived this life—until Li Zhao paid him twenty million dollars to vanish into Monaco with a new identity.
This plan has been months in the making. Li Zhao doesn't move unless I hint. Alister's too busy fighting my uncle's legal team. The other two allies are playing with fire elsewhere.
What I didn't expect… was her.
The moment I saw her this morning—Nova.
She's sick, I can tell from the sore rasp in her voice, the way her nose twitched, her shoulders trembling. Yet her maddeningly clear brown eyes stayed sharp, unfazed by anything.
And when they met mine—my heart did something stupid. My body tuned itself to her presence, like last night's haze had followed me into daylight.
Originally, I told Felix to gather four worthy employees for my test and throw in one newbie with a decent CV as the center of the team. A sacrificial lamb. Because people function ten times better when they share a common foe.
I had a plan for that lamb too—transferring to Geneva HQ, the most coveted post.
Laurent&Cie has 112 offices worldwide, Geneva at its core. Our founder was a royalist, a visionary. His blueprint is why the Laurents still hold power today.
But when I saw Nova… the thought of sending her away twisted my gut.
I couldn't imagine her out of my orbit—not when I'm in London.
Something is wrong with me. I know it. How dangerously, how lastingly these emotions are growing inside me.
And yet, I don't plan to stop. Not yet.
"You're here again?"
My eyes flutter open. The phone dangles forgotten in my hand. Smoke swirls as she stands in front of me, looking at me like I'm the most disgusting, unwelcome creature on earth.
Instead of bitterness, I smirk.
"This place is for everyone. Or," my lips curve playfully...so unlike of typical me....."did you delude yourself into believing it's yours?"
Her eyes widen. Clean. Maddeningly honest.
"Excuse me!" she snaps, hands on hips, ready to chew me out with that sharp tongue of hers.
And good God.
I want her to.
If it means hearing her voice just a little longer.