Chapter 2

Three years.

Three years of the brutal North Sea winds, the grease under my fingernails on a drilling platform, and the dizzying, 24/7 chaos of the London energy trading floor. I didn' t just learn the business; I mastered it. I took the Fowler family' s old money and supercharged it with a new money killer instinct.

I returned to Houston not as the boy who was left at the altar, but as the CEO of Fowler Energy Group, a predator in a city of sharks.

My welcome-home party was at Vic & Anthony's Steakhouse, a temple of dark wood, prime beef, and backroom deals. The room was filled with my allies, the new and old titans of Houston who knew which side their bread was buttered on. Andrew Pearce, my loyal aide and the sharpest engineer to ever come out of the Fowler scholarship program, was at my side.

"Good to have you back, Ryan," he said, handing me a glass of whiskey. "The city wasn' t the same without you."

"It' s about to be very different," I replied, scanning the room.

Then, the doors opened. The celebratory buzz in the room died instantly.

Gabby and Tony walked in.

She looked the same, a Southern Belle in a dress that probably cost more than Tony' s entire post-college career earnings. He, on the other hand, looked out of place, his ill-fitting suit a pathetic attempt to belong. His glory days on the football field were a distant memory; he' d washed out of the pros before his first season ended.

A deep, satisfying silence fell over the room. Every powerful person there, men who could make or break fortunes with a single phone call, turned their backs on them. The message was clear: you are not welcome here.

Tony' s face flushed a deep red. Gabby' s smile faltered.

I walked towards them, a shark gliding through water. My own smile was cool, controlled.

"Gabby. Tony. What a surprise," I said, my voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Welcome."

I gestured to the bar. "Let me get you a drink. Tony, what are you having? Top-shelf, of course. On me."

It was a power play, a simple offer loaded with years of resentment. He was the scholarship kid, the charity case. I was reminding him of it.

Tony flinched. He couldn' t look me in the eye. "I' m good. Not drinking tonight."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "A celebration like this? Come on." I pushed a glass of scotch into his hand. "To old times."

The pressure was immense. The entire room was watching, judging. He took a small, hesitant sip, then coughed.

"Actually," he stammered, setting the glass down. "I need to use the restroom."

He practically fled, a coward' s retreat. A low chuckle rippled through the room. Gabby stood frozen, her face a mask of humiliation.

The game had just begun.