Zeke's POV

I rubbed my eyes, waking to a foggy mind. Stirring and tossing in bed, I noticed the faint scent of orchids. Sitting up, I realized Kamille was gone.

Damn it, Zeke!

Guilt gnawed at me for taking advantage of her intoxication. I mumbled a few words, cursing as I ran a hand through my jet-black hair. I lingered in bed, unable to shake off an uneasy feeling about how Kamille felt.

Was she as involved as I was? Or not?

Recalling her soft moans, her fingers digging into my back, her beautiful legs snaking around my waist as we made love, I tried to reassure myself of her willingness.

I lifted myself from the bed. The clock on the nightstand showed 6:30 AM. I wondered why she'd left so early—the sex, a desire to avoid being seen, or both? I naturally leaned toward the less obvious reason, but deep down knew both were plausible. Having sex definitely outweighs the other reason, Zeke.

With a heavy sigh, I resolved to apologize. Standing, I noticed a small picture on the floor. It was a photo of Kamille's children; she must have dropped it. I stared at the boys, a feeling of longing tugging at my heart. The resemblance was undeniable. I placed the picture on the nightstand, intending to return it.

With a heavy sigh, I resolved to apologize. I went into the bathroom, freshened up, and went downstairs to breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Fluffy buttermilk pancakes, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, sat on the table. The cook bustled around the kitchen, maids tending to morning chores. My distaste for crowds crept in as I surveyed the scene.

"Good morning, Mr. Reid," Mr. Rogers said, entering as I was getting breakfast. I nodded. Setting down my cutlery, I pushed back my chair.

Rogers Caldwell had been with me since childhood. Though now in his early fifties, he remained strong and agile, serving as my personal assistant and confidant. I stood to leave.

"There's a board meeting with all stakeholders at 10 AM, Mr. Reid," Rogers said, quickening his pace to match mine. "Also, there are documents concerning the property you leased to the foreign investors that need your signature."

I stopped.

"Rogers," I said.

"Yes, Mr. Reid," he replied, approaching.

"Remind me why I have to do all this work?" I asked, expressionless.

A dumbfounded Mr. Rogers stared before replying, "I guess because thousands of lives depend on you for their survival." I didn't respond. "Mr. Reid also cares so much about his subordinates that he wouldn't want to see them starve."

I chuckled. "If that's true, then let's go be Superman and save some lives."

I got into the Tesla parked in front of the house. Rogers took the front seat of the Toyota Tundra behind us, along with Andrew and the guards.

Arriving at Reid Company, it was almost time for the board meeting, but I went to my office first. Passing the ground floor, I received the usual stares and giggles. Ignoring them, I entered the elevator.

I find the attention too fucking troublesome.

I sat in my leather-bound swivel chair. The documents Rogers mentioned were neatly arranged on the glass table. I picked up a pen, read the documents, and signed where needed.

"It's twenty minutes past ten, Mr. Reid," Rogers said calmly.

"Okay," I replied, understanding the reminder. I closed the files and left with Mr. Rogers.

The board meeting hadn't begun. The stakeholders wore angry expressions, though none dared to show it openly. Only someone who didn't value their life would dare to act in anger in front of me.

The meeting began. I listened to their proposal for a lucrative partnership with a famous clothing line. Their analysis was good, the presentation great, but I declined.

"Mr. Reid, I believe you need to reconsider this to avoid hasty decisions," the oldest stakeholder said. My eyes grew cold.

"You think I'm making a hasty decision?" I asked, concealing my anger.

The old man hesitated. "I didn't mean it that way."

"You'd better not, or I'll gladly teach you how to speak properly," I replied calmly.

The stakeholders seethed but controlled themselves. "In that case, this meeting is adjourned." I stood and left.

Fucking old men telling me how to run my company.

"If I may ask, why did you reject the partnership, Mr. Reid?" Rogers asked back in my office.

I sighed. "Because I don't trust that brand. Something about their proposal seems too good to be true."

Rogers nodded understandingly. "Would you like me to look into it?"

"Yes. Find out everything you can about that brand," I replied.

"I understand," Mr. Rogers said. As he was leaving, I remembered something.

"Rogers," I called.

"Mr. Reid?"

"Any update on that lawyer from four years ago?"

"Yes, Mr. Reid. He's still in a coma, but his secretary runs his firm."

"Keep an eye on him. He's the only one with access to the true will of the Manors' late matron."

Mr. Rogers acknowledged the order and left. I wondered if the lawyer's accident was truly accidental. The Manors seemed to have more shady activities than I thought. My phone beeped. The message read:

Hello Brother, Long time no see. Zane and I just landed in London. We'll be heading to the casino by 9 PM. Hope to see you there. Fletcher.

I sighed. What did these rascals want?

Zane Falcone and Fletcher Caruso. Two Englishmen born in Russia. Their fathers were top mafia bosses, but their sons inherited only beauty, wealth, and power. They had yet to prove themselves. Hopefully, their trip to Russia was worthwhile.

I replied, "See you soon," and sent the message. I left the office. After freshening up, having lunch, and working in my study until almost 8 PM, I closed my laptop and left the study. Rogers approached hastily.

"We have new information on the lawyer," he said.

I squinted. Was the lawyer being sneaky, or were the Manors being cunning?

"Send the information to my email immediately," I instructed. "How about Kamille?"

"She and the kids are well. The guards haven't noticed anything suspicious."

"Good," I replied coldly and walked away.

If those bastards try anything, I will unleash my wrath.