Chapter 3 BROKEN PROMISES

The echo of Maverick Rylan's polished shoes rang across the marble floor of Rylan Holdings' executive wing. His stride was firm and effortless. Clad in a perfectly tailored navy suit that hugged his athletic frame, Maverick was the heir to a zillionaire-dollar legacy. His hazel-green eyes, striking and sharp, reflected a mix of ambition and restrained turmoil. Soft curls of jet-black hair fell slightly over his forehead, giving him an air of careless perfection.

At just twenty seven, Maverick was being groomed to take over Rylan Holdings, a global empire built on luxury fashion, private equity, and worldwide investments. He wasn't just smart; he was strategic, not just outspoken, but fiercely articulate. Charisma and charm trailed him like a tailored scent, yet beneath all that polish, there was a storm, a quiet fury he rarely let anyone see.

He stopped outside his father's office, Mr Laurent Rylan, the current CEO and patriarch of the Rylan dynasty. Maverick reached for the sleek brass doorknob when he suddenly froze, he heard a moan from his father's office.

His brows furrowed. What the hell...? he thought, pressing his ear lightly against the door.

He yanked the door open without another thought, his breath hitched.

There, on the leather couch by the window, was his father, half-dressed grinding against his secretary, her blouse undone and hair disheveled.

The pair jolted in shock at the sound of the door crashing open, scrambling to pull themselves together. Maverick stood frozen for a second, disgust contorting his features.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, his voice low but razor-sharp.

"It's... it's not what you think, Maverick," Laurent stammered, quickly zipping his trousers.

"Not what I think?!" Maverick's voice erupted, echoing through the office like a clap of thunder. "You were literally inside her, and you're telling me it's not what I think?"

The secretary, now fully dressed, tried to rush past him in shame, but Maverick blocked her path. Without warning, he struck her across the cheek, once, then again.

"Maverick!" Laurent barked in horror.

"How dare you spread your legs for a man old enough to be your father," Maverick growled at the woman, who clutched her cheeks, eyes wide with tears.

"Shameless fools," he spat venomously before storming out, leaving the door wide open in his wake.

Fury radiated from every pore as he stormed down the hallway and into his own office. The moment the door slammed shut behind him, he let out a deep, trembling breath, slamming both hands down on his desk.

"This fool is seriously testing me," he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to keep himself from erupting further.

He glared at the files on his desk, but his mind wasn't on work. It was spinning...burning...reeling with betrayal.

"I told him... I warned him a thousand times to end whatever was going on with that woman, but no...'There's nothing going on,' he said. 'You're imagining things,' he said...and yet here we are."

His jaw tightened. "I hate him."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. They didn't feel exaggerated, they felt earned.

"How could he... after the promise he made?"

He sank into his chair, chest rising and falling as he looked up at the ceiling, fighting the sting behind his eyes.

He could still remember it like it was yesterday, though two decades had passed. Maverick had only been a small boy of seven, yet the memory etched itself into his heart with a clarity that refused to fade. It was late at night, and he was supposed to be asleep, tucked beneath warm blankets. But the raised voices had pulled him from his dreams, and curiosity led him silently down.

From the crack in the slightly ajar door, he watched, frozen, as his world quietly began to shift.

His mother stood trembling in the living room, her voice shaking with emotion. That night she looked tired, her eyes filled with betrayal and hurt as she confronted his father.

"You lied to me, Laurent," she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. "You went to lodge with a lady... but I already know about her and guess what, first thing tomorrow you'll get our divorce letter."

Maverick's father, Mr. Laurent, stood silently at first, ashamed and remorseful, his head bowed. Then he took a step toward her, reaching for her hand. "It was a mistake," he pleaded, his voice low and urgent. "It meant nothing...I swear it will never happen again...don't leave me...don't tear this family apart."

She stood still for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, before finally turning away in silence. The pain in her eyes haunted Maverick even now.

Though Laurent had kept his word, he had devoted himself fully to his family, mending what he had broken with his wife's trust. But Maverick also remembered another moment just as clearly, one far more haunting.

Maverick stood again at a doorway, this time in a hospital room, his mother lay pale and motionless, her body weakened from bringing Isabella, Maverick's baby sister into the world. Machines beeped steadily around her, and nurses moved quietly, but it was her voice, soft and hoarse, that pierced his heart.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with tears, and her fingers gripped Laurent's hand with the last of her strength.

"Laurent... I don't think I'll make it," she whispered, each word a struggle. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes as she looked up at her husband, fear and sorrow written in every line of her face. "Please, promise me something... Take care of Maverick and the girls. Don't let them grow up the way I did... not with cruelty and neglect. And if...if you ever remarry... please, let it be someone who will love them as her own."

Laurent's throat tightened. He nodded solemnly, brushing her hair away from her forehead with trembling fingers. His voice cracked as he spoke.

"I promise," he had whispered.

And Maverick had heard it all. Hidden in the corner of the room, too scared to come closer, but too heartbroken to look away.

That promise had meant everything to him. It had meant stability, love, and the hope that even without his mother, they would still be safe. It had been a vow forged in grief and love. And now, that promise lay shattered, trampled beneath Laurent's careless feet.

Maverick clenched his jaw, the ache in his chest expanding with every breath. He wasn't a child anymore, but some wounds aged with you.

A sharp knock on the door jolted him from the depths of his memories.

"Yes?" Maverick called, his voice calmer now, though the fury was simmering beneath.

The door opened slowly. Laurent stepped in, guilt carved deep into the lines of his aging face.

"Maverick..." he said softly, trying to meet his son's eyes.

Maverick didn't look up. He kept his gaze fixed on the table, his fingers laced tightly together, the only sign of restraint.

"I'm sorry," Laurent said.

Maverick looked up now, cold and expressionless.

"Get the hell out of my office."

Laurent stepped forward, ignoring the dismissal. "I couldn't handle it anymore. I'm still a man, Maverick and I have needs. I need companionship."

"You need a companion?" Maverick stood abruptly, his eyes narrowing as a storm brewed behind them. His voice was low, controlled, but every word carried the weight of buried years and unspoken pain. "Is that what you're calling it now? A companion?"

He let out a bitter laugh, then took a step forward, his presence suddenly towering, commanding the room. "Let me remind you of something, Father. Mandy was the one who held everything together when Mom died, not you while you locked yourself away in boardrooms, buried under contracts, acquisitions, and stock reports, she was the one making sure we didn't completely fall apart. You were too consumed with pretending emotions were a liability."

"You didn't even wait a week after Mom's burial. A week!" His voice cracked, fury and grief blending. "You left us alone in that cold, empty house, too focused on maintaining your corporate image to notice your children were drowning in silence and sorrow. You didn't ask how we were doing. You didn't hold us...you didn't cry with us...you shoved your grief into a corner and expected us to do the same. You abandoned us."

Maverick's fists clenched at his sides, trembling. "And now, after all this time, after all the years of distance, neglect, and silence, you come to me talking about needing a companion? You stand here flirting shamelessly with your secretary like some lovesick teenager and expect me to feel sympathy for your loneliness?"

He took a deep breath, jaw tight. "No...you don't get to throw that word around like it means something. Not when you had a family that needed you, and you turned your back on us when it mattered the most."

Laurent said nothing.

"I saw her cry. I saw the pain in her eyes. And I saw you make that promise. And now you... you break it like it meant nothing."

Maverick grabbed his laptop and phone and headed for the door.

"You disgust me," he said quietly, not even bothering to look back.

He brushed past Laurent and exited the room, marching straight to the elevator. Moments later, he was in the backseat of his black car, then his driver pulled into the street.

He leaned back, clenching his fists in his lap, whispering only to himself.

"The audacity."