123
Michael glanced up from the glass of water in his hand as Jordan walked into the living room with Beth trailing closely behind him. His eyes sharpened immediately, not with emotion but with precision, the way a veteran surgeon might study an X-ray or a flaw in an otherwise pristine diamond. He didn’t blink. His gaze lingered, too long, too still, on Jordan’s face, then dropped to the man’s gait, the curve of his shoulders, the quiet tension in his jaw.
Jordan forced a nod that barely looked rehearsed. “Dad.”
Michael’s brow twitched faintly. He didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip from the glass before replying in a deceptively warm tone. “Kingsley.”
Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.
Beth stepped forward quickly, inserting herself between the crackling air with a breezy laugh that sounded like it had been pulled from a fashion ad. “He’s just tired. We were up late last night reviewing the West Coast expansion—so many deadlines! He’s completely obsessed.” She placed a gentle hand on Jordan’s back like a signal. Keep up the act.
Michael’s eyes didn’t leave Jordan.
“Why haven’t you been going to the office, Kingsley?” he asked smoothly, setting his glass down. The clink of the base against the table echoed slightly.
Jordan straightened up. “I’m the CEO. I don’t need to come in every day.”
Michael’s gaze didn’t flinch. “But you normally do. You practically lived there. You used to show up even on Christmas Eve. So what changed?”
Jordan lifted one shoulder, trying for casual indifference.
“People change.”
Michael leaned back slowly into the velvet armchair, folding his arms.
A beat passed before he spoke again, a small smile creeping across his lips.
“You remember your seventeenth birthday, don’t you? You did so well in school that year, I was so proud that I bought you three cars and a commercial building. Out of pure happiness.”
Jordan, caught slightly off guard, nodded carefully. “Yes sir… You did. But I didn’t ask for them.”
Michael’s smile remained. “No, you didn’t. That’s what made it memorable. You were so happy, and such a kind boy, you gave one of the cars to your friend. His family was struggling, right? Do you remember that?”
Jordan blinked. Hesitated. “Yes… How could I forget? Why keep three cars when my friend needed money?”
Michael tilted his head just slightly. “What was his name again? Are you still in touch with him?”
Jordan reached for a name that might sound plausible.
“Daniel… but we’re no longer in touch.”
Michael’s voice dipped, low and deliberate. “Why? Don’t tell me you unfriended him over that girl.”
Jordan shifted on his feet. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. “I had to. I told him I loved her, but he still went to confess to her.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. The air in the room stiffened.
“You loved your cousin?” His voice was even, but now there was something underneath it, an edge of something deeper, older, dangerous.
Beth’s stomach clenched. She shifted her weight subtly toward Jordan as if to silently warn him, Be careful.
Jordan stammered. “My… cou…sin…”
Michael’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Yes. Jasmine. He laid hands on your cousin Jasmine. You both fought that day. But I never knew you stopped talking to him. Did you fall in love with her?”
Jordan’s face was losing color. “No—I mean, he knew she was my cousin… but he still went to her, even after I warned him.”
Michael let the silence fall like a curtain. Then he spoke, almost gently.
“I miss her. Do you?”
Jordan swallowed.
“Yes. I miss her too… we do talk once in a while.”
Michael leaned in ever so slightly. “Really? When last did you talk to her?”
Jordan was practically sweating now. “Last week.”
Silence.
Then Michael’s voice dropped like a gavel.
“What are you saying, Jordan? Jasmine died in a plane crash. Eight years ago.”
The room turned to stone.
Jordan froze.
Beth’s mouth parted, eyes wide. She glanced at Jordan as if she might physically will him to say something—anything smart.
Sweat beaded at Jordan’s hairline. His tongue clicked uselessly against the roof of his mouth. The air was thick and unmoving.
Michael stood slowly, like a judge rising from the bench. His smile was calm. Chilling.
“Tea?” he asked.
Beth stumbled forward, her voice brittle. “Maybe he just, like, forgets, you know? Obviously, with all the business things happening, and the West Coast plans and—”
Michael cut her off with a glance so sharp it could have sliced glass.
“He forgets his cousin died in a plane crash? And says he spoke to her last week? Beth, are you hearing yourself?”
He turned to Jordan again, more forcefully this time.
“Are you okay, Kingsley?”
Jordan stood stiffly. “Yes. I’m fine. I just… I need to go. I was busy.” He moved to walk past Michael.
Michael stood in his path.
“Busy?”
A pause.
Michael’s voice dropped to an iron whisper.
“Busy pretending to be my son?”
Jordan stopped.
Beth’s breath caught audibly.
They turned toward Michael, both stunned.
Michael smiled and laughed, low, bitter, amused. The kind of laugh that didn’t reach the eyes.
“The acting was impressive,” he said softly. “But not good enough.”
He looked at Jordan from head to toe. “The posture was wrong. The voice. The mannerisms. You got the look, yes. But you forgot the soul. And memories… well, memories don’t lie. But you do.”
Jordan’s mouth opened. Closed. His feet wouldn’t move.
Beth tried again. “Michael, listen—”
“No, you listen,” Michael said, his voice suddenly roaring into the space like thunder. “Who is he? What have you done?”
Beth faltered. “He’s Kingsley. You’re just confused. Maybe you—”
Michael’s voice dropped an octave, and this time it didn’t carry fatherly concern. It carried the chill of final judgment.
“I never bought you three cars and a building on your seventeenth birthday,” he said slowly, his words slicing the air. “You never had a poor friend who hit your cousin. You don’t even have a cousin named Jasmine.”
A horrible stillness descended on the room. The only sound was the subtle hum of the central air, which suddenly felt like a blaring siren.
Michael stepped forward, not yelling now, but letting the weight of his voice press into the air like a boot on a throat.
“Who is he?” he bellowed once more, his voice thundering through the room, shaking the crystal ornaments on the shelves.
Beth staggered slightly, tears in her eyes. Her voice caught in her throat.
Michael didn’t flinch. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, pulling out his phone from his blazer pocket. He stared at the screen, thumb poised.
“You have thirty seconds to explain,” he said, voice cold and composed, yet laced with lethal finality. “Before I make a phone call that will destroy everything you’re trying to hold together.”
Beth’s knees buckled. She collapsed onto the thick cream carpet, kneeling in front of him as her mascara began to run. Jordan knelt too, her heart beating faster, his palms sweaty and shaky.
“Please,” she whispered, eyes full of desperation. “Michael, please—I’m sorry.”
He didn’t move.
Beth’s voice cracked open, trembling. “I just… your son wouldn’t love me. He—he stopped trying. And then I found out he was with Katherine again. It was too much. I couldn’t let him divorce me, I couldn’t let her win…”
Tears streamed freely now. “I’ll tell you everything. Everything.”
And then she did.
Between sobs and broken pauses, she told him the whole sickening truth—how she’d drugged Kingsley. How she’d had him taken to a secret lab. How they were planning to wipe his memory of Katherine. How she didn’t want to place him in the institute just yet, knowing the procedure wouldn’t be ready for another six months. However, she was fully aware that Kingsley would likely seek a divorce after what she had done to Katherine. How she’d replaced him with someone who looked almost identical.
She told him about Jordan—how she’d had him surgically altered, trained, padded, and tailored. How does she only let him interact with certain people? How the wedding renewal was staged to limit exposure.
And she told him what was supposed to come next: reprogram Kingsley into the perfect husband. The husband who would never leave.
When she finished, Michael was no longer standing still. He was trembling with rage.
“How dare you…” He said, voice quaking with controlled fury. “How dare you treat my son like that? My son Kingsley Rowe. The heir to the Rowe Empire. The boy I raised. The man who earned my respect. You kidnapped him. You drugged him. You locked him away like an animal!”
Beth cried harder.
“I didn’t mean to go that far, I didn’t. I swear I just love him. I love him. Please… please don’t let the authorities know about this. Please don’t tell my father. Please.”
Michael looked at her with disbelief and disgust, his voice lowering to a slow, quiet flame. “Beth… do you know what your father would do if he found out you orchestrated something like this?”
Beth nodded helplessly. “Yes… Yes, I know. I’d be erased from the will. But please… please, don’t tell him.”
Michael let out a bitter scoff, pacing slightly, gripping the phone like a weapon. “I promised you I’d take care of everything, didn’t I? I told you he wouldn’t leave you. You came to me crying that he was pulling away, and I told you to give it time. That I’d speak to him.”
He turned toward her, his voice rising with wounded betrayal.
“But you didn’t trust me. You didn’t wait. You went behind my back and destroyed him.”
“I didn’t mean to destroy him,” she sobbed. “I just wanted him to love me again. I just wanted to be chosen.”
Michael shook his head, eyes glassy with a pain he rarely allowed himself to show. “Beth, I’ve always taken you for my daughter. I loved you like I would my own. But this? This is monstrous. You committed crimes against the man you claim to love. You destroyed the man you married.”
Beth clutched at his leg like a child. “Please… don’t send me to jail. Please. Don’t let this go public. Don’t let my father know. Please.”
Michael exhaled slowly.
“You’re right. If your father knew, you’d be cut off from his will. No protection. No safety net. And if the public finds out what you did to Kingsley—” He gestured to the room. “Your reputation, your brand, your followers? Gone.”
Beth nodded desperately. “So please… please, Michael, help me.”
Michael looked down at her for a long, heavy moment.
Then, finally, he nodded once.
“I’ll help you,” he said coldly. “But not in the way you want.”
Beth looked up, terrified.
“Firstly, you will go to the Manhattan 14th Precinct and free the girl you wrongfully accused.”
“But… how did you know about the girl?”
“Exactly how I know what you did to my son, and you will go immediately after we finish here. As for this man you turned into Kingsley, get him out of here right now.”
“Understood,” Beth replied without hesitation.
“You will divorce Kingsley. Immediately. No negotiation, no delay.”
“But I—”
“And you will make sure your father believes this divorce is your idea. Not his. You won’t drag Kingsley’s name through the mud. You’ll protect the alliance between our families and the merger. Understand?”
Beth trembled. “I… I don’t want to divorce him.”
“You already did. The second you took him from his life and locked him in a lab like an experiment, you ended your marriage. There’s no coming back from that.”
Beth cried. “But what will people say? My fans—my image. If they find out—”
“They won’t. Because you’re going to tell them your story,” Michael said flatly. “You’re going to go live—Instagram, TikTok, whatever nonsense you use. And you’re going to tell the world that you chose to walk away. That Kingsley was a good husband, loyal and devoted, but you simply fell out of love.”
Beth’s head shook in disbelief. “No. No, they’ll know something’s wrong. They’ll blame him—”
“They won’t,” Michael interrupted. “Because you’ll say he let you go. Because he loves you. Because he wanted you to be happy, even if it meant without him.”
Beth was sobbing now, shaking uncontrollably. “I can’t… I can’t do that…”
Michael stepped closer. “You will. Or I’ll make the call.”
A long pause.
Beth’s head dropped.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I will.”