"Chris?" Jeff Ringston, ROWON's executive secretary, called out in a low and unmotivated voice.

"Yes, Mr. Ringston, what is it?" Chris Rowon replied as he stood on the rooftop of his mansion, staring at the stars.

"Come to GL Hospital," Jeff told him as he sat on a chair outside a private room at the hospital.

"Why? What happened?" Chris asked, a growing unease settling in his chest.

"Hurry up. Your father needs you." 

Hearing that, Chris rushed downstairs, hopped into his car, and drove aimlessly at high speed.

'Please, not today!' Chris thought as a tear dropped from his cheek.

He arrived at GL Hospital, finding journalists swarming the entrance. As he tried to push through them, one journalist recognized him.

"Chris Rowon! What was the exact cause of the accident involving your father?" a male journalist asked.

"Accident!?" Chris' body froze upon hearing the word.

His mind reeled as he pushed past them, forcing his way inside, his heartbeat erratic.

Chris could barely breathe. The air felt thick, pressing against his lungs as he stared at the receptionist with wide, frantic eyes.

"Where is he? Where's my father?" His voice cracked, barely holding together the panic clawing at his throat.

The receptionist, taken aback by his desperate expression, pointed down the hallway. "Private room 409."

Chris didn't wait to hear more. His legs moved on their own, his mind racing faster than his feet. The stark white walls of the hospital blurred past him, each step fueled by fear, hope, and denial. This couldn't be happening. Not his father. Not today.

As he reached the private room, he saw Jeff sitting outside, his head buried in his hands. The older man looked up when he heard Chris approach, his face drained of color. Jeff tried to stand, but Chris had already pushed past him, throwing open the door.

Inside, the beeping of machines filled the room, a cruel reminder of the fragility of life. Daniel Rowon lay on the hospital bed, wires and tubes connected to his failing body. His once-strong frame seemed smaller, almost swallowed by the bed. His skin was pale, his breath shallow. The great man, the titan of the Rowon family business, looked nothing like the force he had always been.

Chris' knees buckled at the sight.

"Dad..." his voice was barely a whisper, but Daniel's eyelids fluttered open at the sound.

Chris stepped forward, taking his father's frail hand in his own. It was cold. Too cold. Daniel's lips curled slightly into a weak smile.

"You came," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Good... son."

Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. "Don't talk like that. You're going to be okay. The doctors—"

Daniel squeezed his hand, cutting him off. "Listen... there isn't much time."

Chris shook his head violently. "No. Don't say that. You're going to fight. You have to."

A long pause. Then, his father gave a weak chuckle. "Fighting... I've been doing it my whole life, son. Building, protecting, providing. But now... it's your turn."

Chris felt his heart stop.

"You mean the company?" His fingers tightened around his father's hand. "I'm not ready. I—"

"You are." His father's voice was soft but firm. "The business... our name... it's yours now."

Chris wanted to protest, wanted to tell his father that he wasn't ready, that he was just a young boy standing in the shadow of a giant. But the words wouldn't come. Because deep down, he knew. This wasn't a choice.

Daniel's eyes met his son's one last time, full of pride, sorrow, and acceptance. Then, the beeping on the monitor slowed.

Chris held his breath. "Dad?"

The last rise of his father's chest. The last whisper of breath. The monitor let out a long, piercing sound.

Chris felt his entire world shatter. "No... no, no, NO!" He grabbed his father's shoulders, shaking him as if he could force him to stay. But there was no stopping the inevitable.

The door burst open as doctors rushed in. Jeff tried to pull Chris away, but he fought, screaming, sobbing, refusing to let go.

But it was over.

Daniel Rowon was gone.

The next few days were a blur.

The funeral was grand, befitting a man of his stature. Hundreds attended, from powerful business figures to employees who had worked under him for decades. But Chris barely noticed them. He stood at the gravesite, staring at the casket as it was lowered into the earth.

Each shovelful of dirt that fell was like a hammer to his chest. The end of an era. The weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.

He heard voices around him, whispers of condolences, murmurs of respect. But none of it mattered. Nothing felt real.

"Chris," Jeff placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice gentle. "It's time to go."

But how could he leave? How could he walk away when it felt like his father had been buried along with everything he had ever known?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned away, his jaw clenched, his fists tight. The pain wasn't gone. It would never be gone. But something else had settled in his chest now.

A promise.

The Rowon name would not fade. His father's legacy would not crumble.

As he walked back to the car, a voice called out his name.

"Chris Rowon! What will happen to ROWON Enterprises now?"

He turned to see a swarm of reporters, their cameras flashing, their microphones extended toward him. The world was watching, waiting.

Another reporter stepped forward. "Some sources claim you lack the experience to lead such a large empire. Do you think you can handle it?"

Chris inhaled sharply, steadying himself. He wiped the last of his tears away and met their gazes with steel in his eyes.

"The company is mine now," he said, his voice unwavering. "And I'll make damn sure it stays standing."

As the cameras flashed and questions poured in, Chris turned away, stepping into his car. The weight of the world had just fallen on his shoulders.

And there was no turning back.

End of Chapter 1.