"What is she even doing in Luvia?"
Gunner's voice was a low blade of suspicion, cutting through the sterile quiet of his office. He didn't look at the cellphone resting on his desk. Instead, he stared out through the floor-to-ceiling glass at the sprawling city. The office was devoid of life—no framed photos of his family, no mementos from his travels. It was a workspace, not a home, and he preferred it that way.
"It seems she's meeting a friend," Fletcher's voice pushed through the speaker.
Gunner's brow darkened. He raised a hand, tracing the small, half-inch scar just above his eyebrow—a jagged silver line he'd carried for years. It was a force of habit developed over years of repetition. "What friend?" His mind couldn't allow him to let anything go. The suspicion that now lived within him emerged instinctually.
"A woman named Sara Small. Our intelligence shows they met eighteen months ago while Ms. Kane was auditing a class that Miss Small was registered in."
"Figure out why she met her today," Gunner demanded. It didn't matter that the friend was a woman. He was convinced this could still be some elaborate plan for her to meet a man behind his back.
Through the glass, an assistant from the marketing floor approached Jenna's desk, clutching a thick stack of invoices. She stood with practiced, confident poise, reaching up to adjust the collar of her blouse—a subtle movement that momentarily showcased a tasteful hint of the swell of her breast.
"I have some urgent documents for Mr. Westbrook to sign," she stated, her voice clear and assured. Her eyes didn't stay on Jenna; they drifted toward the glass, searching for Gunner's silhouette.
Jenna didn't even lift her gaze from her monitor. She simply reached out and tapped the edge of the steel "In-Box" tray on her desk—a silent, mechanical command to drop them and get out. The woman lingered, holding her position as if she could command Gunner's attention through sheer willpower.
Jenna noted the effort with a mental sigh. She was wasting her time. Inside the office, Gunner's gaze finally flicked to the woman, his lip curling in a look of brief, cold disgust before he looked right through her as if she were made of air. Jenna swiveled her chair, catching the woman's brief flash of disappointment.
"Is that enough for you to understand?" Jenna asked, her tone flat and final. "You can leave now."
The woman turned and walked away in a huff, her heels clicking a sharp, angry rhythm against the marble.
As the words left his lips, he grazed the side of his matte titanium Aegis Loop with his thumb. The haptic ring responded instantly, severing the connection with a micro-flick. The room returned to a heavy, pressurized silence. He rested his hands on the cold, polished slate-grey steel of his desk, the GW on his silver cufflinks catching the light as he checked his watch. 4:40 p.m.
Directly across the hall, behind her own wall of glass, Natalia was pacing. She looked effortless, her mid-back length brown hair swaying with every sharp turn she made, the signature part of her hair on the left side falling perfectly. She stopped to look over company reports, her fresh-faced look radiating a deceptive calm. She had become increasingly anxious since their grandfather began leaving the house more frequently. The home office was infested with lawyers, all working on some large-scale deal that she didn't know about. It made her worry for her future position in the company.
Through the glass door, Gunner saw his assistant, Jenna Moon, smile politely at an unexpected guest: Charlie McBee. When Natalia spotted McBee, she opened her office door, leaning on the jamb with her arms crossed over her chest. Jenna swiveled in her chair, smiling softly at Gunner as she simply pointed at McBee. The glass walls left no imagination as to who was visiting. Gunner slipped his cellphone back into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and stood.
"Mr. Westbrook would like to see you," McBee told the siblings as Gunner emerged into the hall.
The siblings stepped out of their prominent corner offices and began the walk toward the center of the floor—the "Executive Level," a hive of activity where assistants bustled and guests waited in the central lounge area. As the siblings moved past the waiting areas, the air seemed to thicken with the quiet, hungry hum of the staff's attention.
"Look at him," one junior analyst whispered, her eyes tracking the pull of Gunner's suit across his shoulders. "I bet he's as solid under that wool as he looks. I'd let him ruin my career in a supply closet."
"You're married!" She frowned.
"God, you're boring." She groaned twirling in her chair.
"Focus," her colleague muttered, though her eyes were also glued to Gunner's tan skin and chocolatey brown hair. "He wouldn't even remember your name by the time you hit the lobby."
They reached the private executive elevator. McBee made his hand into a fist, his own titanium ring slotting into the precision-cut opening in the panel. A glowing blue light scanned the band, granting him seamless access. Inside, there was no button to press; the elevator only had one destination: the CEO's office on the top floor.
The siblings stood parallel to each other. Even in her highest designer heels, Natalia found herself looking up toward her "baby" brother; Gunner's height and muscular frame gave him a natural, imposing edge. Natalia turned to the polished steel of the elevator wall to fix her appearance. As she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the light caught the massive, five-carat square-cut diamond on her finger—a glittering reminder of her impulsive marriage. Accepting the ring had cost her dearly. Going so far as to elope with her husband, Harrison, had left her on shaky footing with her father at the time. Her grandfather hadn't spoken a word to her for an entire week, angry about a situation he couldn't control.
"You know you can't beat me, right? Father will make me CEO. And because I'm a kind big sis, I don't mind giving you a title," Natalia said, her eyes meeting his in the reflection. Nowadays, she took any chance she got to get in Gunner's head. As much as she pretended she was closer to the CEO position than him, she knew that after her marriage, they were on nearly equal footing.
Gunner adjusted his sleeves, his gaze fixed straight ahead, utterly bored by the competition. "Wouldn't you be happier playing dress-up with Mom at West Plus Entertainment? You seemed invested in curating talent at the party last night." He wondered if the vein that always seemed to pop out in the middle of Natalia's forehead would make an appearance when she found out about his engagement.
"That was a bit sexist. Mom works really hard." Internally she laughed, seeing the flash of regret on his face. He was such a mama's boy.
"I know. I felt bad the second I said it."
The false air of tension dissipated, allowing soft laughter to bloom between them. Natalia knew that no matter how badly she wanted to be CEO, her relationship with her baby brother always came first.
"Good! I'm still telling Dad you were mocking his wife." Their father was a puppy dog for their mother.
"Natalia!" He didn't need his father lecturing him on his behavior for the next two hours.
Natalia smirked, feeling smug. "I guess he'll find out you had sex in the pool with Harrison."
Gunner didn't flinch. He didn't turn his head. He just stared at the elevator doors, his expression entirely nonchalant as he gave a small, casual shrug. He knew that Natalia was their father's favorite—his precious daughter. Whenever Harrison so much as touched Natalia's hand, their father looked ready to explode.
Natalia's head whipped around, her eyes going wide as she stared at her brother in abject horror. Her composure shattered instantly. "Ew, Gunner! How do you even know that?"
"The house talks," Gunner whispered, still looking straight ahead, his voice low and cold. "Imagine what Dad would do. Probably kill Harrison. It's a shame."
"Don't! Just don't say anything. Truce?" she asked, her hand out instantly. Smirking, he finally looked at her and shook it, solidifying the deal just as the elevator dinged. "Asshole," she muttered, pulling her hand away.
"Harlot." He shot back.
McBee led them to Orlando's door, opened it, and retreated. Inside, Orlando Westbrook leaned against the front of his desk, arms over his chest. The playful banter between the siblings immediately evaporated the moment they saw their father, the seriousness bleeding back into them. Gunner stood at attention like a well-trained soldier.
"Project Cobalt," Orlando said. "A joint venture with KVC Group. We will be combining KVC's aerospace engineering—their mastery of airframe construction—with our own tech and weaponry to build a military-grade, technologically advanced stealth jet. First of its kind." He paid close attention to his son, watching for any reaction at the mention of his fiancée's family.
As Orlando spoke, Gunner's fingers found the scar above his eye again. His mind began to race through implementations: modular weapon bays, pulse-shielding, maybe a haptic cockpit. He remained stoically focused on his father's words.
"I need proposals and schematics," Orlando continued. "Gunner, you focus on the kinetic weaponry and defensive shunts. Natalia, you handle the integrative tech and stealth capabilities. Pick your teams wisely. This is your life for the foreseeable future."
"Will we be working together?" Natalia asked, looking her brother over. She noticed his empty hands; she didn't want to be dragged down by his freestyling ways. Gunner, for his part, couldn't stand her rigidity.
"I will leave that to you," Orlando said. "Work together or break it into sections. As long as it's done. I want a detailed assessment of the timeline and a proposal of budgetary requirements. Be aware: this is highly classified. Everything should be analog."
Orlando reached behind him onto his desk and grabbed two massive, thick binders—heavy enough to make a thud against the wood. He handed one to each of them. "Everything you need to know about my expectations is in here. Hand sketches. All paperwork remains in-office. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Gunner said, gripping the heavy binder.
"Yes, Father," Natalia said, struggling to manage the binder and her tablet. Seeing his sister out of the corner of his eye, Gunner reached out, taking the binder from her hands absently.
Orlando gave them a warm smile. "Don't try to get a head start tonight. This is months of work. Do not worry your mother. Neither of you should stay late."
Gunner nodded respectfully. Natalia gave her father a kiss on the cheek before following Gunner out. He held the door open, rolling his eyes as she passed.
"Suck-up," he murmured.
"You're an idiot. Can you not tell that this is the project? Dad's going to choose which of us ends up as CEO after he assesses our work on this venture. So, I'm going to suck up to the man making the decision."
"You're so annoying."
"Working separately then?" Natalia asked, her shoulders shaking with mirth as they entered the private elevator once again.
"It's probably better if we work together," Gunner offered. It wasn't as if they were building two separate jets. One jet, one plan. It only made sense to collaborate, considering they would also be working with someone from the KVC Group. It would make everything easier logistically speaking.
"As if I would let you piggyback on my hard work. You're on your own."
"Fine by me."
Without warning, Gunner shifted the heavy weight of the binder he'd been carrying for her. He didn't hand it over; he simply released it, dropping the massive tome onto Natalia's unsuspecting hands. The sudden weight caused her to lose her balance, her heels skidding as she staggered forward and caught herself against the elevator doors.
She stood there, mouth agape, glaring at him with pure, unadulterated irritation. Gunner just looked at her, his expression one of innocent confusion, as if he were completely unaware he'd just nearly knocked her over.
"What?" he asked, his tone perfectly flat. "You said you didn't want my help."
The elevator dinged as it reached the executive level, the doors sliding open smoothly. As they stopped between their two offices, they both noticed Warwick sitting behind Gunner's desk. Gunner smirked as he took long strides to enter his office, pulling the glass door closed and locking it just as Natalia's hand reached for the handle. She mouthed the words "Fuck you" before heading to her own office. He could practically see the steam coming from her ears.
Warwick's laughter bounced off the walls. His grandchildren were spirited, if nothing else. His laughter died as he focused on his true purpose for visiting. "Tell me," he said gently.
Gunner walked to his desk and tossed the heavy binder onto the edge of the slate-grey steel. It landed with a solid, echoing thud. He sat in the guest chair, letting his grandfather keep the seat of power. "About?"
"How do you feel about these upcoming nuptials?" Warwick asked. "How do you feel about marrying Vivian Kane?" As much as he wanted this deal to go through, he still understood that his grandson was flesh and blood. The least he could do was allow him to voice his mind, given his complicated history with women.
"She's pretty!" Gunner didn't know what his grandfather wanted from him. What did it matter how he felt at this point? Given the scale of the project he'd just heard about, there was no backing out. The Cobalt project would cost billions, and, if successful, earn both companies trillions of dollars. What was there for him to feel?
"Don't waste an old man's time!" Warwick's voice hardened as he spoke.
Leaning back in his chair, Gunner let out a long breath between his parted lips as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the cityscape below. "I'm not worried about me," he confessed. He could withstand an arranged marriage.
Immediately, Warwick understood what Gunner was implying. He was worried about his son in this new union. It was exactly where a father's mind should be. "Marriage is the easy part. Signing some papers, walking down the aisle—all of it lasts a second. You'll need to focus on creating a bond with all three of you."
"I don't know if she can accept my baggage." Neither man used his son's name. Not outside the house. Not where anybody could walk in or overhear. His son's safety was his utmost priority.
"Rest your mind. There was more to this partnership than business. I would never put you in a situation that would not be feasible for either of you." Warwick had spent his life being a cutthroat business tycoon. His wife, God rest her soul, was the one who had maintained his heart.
His bones cracked as he stood from the leather seat, tapping his fingers against the hardcovered dossier before leaving his grandson's office to visit with his granddaughter.
As Gunner circled his desk, his eyes zeroed in on the document his grandfather had tapped on the way out. It wasn't any of his own paperwork. On the first page, he saw an image of Vivian, along with stats and information about her. But the following pages were not what he expected.
His eyes caught a flagged section in the behavioral assessment: Charitable patterns. It noted a recurring $20,000 donation made every eight weeks to the Springbrook Home for Girls. The report traced the connection back to a barista at a local café—a former foster youth who had briefly attended boarding school with Vivian at age thirteen before being removed from her parents' care.
Further down, a highlighted bullet point stopped him cold: Anonymous sponsorship. Since 2021, every youth aging out of the Springbrook facility has had their first year of housing paid in full via an untraceable trust. No press. No public tax write-off. Just a quiet safety net for children with nowhere to go. Gunner felt a strange, heavy pull in his chest. He hadn't expected Vivian to be someone who understood the value of sanctuary. His lip twitched as he read over page after page. Pulling his phone from his jacket pocket, he sent a text to Fletcher.
Gunner: Make sure nothing happens to my fiancée.
Fletcher: Yes, sir.
Author's note:
I update three chapters every Saturday. See you next Saturday!