Ken Rowland was more than just a billionaire. He was a king without a crown, a man whose influence stretched far beyond the high-rise office of his global empire. He had money, power, and a sharp intellect that had shaped the futures of dozens—no, hundreds—of orphans who had passed through the doors of the Rowland Foundation. To the world, he was untouchable, cold, and calculating. But within the walls of the orphanage he owned, he was something different. A protector. A guardian. A savior.
He didn't just rescue children; he molded them into legends. Many of the kids he raised had climbed to the highest ranks of government, finance, and business. Ministers, senators, CEOs—they all owed their success to the man who had given them a home, an education, and a place in the world. Loyalty to Ken Rowland was absolute. This was all to the point that they were under his umbrella, though totally independent, no one would dare mess with one of them and no one would dare offend him, for his root had even reached deep in the underworld.
Yet, for all the power he wielded, for all the people who owed him their lives, there was one thing he could not control—the quiet pain in the eyes of a little girl who had been abandoned at the orphanage's doorstep.
The Girl No One Wanted
She was small, frail, and barely spoke. When the caretakers at the orphanage found her, collapsed at the front gate of the orphanage, freezing cold, lips blue, they had assumed she wouldn't survive the night. She had, but barely. Since then, she did not speak a word and did all she was told to the point, her deep blue eyes, which many would mistake for purple in dim light, seemed empty and distant, as if she had seen all the horrors the world had to offer.
The caretakers were professional and top experts in their fields. Ken made sure to have the best of the best for the children, so they were all patient, giving the girl time to grow, but after two years, now turning five, she still did not talk much. They became worried. She did not cry. She did not beg. She did not even flinch when other children bullied her for being too quiet, too weak, too strange. unmoving, like a statue carved from sorrow.
Mia. That was the name she was given. A name she neither accepted nor rejected, merely acknowledged.
Mia had lived through horrors no child should endure. She had seen cruelty up close, felt the sting of betrayal in ways most would never understand. She had learned, young, that people were fickle, that trust was a fragile illusion that could shatter in an instant. She came to believe that silence was safer, that emotions were a liability, and that attachment only led to pain. She was a ghost drifting through life, untethered and unclaimed.
Until Ken Rowland.
He found her one evening, sitting at the grand staircase of the orphanage. She wasn't like the others, running around, playing, or trying to seek his attention. She merely watched, those hollow eyes observing his every movement as if she were trying to understand him.
"Do you have a name?" he asked, his voice softer than usual. He hadn't meant for it to be.
She remained quiet. Her tiny fingers clutched the fabric of her worn dress, the only sign of nervousness. She stood, and with a smooth set of movements, she stood up, spread her long dress, and slightly bowed. One could tell this was practiced. Though they were raised with love and delicate care, the children were raised to respect and admire the Rowlands, but to keep them far from his family's politics, no one was allowed to seek the children without the approval of the head of the family. All these were rules Ken placed when he was just 10 years old, by his grandfather's request, and right after he gave the orphanage to him.
Ken sighed. "What do you answer to "he asked the girl, his soft tone he had with children vanished, something about her made him want to give her his respect, Robert was a bit stunned as he stood next to him.to him, Ken seemed cold yet the girl did not even flinch, she even dared to prolonging the silence for a moment, he thought he was furious because of the girl's insolence. "Call me Mia, founder. "Ken was surprised. Her words carried heavy meaning. Of course, the orphanage was a haven, but Ken used it for a lot of things. For swaying public opinion and deep connections. Yet it seemed the girl had an idea of how the rich worked. She used his title as if to try and provoke him, though she seemed meek, she was daring, and he liked her.
Ken's assistant, Robert, on the other hand, was already blowing steam. Who does this brat think she is, talking like that? Doesn't she know how merciless this guy can get? "Tell me, Mia, tell me your story, from the look in your eyes I can tell you understand more than you let off."
For a fleeting moment, something flickered in her eyes—a hesitation, a question, a plea she refused to voice. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. She turned her head slightly, looking past him, her mind a place he couldn't reach. as if reliving her trauma.
Ken's assistant, Robert, stood behind him, watching with a frown. "She's difficult to read," he muttered.
Ken, however, understood.
"You don't need to say anything," he told her. "Just know that you belong here now, no, wait, how...does the name Rowland sound to you?"
For the first time, she looked at him—not past him, not through him, but at him. A single, slow nod.
It was the closest thing to acceptance he would get.
The Heiress and the Arrangement
The Rowland estate glittered under the brilliance of a thousand golden lights, the grand ballroom alive with music and laughter. Tonight was not just another social gathering; it was a spectacle of power, an unspoken negotiation wrapped in luxury. The two most influential families in the country had arranged this evening with a singular purpose—to reignite the long-standing marriage alliance between Ken Rowland and Nora Kensington.
Nora arrived fashionably late, her heels clicking against the stone like a clock counting down. She wore elegance like armor. Her figure, draped in an elegant midnight-blue gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, her jewelry happening to match the level of affluency and pizazz the room displayed, her hair was tied in a low twist, her earrings a quiet nod to her mother's taste. She smiled when cameras flashed, and waved when they called her name. She was gorgeous. She epitomizes poise—mild-mannered, nonchalant, yet radiating a quiet confidence that few could challenge. Still, inside, she was already calculating how many conversations she needed to endure before she could slip away. Though her family had orchestrated this match from the time they were children, she and Ken had always shared a mutual understanding—there was no love between them, only a deep-seated friendship masked as an engagement.
Ken Rowland stood by the grand staircase with his usual air of detached authority, dark suit pressed to precision, not a strand of hair out of place. His mere presence was enough to part the sea of guests. He didn't smile. He didn't need to. People adjusted their posture just by being near him.
When their eyes met across the room, it was with mutual weariness.
"I see the circus is in full swing," Nora murmured as she approached.
Ken glanced at her, his gaze cool. "You blend in too well. It's suspicious, did you perhaps... betray me?" he leaned closer, saying, "We were to escape, not blend in, you know..."
They shared a look. That was the closest they'd come to laughing.
Well, well, well, he once disliked me for swaying the masses, now look at him, giving them what they want to see, and in turn gets the right to escape after the dance, was he only playing dumb? Nora thought. He`s the one betraying me and advertising it, you owe me big this time, mister.
"I see you learnt quite a few tricks from me, Ken."
"Whatever do you mean..my dear?"
"Shall we dance?" she offered, her voice wrapped in irony.
"If we must."
They moved to the dance floor, slipping into rhythm without a word. Their movements were fluid, almost too synchronized—like two puzzle pieces shaped over years of practice. People watched with open admiration. Whispers spun like silk around them: they're perfect,they were made for each other,finally.
It was precisely that which ruined it.
As the waltz faded, applause followed. Someone shouted, "You two should just get married already!" Another chimed in, "It's like watching a fairytale!"
Ken's jaw tightened. Nora's smile cracked
When the waltz finally ended, they separated with composed smiles, masking their mutual irritation. Ken guided Nora off the dance floor, steering them toward the balcony, away from prying eyes.
The night air was cool, a welcome contrast to the suffocating heat of the party. Nora leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling estate grounds. "Why do they keep forcing this? It's like we're not people, but just... pieces on a board."
Ken exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "That's because that's what we are to them, after all, we are both the heirs to the most powerful families in New York. Moreover, because you are a woman, no offence but that is just how it is."
She glanced at him, studying his expression."But we're not to each other."
A pause. Then, almost reluctantly, he nodded.
She turned to look at him. "You don't think we're perfect for each other, do you?"
He gave her a long, unreadable look. "We're not perfect. We're precise. There's a difference."
She exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Sometimes I think you're the only real person in this whole city."
"I'm not real," he replied coolly. "I'm efficient."
She laughed. It wasn't loud, but it was genuine. "Oh, absolutely, but the dance was nice... I almost forgot how easy it is to move with you."
Ken gave her a sideways glance. "Almost?"
She smirked. "Don't let it get to your head, and I'll let the, because you are a woman, comment slide this time, you have to make it up to me."
For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence. Despite the frustrating circumstances, there was a strange sense of camaraderie in their shared annoyance. They had been thrown into this arrangement without a choice, but at least they had each other to complain to.
"How long before we can leave without causing a scandal?" Nora asked.
Ken checked his watch. "Give it another hour."
She groaned. "I need more champagne."
Ken smirked. "I need a stronger drink."
The party raged on behind them, but for now, on the quiet balcony, they could just be Ken and Nora—two people forced into a story not of their making, but determined to write their own chapters.
"You should come over sometime, theirs someone you'd love to meet with, "Ken finally spoke, thinking of little Mia.
"ohh? who's that?"
"It's a surprise."
"Alright, I might just come by soon."
They both watch the horizon as the moon rises above, all, red was its color.
Ken's Ride Home
The hum of the engine was steady, hypnotic. Outside, the night stretched long and quiet, the city fading into shadows. Ken Rowland sat in the back of the black car, his elbows resting loosely on the leather armrest, eyes fixed on the blurred lights outside the tinted windows.
The party had been a performance. All of it. The lights, the laughter, the forced conversations, the whispers behind champagne glasses. He could still hear the echo of their compliments. You've built an empire, Ken. But don't forget your duty to the legacy.
He scoffed internally. Duty. Legacy. It always came down to the same things.
The Rowlands, despite their power, were never free, more like `he ` was never free, even now, his own family—those bearing the same name—continued to pressure him. Uncles with bloated egos, aunts with sharpened smiles, cousins playing the good game but whispering like snakes when he turned his back. All of them eager to marry power to power, to secure another rung up the endless ladder by chaining him to another wealthy name.
He didn't mind Nora. She was smart. Sharp. Beautiful in her own quiet way. And real, in a world full of lies. But even that friendship wasn't truly his—it had been arranged before he could form his own opinions.
Still, tonight had been... tolerable. Because of her.
But that wasn't where his thoughts lingered.
His gaze shifted from the window to the faint reflection in it. A smaller face, quiet, unreadable.
Mia.
She was a strange presence in his life—delicate, ghostlike, but impossible to ignore. There was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in him, something he never felt with the others.
She wasn't just another orphan. He had seen it in the way she held herself. The way she bowed when she first spoke to him. The way she watched people, dissected them with those unsettlingly intelligent eyes.
She barely spoke, but when she did, it was always calculated.
The tutors had given him glowing reports. She absorbed knowledge like oxygen—math, history, language. Everything he threw at her, she devoured. She was behind, yes, but catching up fast. Faster than anyone expected.
Faster than even he could have at that age.
IQ: 174.
Two points higher than his.
He hated how much that made him smirk.
That's why he thought it was best to keep her a secret, and a trump card. Yes, he would mold her into the perfect human being.
He had already arranged for the best educators—world-class instructors who owed him favors. She would be fluent in six languages, play three instruments, the piano, the violin, and the harp, and understand political theory before she hit ten, if he had his way.
She would have a phone. Not one of those colorful things they gave the kids. A real one. A secure one. Custom-designed.
Maybe even a corner room of the villa, no, in my study. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere quieter, somewhere I can monitor her, besides, she hated noise, so I'm not being overcontrolling. Alas, she also needs playtime, "I'll ask her what she would like as a toy," he said aloud, subconsciously. The chauffeur, of course, heard him but dared not even breathe too loud.
He would win her trust. Slowly. Patiently. Gently.
He owed her that.
But...
He remembered the file Robert had handed him earlier in the week.
"Poor health. Weak constitution. May require special care."
Ken frowned. He reached into his coat, pulled out his sleek black phone, and dialed.
"Robert."
"Yes, sir?"
"Book a full health examination for Mia. Private clinic. Complete work-up. Bloodwork. Scans. I want everything. Also…" He paused. "Run a DNA test. Quietly. No leaks."
There was a pause on the other end. Then: "Understood."
Ken hung up.
His eyes returned to the window, but his mind was miles away.
There was something about her. Something he couldn't quite name.
And if there was one thing Ken Rowland couldn't stand—
—was not knowing, but for Mia, he would give her time, time to bloom.
"We are here mister Rowland, the villa." said the chauffeur, drawing his focus to the surroundings.