Chapter Text
After a long day at the hospital, your shift finally came to an end. It felt like you were living half alive, you were so tired. You just wanted to crawl into bed and let yourself be consumed by the overwhelming loneliness, to stare at the ceiling and long for something you couldn’t quite name.
You had worked your entire life to get to where you were, you studied hard, got into a prestigious university, and worked your ass off to get an internship. Although you were a million miles from home, you knew you couldn’t give up now, you couldn’t let your parents down, knowing how proud they were of you. You couldn't forget the sacrifices they made for your education, you weren’t only living out your own dreams but also theirs. It felt like you were condemned to this life, some days you felt like you couldn’t go on like this forever. Days passed by and nothing happened, you felt so alone in your heart.
So you found yourself alone in New York City, working 80-hour weeks, barely hanging on by a thread. Slipping out of your scrubs, you felt the weight of another loss pressing down on you. Edna, the sweet old lady with eyes that crinkled at the corners, was gone. You'd talked to her every day, her stories a balm to your loneliness. She reminded you of your own grandmother, a connection that warmed your heart amidst the sterile hospital walls.
She had first come in complaining of breathlessness a month prior. She had been admitted for further testing, you would talk to her each day you reviewed her case. She would tell you about her children, grandkids, and asked when she would be discharged to go home to them. You had assured her that once her results came back fine she could be released.
She was later diagnosed with 4th stage lung cancer with metastasis to the liver and brain, your heart broke as you stepped in with the consultant doctor to tell her the unfortunate news. But she didn’t give the reaction you expected, she seemed at peace with it.
“Is there anyone we can contact for you?” You asked, swallowing the lump in your throat.
You had been working for almost 6 months now but this part of the job never got easier. Your colleagues often told you that you got too attached to patients, you were sensitive, you wore your heart on your sleeve. You knew that but you couldn’t change yourself, it’s how you’d always been. You cried each time you watched the ending of ‘My sister's keeper', when you saw old people eating alone, when you walked past homeless people. Just last night you weeped when you saw a 3 legged stray cat scoffing up food from the trash.
“Oh no, dear.” The old woman said gingerly. “I Don't want to be a bother to anyone. My poor son has got plenty on his plate for now.”
“Are you sure?” You pressed, feeling that she didn’t quite understand the extent of her illness.
“Yes, dear.” She said with a small smile. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you stop fearing death. You welcome the peace with open arms.”
Edna had faced her mortality with a wisdom that resonated deep within you. There was no fear in her voice, only a quiet acceptance. You'd spent hours by her bedside, absorbing her life lessons like a sponge. Losing her felt like losing a part of yourself.
When you started your shift today you went to her room to check on her, but the bed was empty with fresh sterile sheets.
“Where’s Edna, from room 112?” You asked your reg, Brianna. “Is she gone for a scan?”
“Oh no, she passed away last night.” Brianna stopped jotting notes in the patient files to look up at you sympathetically.
“What?” You asked shocked. “But she was fine when I left. What happened?”
“Her oxygen saturation was below 60, she was having a lot of difficulty breathing.”
You stood there stunned, as Brianna placed a hand on your shoulder. “There was nothing we could’ve done for her, she signed a DNR.”
The news had hit you like a sucker punch. You'd left her seemingly fine, and now, just like that, she was gone. Grief welled up, threatening to spill over the dam you'd built within yourself. You gave a quick nod before scurrying off, pushing your feelings down and getting on with the rest of your patient reviews. But as your shift ended, you sat in the changing room with your head buried in your hands, your sadness now seeping out of you.
“Looks like you could use a drink.” Jess, your college roommate and now your closest friend in this concrete jungle, stood before you. The idea of a night out, of forgetting the crushing weight of your loneliness for a while, was tempting.
“More like a bottle of tequila,” you managed, a tired chuckle escaping your lips.
“Come on, let's go out tonight,” she insisted, taking a seat next to you.
“Jess, I’m exhausted,” you sighed. “I can’t even move a muscle right now let alone go out tonight.”
“Stop that, you’re still young, you’re only 25 once. Stop being such a granny.” She joked about nudging my shoulder. “And don’t pull the work excuse because we both have tomorrow off. Come on, it’s Friday, we deserve a break.”
You thought about it, her idea was enticing you could use a night of drinking to forget about your miserable life. Just for one night. Jess's smile was infectious, momentarily pushing away the fatigue that clung to you like a second skin. You hesitated, picturing the mountain of paperwork waiting for you at home. But the image of Edna's peaceful acceptance flickered in your mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe you needed to embrace a little bit of life before it slipped through your fingers.
"Alright," you finally conceded, a flicker of a smile dancing on your own lips. "Let's go out."
You both made your way to your apartment since you lived closer to the hospital. Jess borrowed some clothes from you and pulled out her makeup bag that she always kept with her. You took a quick shower before getting ready.
“You know, Jason’s coming tonight,” Jess wriggled her brows at you in the mirror, as you stood next to her straightening your hair.
“And you’re telling me this why….” You trailed off confused.
“Because he has the biggest crush on you!” She teased, lathering her lashes with mascara.
“No he doesn’t,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “He’s just a good friend.”
“Oh yeah sure.” Jess snorted. “A good friend who stays late to help you finish up charting, buys you lunch, knows your coffee order off by heart, looks for you in the cafeteria like a lost puppy. Shall I go on?”
“Jess, stop it.” You dismissed her delusions. “He’s just a nice guy, who helps me out sometimes.” You didn’t see Jason in that way, nor did you want a romantic relationship right now. You were already drowning in work, the thought of a relationship felt overwhelming right now.
“Mhmm okay. He doesn’t buy me coffee every morning, so he can’t be that nice.”
“Well maybe if you didn’t ridicule his adorable croc giblets he would buy you a coffee once in a while too.” You countered remembering the hilarious scuffle that broke out between the two on orientation day.
“Whatever.” She brushed it off checking her phone.
“Okay, I’m ready.” You said as you applied your lipgloss.
The club pulsed with throbbing music as your group of friends entered. Rachel squealed about hitting the dance floor, while Jess declared her plan to charm finance bros into buying her drinks. You, on the other hand, gravitated towards the bar.
"Four tequilas," you yelled over the music, holding up four fingers for emphasis. The bartender nodded. “Bottoms up ladies,” you yelled as you all clinked your shot glasses, downing the burning liquid, the harsh sting providing you with temporary relief.
A tap on your shoulder startled you. “Hey,” Jason greeted, pulling you into a bear hug. “I was worried you wouldn't make it.”
“Jess dragged me out,” you chuckled, pointing at her and she winked at you mischievously. “Needed to de-stress.”
“Yeah well you look amazing,” his gaze lingered on your outfit. You'd opted for a daring leather skirt and a tight corset top with knee-high boots. "Nice change from the pinks."
“Hey! I like my pink scrubs,” you playfully swatted his bicep.
"Drinks on me?" he offered, a genuine concern in his eyes. "Heard about Edna. Rough day, huh?"
“Oh no, you don’t have to,” you tried to protest.
“I know these things take a toll on you. So just let me.” he insisted, placing a comforting hand on your back
“But seriously, how are you holding up?” Jason asked, handing you your drink.
“Yeah, I’m dealing with it.” You shrugged.
“Come on talk to me,” Jason led you to a quieter booth, away from the crowd.
“I think maybe I wasn’t cut out for this job.” You sighed, resting your head on your hand letting out my raw thoughts, keeping your eyes glued on your drink. “My whole life I dreamt about being a doctor and now I’m not so sure if I can do it.”
“Listen, we just started our internship 6 months ago.” He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “There’s an adjustment period, it’ll pass.”
“What if it never gets easier?” You looked up at him.
“It will.” He smiled, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. You had never seen Jason as anything but a friend before, but maybe it was the crushing loneliness you felt in your chest every night, or maybe it was the alcohol. But in the flashing lights of the club, you felt slightly attracted to him, you had never noticed how lean he was, how his shirt hugged his muscles so perfectly, you found yourself drawn to the warmth in his eyes.
You chugged down the rest of your drink and snapped out of your trance. You stood up abruptly.
“Let’s dance,” you grabbed his hand, leading him to the dance floor where you were met with the rest of the group. You swayed your hips to the rhythm of the music, letting it move through your body. The night blurred into a mess of lights and pounding beats. You danced with wild abandon, a temporary escape from the weight of your emotions. Jason stayed by your side, offering a steady hand and a reassuring smile whenever you stumbled.
Several tequilas later, a random guy offered you another shot.
"Maybe some water first?" Jason intervened, a hint of concern in his eyes.
“Boooo,” you pouted. “Tonight is for forgetting all the bullshit,” you said before downing the tequila like it was like water.
You scanned the space, realizing you hadn’t seen Jess in a while. Your friends and colleagues danced and laughed around you, oblivious to your search.
"Any sign of Jess?" you asked, but the responses were all vague nods and shrugs.
Following the direction pointed by someone, you made your way upstairs, determined to find your friend. But just as you approached the velvet rope separating the VIP area, a beefy bouncer materialised infront of you blocking your path.
"Wristband,” he grunted, his massive frame towering over you.
You held up your arm, revealing your lack of VIP access. “Please, I’m just trying to find my friend,” you pleaded, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “She has tampons, which I’m in desperate need of.” You held your hands together in a silent prayer. “Please Mr bouncer man.” But he remained unmoved until Jess's voice rescued you, ushering you to come over.
“See that’s her right over there,” you frantically pointed over to her table.
“Yeah she’s good let her through,” the curly-haired man sitting next to Jess called out. You walked past the bouncer with a triumphant smirk, sticking your tongue out at him.
You hurried over, relieved to have found her. But the scene at her table wasn't what you expected. Two slick-looking guys sat with her, surrounded by a suspicious white powder.
"Jess, come on. We're leaving," you announced, trying to tug her away.
Jess was cozied up next to the slightly taller one with curly hair. He looked like a Greek god, his chiseled cheekbones and sharp features could cut you. The other guy sat across them on the table, cutting lines with a credit card, not even acknowledging your presence.
“Noooo,” she resisted. “I’m having so much fun with my new friends.” she insisted, her words slurring slightly.
Curly looked like he stepped out of a cologne commercial, he introduced himself as Stewy. His charm was as thick as his wallet. "Come on, sweetheart, join us," he coaxed, extending his hand.
“Jess, seriously we need to go.” You stood in front of her with a bewildered look in your eyes. “You’re sitting with fucking coc-heads, get up.” You urged, but she was oblivious, lost in Stewy's gaze.
“Just sit down,” The other guy, less charming and more abrasive, grabbed your arm and pulled you into the booth to sit next to him. “And stop your bitching,” he snapped.
You looked across the table to see if Jess had anything to say about this rude guy's comment but she was too invested in Stewy to even notice anything else going on around her. Usually, Jess was the one who always stuck up for you, you always had a hard time standing your ground but tonight your patience wore thin, the alcohol in your system giving you a dangerous edge.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you spat, edging away from him.
“Stop being a brat,” he snarled, rolling up a hundred-dollar bill, not even bothering to look up as he spoke to you.
“That stuff kills people, you know,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest, watching as he snorted a line.
He leaned back against the seat, resting his head on the plush cushioning. “Uh-huh. You should try it, maybe you’ll get lucky and your theory will work out.”
Your jaw hung open, you couldn’t figure out why he was such an asshole. He spoke to you like you murdered his entire family, stole his dream job, or spoiled the Game of Thrones finale for him.
“What the fuck is your problem?” You demanded, turning to face him. “Did your parents not give you enough attention growing up? Is that why you’re like this?”
“Or maybe I don't like spoiled brats ruining my night, judging my every move.” He countered, stroking his chin faking being deep in thought.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do in your free time.” You spat, glaring at him. “Just keep it away from me and my friend.”
“Maybe if you did a line, you wouldn’t be so uptight.” He suggested, tossing you the rolled-up bill, you threw it on the floor in disgust. “It might dislodge the stick up your ass.” He smirked.
“You’re unbelievable,” you shook your head, as anger boiled up in the pit of your stomach.
“Thank you,” he grinned. “You finally realized who the fuck you’re speaking to.”
“If you, for just a second got your head out of your own ass, then maybe you’d realize that I don’t give a fuck who you are. Nothing will change the fact that you're a fucking nobody, sat in a club full of people half your age, doing lines like there’s no tomorrow.” As you spoke, the smile fell off his face, morphing into an ugly scowl. “You’re just a sad, sad man and I pity you.”
“Uh-huh.” He suddenly sat up and grabbed your elbow, leaning in close to you. “You don’t know who I am but I can end your fucking life in a day.” He growled in your ear. “So I’d suggest you show me some fucking respect.”
“Did you just try to fucking threaten me?” You pulled back from him, staring at him with wide eyes.
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” He said with a straight face.
You tried to get up to leave but he kept a firm grip on your arm. “Let go, asshole.”
“Sit down and shut up. Don’t make a fucking scene,” he demanded, his voice low enough for only you to hear. He then got out another bill and rolled it up, snorting another line. He shook his head, feeling the rush, feeling it gush through his veins like a shock of electricity.
Suddenly he grabbed the back of your neck and craned it down towards the table, “try some,” he taunted as you dug your nails into his hand trying to make him stop. You held your breath, careful to not inhale any substance. He finally let go and furiously rubbed the back of his hand, which was indented with your fingernail marks.
“Are you fucking insane,” you yelled at him, drawing the attention of some people nearby.
“Lower your fucking voice,” he got out through gritted teeth.
“Or what? What are you gonna do?” You challenged him, still seething with fury.
Enraged, he grabbed you, forcing you out of the booth and toward the exit. You stumbled, struggling against his iron grip. As he dragged you down the stairs, you knew bruises would blossom where his fingers dug into your skin.
“Let go of me,” you screamed, but his grip tightened as he pulled you through a backdoor into the club's alley. He backed you up against the wall, his chest heaving against yours. You felt raw fear in your chest, tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about your co-workers finding your dead body in the alley tomorrow, or your parents trying to identify your battered figure in the morgue.
“Please, don’t hurt me.” You whispered, you closed your eyes not being able to look into his dilated pupils anymore.
You felt him take a step back and release you from the confines of his body. You cautiously peeled open your eyes to find him looking remorseful, his hands buried in his pockets.
“Is that what you think of me?” His voice was heavy with regret as he met your tear-filled eyes. He shook his head seeing how terrified you were, how your fragile body was trembling.
You stayed silent, unable to trust his sudden change in demeanor.
“I— uh, I’m sorry.” He took a tentative step towards you, but you recoiled, sinking to the ground with your knees to your chest. You felt your head spinning with a mixture of the alcohol and everything that just happened.
Sitting beside you, he confessed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don't know why I act like this. I’m so fucked up.” His head was leaned against the brick wall as he stared up blankly at the sky.
“Is that supposed to be your version of an apology? Because it fucking sucks.” You replied, swallowing the lump in your throat, your voice coming out shakier than you expected.
“God, are you always this hostile?” He remarked a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Are you always this much of a dick?” you retorted.
“You’ve had an attitude since the second you fucking met me.” He chuckled.
“What, you expected me to admire your cocaine skills?” you snapped
“Fuck you.” He mumbled. “You need to get off your high horse and get back on the ground.”
“And do what? Join you in the pits of a raging drug addiction?” You argued. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m good.”
He was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. Instead, he lit up a cigarette and offered his pack to me.
“No thanks.” You declined, one of the ups of your profession was that you learned about the effects of every substance. You had witnessed the fatalities caused by it first hand. “Smoking kills.”
“What are you— the uh fucking fun police?”
“I’ve seen people like you, turn up in the ER after fatal overdoses. I've seen the consequences firsthand, It’s not pretty. So excuse my judgment but I know what the fuck I’m talking about when I say it kills.” you explained, frustration evident.
“Well nobody asked for your fucking advice,” he grunted.
You turned to look at him, seeing his hazel eyes dance in the dimly lit alley, you could see the broken shell of a human inside him. The one he desperately tried to hide with his arrogance, but it was shining through now.
“You don’t know what you’re taking, or how it's made.” You replied, ignoring his comment. “It could be laced with Fentanyl. You could die without even knowing it.”
"I only get the best," he claimed, his tone defensive. “And why the fuck do you care?” He said taking a long drag of his cigarette.
“I care because I don’t want you to die.”
“Why? You don’t even know me.” He asked, confused.
“Because it's my job to care.”
He stared at you with an intensity that made you feel bare and exposed in front of him, he brushed your hair behind your ear and began leaning in. You couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for him as he cradled your jaw. You could feel the heat radiating off him, as his hot breath fanned against your lips.
Time seemed to freeze, you had just met him tonight and he was a complete and utter asshole to you, but why did that entice you even more. But now in the alley, you were seeing a completely different side of him, he was more vulnerable in the open space. Before you could snap back into your senses and push him off, the door flung up open.
You jerked away, startled, to see a disheveled Jason standing there, concern etched on his face as he rushed to your side.
"Are you okay?" he asked, helping you to your feet. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You responded. “Can you take me home please?” You hiccuped, feeling exhausted.
Jason nodded, casting a wary glance at the stranger on the ground before guiding you back inside to retrieve your coat. Hailing a cab, he made sure you were settled before giving the driver your address. Leaning against Jason's shoulder, you closed your heavy eyelids as the city lights blurred past.
Arriving at your apartment, you stumbled out of the cab, insisting to Jason that you could manage on your own. With a reluctant goodbye, you watched as the taxi disappeared into the night.
You woke up the next morning with a banging headache that felt like it was trying to split your head in half. You sat up still groggy when you heard a pounding on your door. You dragged yourself out of bed still dressed in last night's outfit. You wondered who it could be, maybe it was Jess, checking up on you after the chaotic night?
You peered through the peephole, heart pounding, to find two sharply dressed men waiting outside your door. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the unexpected visitors. With trembling hands you opened the door slightly, keeping the latch on as you peeked out.
“Uhm, who are you?” Your voice came out hoarse, throat parched from anxiety.
“Ma’am, Mr Logan Roy has requested a meeting with you,” one of the men stated.
“Who?” You asked confused, trying to place the name.
"All details are in this document," the other man replied, sliding an envelope through the crack of the door. Without another word, they turned and departed, leaving you with more questions than answers.
You sat down at the kitchen counter trying to think what this could be regarding. You had never heard of the name Logan Roy before today. Perhaps it was one of the consultants from the hospital whom you hadn’t met yet.
You peeled the envelope open to find a letter addressed to you, written on a fancy letterhead.
Waystar Royco
Dear ……
This letter serves as a formal request for a meeting in my office at your earliest convenience. While the nature of our discussion is confidential, it pertains to a matter of significant importance to both you and Waystar Royco.
Please find enclosed a document requiring your immediate attention.
Kindly contact my office or my executive assistant, Kerri, to confirm your availability for a meeting.
Sincerely,
Logan Roy
Chief Executive Officer
P.S. The enclosed photograph is for your reference only.
Tucked beneath the official letterhead was a glossy photograph, the kind that might come from a high-end club with discreet lighting. It showed you and a vaguely familiar-looking man leaning impossibly close. There was a messy handwritten note attached to the photo: ‘The hell is this? - LR’.
Your stomach lurched. The picture wasn't exactly a kiss, but with the angle and the way the light hit you both, it certainly looked like one. Recognition flickered in the back of your mind - the guy in the picture was definitely the asshole from the club last night.
Panic bloomed. Who was he? Who was Logan Roy? Why did this powerful-looking CEO have a picture of you with a random man? Why did he send this to you?
Your mind raced, desperately searching for connections. Have you met Logan Roy somewhere? How did he know you? A tremor of unease ran through you. Maybe it was something worse.
Ignoring the tremor, you snatched your phone and dialed the number listed. A clipped, efficient voice answered, "Office of Mr. Logan Roy."
You introduced yourself, stating your name, trying to sound calm. "I received a letter from Mr. Roy requesting a meeting."
There was a beat of silence. "Ah, yes, Mr. Roy is expecting your call. Please hold."
Hold? As if you had a choice. After what felt like an eternity, a gruff voice boomed, "Alright, what is it?"
"Mr. Roy," you began, forcing a professional tone. "I received your letter and the...photograph. I'm afraid I don't understand."
A heavy sigh echoed through the phone. "Let's just say," his voice softened a touch, "there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. The meeting is to clear things up. Are you available this afternoon?"
Available? You were a tangled knot of confusion and curiosity. "Yes, Mr. Roy, I'm available."
"Good. Three o'clock sharp. Don't be late." The line clicked dead.
You stared at the phone, the reality of the situation sinking in. A powerful CEO, a mysterious photo, a strange meeting - this wasn't part of your usual routine.
You researched Logan Roy and Waystar Royco, unearthing a media empire notorious for its ruthless CEO and cutthroat business practices. Your unease intensified once you learned the asshole from last night was Kendall Roy. Son of Logan Roy. You had never heard of these names before today, it was all new to you. As you typed Kendall Roy into Google various articles came up.
Kendall Roy future heir to Waystar Royco
Kendall Roy’s 2nd trip to rehab
Kendall Roy spotted partying in Ibiza
Kendall Roy's divorce settlement with ex-wife
Kendall Roy's net worth
You couldn’t believe what you were reading, the asshole you had an altercation with last night was a multi- billionaire. You felt your head spinning, you had no idea who he was before but the more you clicked on various articles the more you learned about his troubled past. He was a 38-year-old, who spent his days partying and doing drugs, acting like a rebellious teenager. You popped 2 paracetamols to settle your pounding head.
Finally, 2:45 pm rolled around. Dressed in your most professional attire, you took a deep breath and entered the Waystar Royco headquarters. The air reeked of power and money.
Kerri, Logan's assistant, led you to a large glass door emblazoned with the Waystar Royco logo. Taking one last fortifying breath, you knocked.
"Come in," a voice boomed from within.
With a pounding heart, you pushed open the door, ready to face Logan Roy and whatever bizarre situation awaited you.
The opulent office screamed power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, a stark contrast to the dark wood paneling and plush leather furniture that filled the room. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat a man radiating an aura of barely contained fury. The photo, albeit blurry, hadn't done Logan Roy justice. He looked like a lion ready to pounce, his silver hair glowed and he had a deep scowl etched on his weathered face.
"Have a seat," he said, his voice a low growl. He gestured to a chair opposite his desk, not bothering to rise. Your stomach clenched, bubbling with anxiety.
Taking a seat cautiously, you felt his gaze burning a hole through you. "Mr. Roy," you began, forcing your voice to remain steady, "the letter – and the photo – were quite a surprise."
He scoffed. "Let me cut to the chase. You were seen with Kendall last night."
The name clicked. Kendall Roy. The vaguely familiar face, the last name associated with Waystar Royco – it all made a horrifying kind of sense.
"Kendall?" You managed to get out, still piecing it all together. "I don't…"
"Don't play dumb," he interrupted, his voice rising. "You were all over him like a cheap suit."
Your cheeks flushed. "Mr. Roy, with all due respect, I have no idea what you're talking about. I met your pathetic excuse of a son at a club last night, we talked, that's all. There was no 'all over him’.”
"Look, sweetheart," Logan Roy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, "Kendall's not exactly known for his good judgment, especially when it comes to women. I just want to make sure you aren't some gold-digger trying to leverage this for some personal gain."
Your jaw tightened at the accusation. “I can assure you, I have zero interest in your son or his money. I didn’t even know who he was until I got your letter. And the insinuation that I want anything to do with him is frankly offensive."
A flicker of surprise crossed his features, quickly replaced by a grudging respect. "Alright," he conceded, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe I jumped the gun. But with Kendall, you can never be too careful."
He paused, his gaze returning to the photo. "So, tell me, who exactly are you?"
You took the opportunity. Explaining your job, that you were an intern at NYU hospital. As you spoke, you saw the suspicion gradually melt from his face, replaced by a hint of curiosity, the gears in his mind churning.
When you finished, Logan steepled his fingers. "Interesting," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You seem…different from the usual crowd Kendall attracts."
“I’m sorry but what is the reason you asked me to come here?” You asked, still confused why he had to discuss this with you in person, this little interrogation could have easily been done over the phone.
The air in the office grew thick with menace. The sun outside the panoramic window seemed to dim as his smile vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory glint.
"Marriage," he said, the word dripping with distaste. "That's the only way to handle this situation....discreetly."
His callous proposal – a marriage to quell the photo scandal – echoed in the room, a hammer blow threatening to shatter your entire world.
Your blood ran cold. Marriage? Marriage to his unhinged, borderline psychotic son. It was a sick joke, a twisted solution to his manufactured problem.
"Mr. Roy, you can't be serious," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's no way I'd..."
"Oh, you have a way," he interrupted his voice a low growl. "And let me be perfectly clear," he leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours, "those photos hit the tabloids, your career is toast, I fucking promise you I will personally make sure of it. Not to mention, the whispers about that car accident you were involved in a few years back…. I wonder if you left out some important details to the police? Say like driving under the influence?"
He knew. Somehow, Logan Roy had dug up the skeletons you'd buried deep in the past. Shame burned through you, hot and suffocating.
The threat was clear - either you marry his son or face public humiliation and let your career burn to the ground.
He wasn't offering a choice. There was no negotiation with a man like Logan Roy. You felt a wave of nausea rising in you. The life you’d built, your career, your reputation, all hanging by a thread.
“But nothing happened between us, the photo is only an assumption.” You tried to defend yourself.
“I run the largest news network in the country, dear.” He looked at you with a devious look in his eyes. “I can run whatever story I want, and make it stick. Nobody will believe your little narrative”
“Are you blackmailing me?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He shrugged his shoulders in response, the silent gesture spoke volumes. He knew he had you in the palm of his hand, he knew you had no other option.
Silence stretched in the office, thick with the weight of his ultimatum.
"What… what kind of marriage?" You choked out, feeling defeated.
A humorless smile flickered across his lips. "A business arrangement, of course. Keep Kendall out of trouble, provide him with an heir, and stay out of the limelight. You play your part, and those skeletons stay firmly in the closet."
Disgust battled with desperation within you. Becoming a scapegoat, living a lie for the sake of your career – it felt like selling your soul to the devil. But what other option did you have?
Taking a deep, shaky breath, you surrendered. "Alright," you whispered, the word bitter on your tongue. "Marriage. But I have one condition."
A dangerous glint returned to his eyes. "Let's hear it."
"If Kendall and I are to enter into this charade, it will stay between us. No fake affection, no false expectations. You can’t interfere with the marriage past this point, no more orders."
He considered your terms for a moment. Finally, with a curt nod, he agreed. "Fine. But remember, you're playing with fire. This is the Roy family. We don't play nice."
Your stomach churned. You had stepped into a den of lions, forced into a dance with a beast for the sake of survival. Just as your mind reeled with the reality of your situation, the door creaked open.
In walked Kendall Roy, with disheveled hair and rumpled clothing from last night, his eyes scanned the room before landing on you with a flicker of surprise. Confusion momentarily painted his face before morphing into a scowl as he noticed the photo on Logan's desk.
Before you could even formulate a response, Logan cut through the tension. "Kendall," his voice laced with a dangerous edge, "come and meet your future wife."
Kendall's head snapped towards his father, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Future wife? What the hell are you talking about, Dad?" A spark of anger danced in his eyes.
Logan, however, remained unfazed. He gestured to the empty chair beside you, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Seems you weren't as discreet as you thought last night, Kendall, your mystery affair here has a career to consider, and those photos…" He trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.
The realization dawned on Kendall's face. His gaze darted between his father and you, "Wait a minute," he interjected, his voice tight. "Is this some kind of…blackmail?"
Logan scoffed. "Blackmail? This is damage control, Kendall. You make a mess, you clean it up."
"Clean it up? By marrying someone I barely know?" Kendall yelled. "This is insane!"
Kendall's resistance caught you off guard. Was he genuinely against this absurd proposal? Or was it simply another act of rebellion against his domineering father? But then again you couldn’t tell, because you barely knew him.
The room crackled with a silent duel between father and son. Logan's jaw clenched visibly, his previously amused demeanor replaced by a steely glint in his eyes. "Listen closely, Kendall," he growled, each word dripping with icy menace. "This is your mess. And this," he gestured at you, "is the solution. Marriage. Public image. Those are the terms. Unless you have a better solution for that little scandal brewing outside these walls?"
“I’m your fucking son,” Kendall shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t you just bury the photo and kill the story.”
“I’ve sheltered you for long enough,” Logan suddenly slammed a fist on the table, making you jump. “You think I haven't already buried a million photos of you and yet you’re still so careless. I’m not protecting you anymore. Either you agree to this marriage and fix yourself up or I’ll release the photo myself.”
Kendall opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to deflate under the weight of his father's gaze. His anger shifted to a resigned acceptance. He glanced at you, a silent apology conveyed in his slumped posture and defeated sigh.
The silence returned, thick and suffocating. Logan Roy had played his hand, wielding your past and Kendall's recklessness like weapons. The choice had been snatched away, replaced by a suffocating sense of powerlessness.
“Then it’s settled. You two will get married next month.” Logan’s words cut through the silence.
You stormed out of the office, a whirlwind of fury churning in your gut. You practically tore down the hallway, heels clicking a harsh beat against the polished marble floor, the sound echoing the hollowness you felt inside. The image of Logan Roy's smirk and Kendall's apathetic shrug burned behind your eyelids. The audacity of the man! Marriage? As if your life, your career, were nothing but chess pieces in his ruthless game. But the anger simmering just beneath the surface was a cold, bitter brew directed straight at Kendall Roy.
Last night's encounter was a blur of unwanted attention, culminating in his iron grip leaving a lingering ache on your arm. The memory of his arrogance, his entitlement, made you despise him even before you knew his name. Now, you were being forced to not only share a name with him, but also a life.
The weight of the situation settled on your chest, heavy and oppressive. Love? The very concept seemed like a cruel joke. Marriage was supposed to be built on something more than blackmail and damage control. Now, the path to finding true love seemed permanently closed off by the looming shadow of Kendall and his domineering father. This wasn't just the end of your dreams of a normal life; it was the end of any hope for a real connection. The image of a white dress, a symbol of joy and commitment, now reeked of forced promises and suffocating obligation.
Rounding a corner, you felt a hand grab your elbow. Turning around, you were met with Kendall's steely gaze. Any flicker of sympathy you might have nurtured was extinguished by the coldness in his eyes.
"Hold on a damn minute," he said, his voice clipped. "We need to talk."
"Talk? Is that all you have to say? Thanks to you, my career is on the line, and I'm shackled to some…entitled rich boy!"
His face hardened. "Don't act like you're some innocent caught in the crossfire. You were there too, remember?"
"There? I was trying to have a decent night out, not get entangled in your family drama!" You gestured towards the bruise blooming on my arm, a painful reminder of his roughness the night before. "And for your information, Mr. Roy, bruises heal. My reputation, however, might not be so lucky."
Kendall flinched at the sight of the bruise, shame crossing his features. But it was quickly replaced by a defensive scowl.
"Look," he said, frustration lacing his voice, "this isn't ideal for either of us. But my dad doesn't give options, he gives orders. And believe me, I'm not exactly thrilled about being tied down either, especially to you of all people."
"Not thrilled? Oh, boo hoo! Spare me the crocodile tears. This is your mess, and now I have to clean it up."
He opened his mouth to retort, then seemed to deflate. "Fine," he sighed. "We're stuck with this. Maybe we can at least try to make the best of it?"
You stared at him, a bitter taste in your mouth. Could there be any truth to his words, any chance of a working relationship amidst this forced charade?
"Making the best of it?" You scoffed. "Easy for you to say. You get to waltz back into your privileged life, while mine crumbles around me. But here's the thing – this marriage might be your burden, but I won't be your doormat."
With that, you pushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the hallway. The future stretched before you, a tangled mess of hopelessness and uncertainty. But one thing was clear – you wouldn’t let this marriage break you. It would be a challenge, a high-stakes game, and you, unlike Kendall Roy, weren’t playing to lose. You were determined to survive the merciless world of the Roys that you were thrust in. You wouldn’t become a victim in their ruthless game of power.