Ken sat alone in his home office, the tall windows casting shafts of morning light across the lacquered wood floor. The villa beyond them was quiet, the sort of quiet that carried weight. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was dense, pressing into his skull like the dull edge of a blade. His desk was a storm of documents, briefing folders, hand-printed invitations, and headlines speculating on today's press event. He wasn't looking at any of them. His hands were clasped together in front of his lips, elbows resting on the rich oak surface, and his gaze was hollow—like a man staring into something too vast to comprehend.
Today, the world would know her name. His daughter.
The knock was soft, polite, restrained, but precise. Of course it was.
"Come in," Ken said quietly, the words stiff in his throat.
Robert entered, his footsteps firm but respectful, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality. In his hand was a manila folder—unassuming but weighted with something irreversible. He walked across the room and placed it down in front of Ken. Not a word spoken. Not yet.
Ken didn't reach for it.
"We ran the DNA test again," Robert said. His tone was clipped, controlled—but the sharp eye would notice the strain beneath the surface. "Three times. We even used a secondary lab to eliminate bias."
Ken's fingers twitched.
"It's a 99.8% match."
The room felt colder suddenly. As if the air itself had flinched.
"She's yours, sir. Biologically, congratulations."
There was a beat of silence, and then another, stretching longer than it should have. Ken didn't react—not in the way most would. No wide eyes. No gasp. Instead, he leaned back into the leather of his chair, spine taut, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A slow exhale left him as memories—dusty and fragmented—stirred like old ash.
Long ago, when he was a child, his grandfather took him on vacation. Somewhere remote. I couldn`t remember the country… it was all so foggy now.
The air smelled of firewood. Sea salt. There were mountains in the distance. The people wore robes. Locals were Kind. he remembered feeling… safe.
One afternoon, he wandered off. Grandfather was asleep. He remembered touching the hem of a woman's skirt, thinking she was their maid. Then nothing. He woke up in a van. They then took him to a hospital nearby. They had not hurt him. But they took something.
"Blood. Hair. A swab in my mouth. They were gentle. Efficient. i thought it was my grandfather`s orders, maybe a check-up, but I came to find out that the entire island was in chaos, looking for me. They then investigated, and nothing was found.
And now… Mia was his daughter.
Ken didn't say the words aloud, but the gravity of them pulsed in the silence. His jaw tightened, and he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the desk, fingers steepled.
"She made a request last night," he said, barely above a whisper. "Asked me to find someone named Ari Dusk. Said he was her brother."
Robert's eyes narrowed.
"She thinks he's dead," Ken continued, "but still… she hopes. There's a part of her that believes he's out there."
He closed his eyes. "Ari. That's not just some orphan's fantasy. It fits. It fits too well."
And if they were twins… then he didn't just have a daughter.
He had a son, too.
The thought hit like a blow to the chest. Not the emotional kind—Ken had trained himself out of sentimentality long ago. No, this was something else. The kind of blow that shifted the very floor beneath him.
He pressed his palm against his temple. The room felt like it was spinning slowly, subtly.
Just what had that organization done? How deep did their reach go? How many lives had they already twisted around his without his knowing?
He'd spent years believing he was in control—carefully selecting the orphans he took in, molding them into leaders, never letting his own bloodline be touched by the corruption he saw in others. Now it seemed…
They'd used him as breeding stock.
Outside, distant echoes of shuffling feet and microphones being tested drifted through the closed windows.
"Sir," Robert said, more gently this time. "The reporters are waiting."
Ken didn't look up. His fingers pressed against his eyes.
"Five more minutes," he said. "I need to think."
Robert nodded once and turned to leave, but paused just as his fingers touched the door.
For a long moment, he didn't move. His eyes lowered to the floor, and a deep breath swelled his chest. Something wasn't sitting right—not just the implications of the DNA test, but what it meant for the man behind that desk.
**Ken Rowland has a daughter. **
The thought echoed like a dropped stone.
Ken Rowland—the man who once tore up a marriage contract mid-meeting. Who returned dowries with interest and blacklisted anyone who sent their daughters to his parties. The one who'd once snarled, "If someone sends me a gift through their daughter, I send it back with a lawsuit."
Robert swallowed thickly.
And now… he had a child.
Not adopted for public relations. Not a move on a political chessboard. Blood. Flesh. A living echo of a past none of them understood.
Robert had watched Ken face off against politicians, assassins, even foreign governments—but he'd never seen him look like this. Not uncertain. Not haunted.
Just quiet.
Beneath the iron mask of control, Robert saw the tremor in his hands.
Does she know what she means to him already? he wondered.
He thought of Mia—small, strange, composed in ways a child should never be. Ice behind her eyes. But now, knowing the blood that ran through her, it made sense.
She's his. Through and through.
And worse… if she was a product of that organization's interference, then the implications weren't just personal. They were dangerous. Terrifying.
Ken wasn't just a father.
He was a target.
Robert finally pulled open the door, his expression once again unreadable. But inside, his thoughts churned like a storm.
Five more minutes.
He hoped it would be enough.