Brian sat in his study, the room was dark except for the faint glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows over his tightly clenched fists. His mind kept replaying Linda's words from earlier, each syllable hitting him like a fresh blow: Mr. Rowland isn't your biological father.
It felt like a wound, raw and impossible to ignore. He had spent his entire life building his identity around the Rowland legacy, around the expectations placed upon him by his father, by his family. And now…was that all a lie? Was he just living a life crafted from someone else's pity?
After a few more agonizing moments, Brian decided he couldn't wait any longer. He needed answers.
With a new resolve, he made his way to his mother's quarters. Mrs. Priscilla Rowland was alone, seated in a small, private parlor where she often came to read in solitude. She looked up as he entered, a soft smile on her face quickly fading as she registered his tense expression.
