Chapter 2 - The Pawn and The King
Dawn brought no peace to the Pryce estate.
By eight o’clock, Daphne had hired two interior decorators to measure Maren’s master suite for a nursery conversion. Brynn was nestled in the breakfast nook, sipping imported decaf tea from Walter’s favorite Meissen porcelain, while Nolan paced the length of the dining room barking into his cell phone.
""What do you mean the permits are held up?"" Nolan yelled into the receiver, his hair disheveled, the golden boy facade fraying at the edges. ""I am Nolan Pryce! The city approved the master plan four years ago!""
Maren walked in, immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, her dark auburn hair pulled into a sleek chignon. She held a leather portfolio containing the real, unfiltered operational audits of Pryce Development.
""The permits weren't held up, Nolan,"" Maren said smoothly, taking a seat at the head of the mahogany table—the seat traditionally reserved for the CEO. ""They expired eighteen months ago because the lead developer was in Saint-Tropez sunbathing instead of filing environmental reviews.""
Brynn set her teacup down with a delicate rattle, her wide, blue eyes welling with calculated tears. ""Nolan, darling, please don't shout. The baby kicks when you're stressed."" She turned to Maren with a fragile, pitying smile. ""Maren, I know this must be devastating for you. Seeing us together, seeing what you could never give Nolan. But if you could just be reasonable about the business... Nolan has suffered so much pressure from Walter.""
Maren took a slow sip of black coffee, studying Brynn Ashford. She had known girls like Brynn in high school—women who weaponized vulnerability to steal what others had bled to build.
""Suffered?"" Maren murmured. ""He chartered private yachts while his grandfather underwent quadruple bypass surgery. He sent a postcard while our subcontractors threatened to strike over unpaid invoices. If that is suffering, Brynn, I suggest you buy him a medal.""
""Enough!"" Daphne snapped, sweeping into the room with fabric swatches draped over her forearm. ""Maren, you are speaking to the mother of Nolan’s heir. You have no right to question family matters. Walter’s doctor says his heart cannot take another episode, which means Nolan takes the CEO seat officially on Monday morning. Your services are no longer required.""
""Is that so?"" Maren asked, raising an eyebrow.
""You will receive a generous severance,"" Nolan stated, puffing his chest out as he ended his call. ""A townhome in Cambridge. Two million dollars. You sign an NDA regarding Brynn and the child, and you resign from the board. That’s more than fair for an orphan Walter took pity on.""
Maren didn't yell. She didn't throw coffee. Instead, she stood, picking up her leather portfolio. ""Don't spend money you don't have, Nolan. And don't promise what you can't deliver.""
She walked out into the chilly autumn air, where a black Maybach with tinted windows was idling at the edge of the estate’s private driveway. The driver stepped out, opened the rear door without a word, and Maren slipped inside.
Silas Rowan was sitting in the leather seat, an open tablet on his lap, a glass of water on the console beside him. At thirty-six, Silas possessed the sharp, razor-cut cheekbones and broad shoulders of a boxer who had successfully transitioned into an oligarch. His charcoal suit was bespoke, his gray eyes piercing and ancient with experience.
""You look ready to commit murder,"" Silas said, his low baritone vibrating through the quiet cabin.
""They're planning to announce Nolan as CEO at the gala,"" Maren replied, leaning her head back against the seat, feeling the tension bleed out of her shoulders under Silas’s steady presence. ""Daphne wants my bedroom for the baby. Nolan offered me a two-million-dollar severance.""
Silas chuckled—a dark, low sound that sent a shiver straight down Maren's spine. He reached over, his rough, warm fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was brief, intensely intimate, and completely grounded.
""Two million?"" Silas mused. ""The Harbor Point logistics hub alone is valued at four hundred million. He has no idea that you hold the land leases, does he?""
""None. He thinks the city government loves the Pryce name."" Maren looked directly into Silas's silver eyes. ""Walter wants Nolan to grovel to you at the Stroud Gala.""
""Let him grovel,"" Silas said, his thumb brushing the hollow of her cheek. ""I’ve spent four years watching you rebuild that crumbling dynasty with your bare hands, Maren. You kept Walter alive. You saved the jobs of two thousand workers. Nolan is an empty suit who thinks his surname is currency.""
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""And what happens when they realize we're working together?""
Silas smiled, a dangerous, breathtaking grin. ""They won't just realize we're working together, sweetheart. They’re going to realize that without you, Nolan Pryce is completely bankrupt.""
