The door clicked shut, leaving Rowan standing in the quiet of his apartment. He let out a small exhale, running a hand through his tousled hair. Samantha's lingering scent still clung to the air—faint traces of vanilla and something uniquely hers.
He smiled to himself before rolling his shoulders, stretching out the slight stiffness in his muscles.
"Alright, time to start the day," He muttered, rolling his neck as he padded barefoot toward the bathroom.
The apartment was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the blinds, casting long golden streaks across the wooden floor. The air carried a lazy tranquility, making the weekend feel all the more indulgent.
Rowan turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade down in thick, steady streams before stepping in. The warmth instantly soothed his muscles, washing away the remnants of last night's exhaustion. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as the steam curled around him, filling the bathroom with a thick, comforting heat.
Unlike his rushed weekday showers, where he scrubbed, rinsed, and got out in five minutes flat, today he indulged. His fingers massaged his scalp as he lathered his hair, and he relished the sensation of the water running down his back.
By the time he finally stepped out, half an hour had passed.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he wiped the foggy mirror with his palm, his reflection gradually appearing. His hair was damp and messy, a few beads of water trickling down his jawline. He eyed himself with a smirk, flexing his arm slightly.
"Not bad," He muttered before chuckling to himself.
Dressed in casual joggers and a loose hoodie, Rowan finally stepped out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. The fresh air greeted him, crisp and slightly cool against his still-warm skin.
"Ah, there you are, young man!"
Rowan turned his head, spotting his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Delgado, standing by her door with a knowing smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. D," He greeted, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Up early as always?"
The old woman chuckled, adjusting her thick glasses. "Old age, my dear. Sleep is a luxury we trade for wisdom and aching bones."
Rowan grinned. "I don't know, I'd take the sleep over wisdom any day."
Mrs. Delgado gave him a pointed look. "That's because you're young and foolish."
"And proud of it," He teased.
She shook her head, amused, before narrowing her eyes slightly. "I saw Samantha leaving earlier. A sleepover again, was it?"
Rowan cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something like that."
With a final nod, he waved and headed toward the gym, his steps light and relaxed.
By the time Rowan arrived, the gym was already buzzing with energy. The rhythmic clang of weights, the hum of treadmills, and the occasional grunts of effort filled the air. He spotted a few of his colleagues handling clients, ensuring that things ran smoothly in his absence.
"Look who finally decided to show up," One of the trainers, Mike, called out with a smirk as Rowan approached.
"Hey, it's the weekend," Rowan defended, stretching his arms. "I deserve to sleep in a little."
"More like you were preoccupied," Mike teased, waggling his eyebrows.
Rowan rolled his eyes but didn't deny it.
After a few minutes of warm-ups, he dived into his routine. Unlike the usual one-hour session, today he pushed himself harder. The burn in his muscles was addictive—the satisfying ache that told him he was doing something right.
With sweat dripping down his brow, he moved through deadlifts, squats, and his usual bench presses. The adrenaline coursing through him was exhilarating, sharpening his focus and clearing his mind.
By the time he was finished, two hours had passed, and his body felt both exhausted and energized.
After taking a shower at the gym, Rowan decided to hit the grocery store. His fridge was practically empty—unless one counted half a carton of milk and some questionable leftovers.
The store was bustling with weekend shoppers, but Rowan navigated the aisles with ease, grabbing the essentials: eggs, bread, protein bars, coffee, and a few extra snacks.
As he waited in line at the checkout, he checked his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through messages.
A few texts from Samantha popped up:
[Samantha]: Made it home. Barely.
[Samantha]: Dad asked why I looked so tired. Had to blame it on Netflix.
[Samantha]: You owe me for that, Mr. "One More Round?"
Rowan chuckled, shaking his head as he typed back.
[Rowan]: You didn't complain last night.
[Samantha]: I hate you.
[Rowan]: No, you don't.
[Samantha]: Ugh. Whatever. Enjoy your day, dumbass.
Shaking his head, he paid for his groceries and made his way back to the apartment.
----
On the Samantha's side
Samantha sat at the grand dining table, lazily poking at her scrambled eggs with her fork while sneaking glances at her phone. The screen lit up with another message from Rowan, and a small, involuntary pout formed on her lips.
"Ugh, idiot," She grumbled under her breath, fingers flying over the keyboard as she typed a quick reply.
She barely noticed the slight narrowing of her father's eyes from across the table until his voice cut through the quiet clinking of silverware.
"Samantha."
Her fingers froze mid-typing.
"Eat properly," He said, his tone firm but not harsh. "A lady does not sulk over her phone at the table."
Samantha let out a small sigh, reluctantly setting her phone down beside her plate. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, straightening her posture like a scolded child. "Yes, Father."
The rest of breakfast passed in relative silence, but she couldn't stop her thoughts from drifting back to Rowan.
----
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully.
Rowan cleaned up a bit, did some laundry, and then settled on the couch, flipping through channels until he found something worth watching.
It was the kind of quiet, lazy day that made weekends feel like a gift.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Rowan changed into his work attire: a crisp black shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, fitted dark jeans, and a sleek watch. His hair was styled just enough to look effortlessly charming, and with one last glance in the mirror, he grabbed his keys and headed out.
The city streets glowed with neon signs, and nightlife slowly came to life. He navigated the familiar route to Eden's Edge, a well-known bar that was as much about its atmosphere as it was about the drinks.
Upon stepping inside, the familiar buzz of music and chatter filled his ears. The scent of mixed cocktails, citrus, and a faint hint of smoke lingered in the air.
"Ah, there he is! My favorite bartender!"
Rowan barely had time to react before Mila, one of the waitresses and his closest friend at the bar, appeared beside him with a wide grin.
She leaned against the counter with an easy confidence, her dark eyes gleaming mischievously. "Late as always, I see."
Rowan smirked. "Fashionably late."
Mila snorted. "More like 'barely made it on time.'"
He shrugged. "Still counts."
The playful banter between them was second nature, setting the tone for the night ahead. The bar was about to get busy, and Rowan was ready.
Tonight was just getting started...
The low hum of music and faint chatter filled the dimly lit club as the evening rush began to settle in.
Rowan was behind the bar, expertly mixing a cocktail, while Mila leaned against the counter, lazily stirring a drink with a straw. The two shared an easy camaraderie, occasionally exchanging teasing remarks as they worked.
Then, the doors to the main hall swung open, and a figure stepped in with an air of quiet authority.
Silas Moreau, the owner of Eden's Edge, was a man in his late forties, yet he carried himself with the sharpness of someone much younger. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and a well-groomed beard that framed his chiseled jawline. Dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray suit with a deep burgundy vest, he exuded sophistication with a hint of dangerous charm. A silver pocket watch chain dangled subtly from his vest pocket, glinting under the club's ambient lights.
His sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on Rowan and Mila. With a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gestured for them to follow.
"Boss looks serious," Mila murmured as she set her tray down.
Rowan smirked, wiping his hands with a towel. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."
They followed Silas through the private hallway leading to his office. Once inside, he closed the door behind them and took a seat behind a sleek mahogany desk. The office was neatly arranged—dimly lit with warm lighting, decorated with a few expensive paintings, and a liquor cabinet stocked with high-end spirits.
Silas leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers together. "I called you two here because I have some good news."
Rowan and Mila exchanged a brief glance before focusing back on their boss.
"Someone with deep pockets is interested in investing in my clubs. And Eden's Edge happens to be one of them," Silas continued, his voice steady and measured. "But this isn't just any investor. The person in question is Adrianne, leader of the Black Order."
Mila let out a low whistle. "The Adrianne? As in the Black Order?"
Silas nodded. "That's the one. She's a powerhouse in more ways than one. A ruthless businesswoman, and one hell of a beauty, too. Normally, she'd be coming herself, but due to personal reasons, she's sending someone else in her place to check things out."
Rowan crossed his arms, intrigued. "And I take it you want us to handle them?"
"Exactly." Silas's sharp gaze landed on both of them. "I need you two to make sure they are well taken care of. Whatever they need, whatever they ask for—you make sure they leave here beyond satisfied. This investment could be a game-changer."
Mila grinned, tilting her head. "Sounds like a fun challenge."
Rowan nodded, his usual easygoing demeanor unwavering. "When are they coming?"
"Tonight," Silas said. "I'll be meeting them personally, but I want you two on the frontlines, making sure everything goes smoothly."
Rowan and Mila exchanged another glance before nodding in unison.
"Understood, Boss," Rowan said.
Silas smirked, pleased with their reaction. "Good. Now, get back out there and do what you do best."
As they left the office, Mila nudged Rowan playfully. "Looks like we've got an important night ahead of us."
Rowan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess we better make it count."