Chapter 74: When Rogan Spoke His Name

Chapter 74: Chapter 74: When Rogan Spoke His Name The room went silent the moment I heard his voice. "Evric." Firm. Heavy. It wasn’t just anyone, it was my father. Rogan. I stiffened, my blood turning cold. Zayn, sensing the shift in my expression, straightened instantly. I muttered under my breath, "My father is here." Zayn’s hands moved quickly, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He didn’t even meet my eyes; he just focused on making himself look presentable. I stood up, trying to mask the storm inside me, and Zayn followed, equally. "Dad," I said flatly. "Yes," Rogan answered, his voice calm yet sharp, like a blade hidden in silk. "When did you get here?" I asked. "The moment you turned yourself into a vampire," he replied, his eyes narrowing in judgment. I clenched my jaw. "Then why didn’t you say anything?" "You are completely shameless, Evric," he said, his tone heavy with disapproval. "This is hours of work, a company I built, and all you could do is waste your time like this?" I snapped, anger rising to shield the sting of his words. "This is my office, Father. I can do whatever I want in here." "Accepted," he shot back, leaning slightly forward. "It’s your office. But don’t forget, it was built on my hard work." I looked at him coldly. "Then take it. I never said I wanted it." Zayn shifted beside me, caught in the tension between us, his silence loud. And then something happened. Something small, something I didn’t even register at first. My father extended a hand toward Zayn, a subtle gesture, telling him to sit down. Zayn bowed politely and murmured, "Thank you, sir," before lowering himself into the couch. But I didn’t see it. Not then. My rage was too blinding. All I cared about was demanding answers. "Why are you in my office, Father?" I asked tightly. Truth was, I wasn’t only angry. Deep down, I was afraid. Afraid of the pain his presence always brought, afraid of his control. I just wanted to get straight to the reason he came before he found another way to tear me apart. Rogan studied me coolly. "Evric, I came to your office, and yet you didn’t even offer me a seat. Not even a proper greeting for your father. But fine, I’m not here to argue about that. I came because I need your help. I need you to do something." My brows furrowed. "Then why didn’t you send it to my email?" "I did," he said flatly. "It’s been two days. You didn’t reply. And I need to give feedback immediately." I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to calm down. "Fine. Come here." I walked to my desk and sat, he lowered himself into the chair opposite me, motioning for him to hand over the file. He did, his movements measured, precise. I pressed the intercom and called James. "Come to my office. Now." James arrived shortly after, standing by my side as I flipped through the pages, discussing the details. My father sat across from me, his presence heavy, almost suffocating. And yet... while we worked, I could feel his gaze. Several times, I caught him watching me instead of the file. Those eyes, sharp, unreadable, dissecting me in silence. I ignored it until he finally broke it. "Evric." I looked up, meeting his eyes. "How have you been doing lately?" he asked, his tone suddenly softer. The question hit me harder than expected. My throat tensed. For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. Why now? Why ask after all this time? We used to be close, before everything that happened years ago. But ever since then, I distanced myself. I hated being in the same space as him. Still... he had asked. So I answered. "I’m fine." He nodded slightly, though I couldn’t read if he believed me. We finished the work soon after. I wrapped things up and handed the file back to his assistant. Rogan stood, smoothing his suit jacket. His words came next, steady but cutting straight through me. "You don’t even bother to come home anymore, Evric. If you can’t come for me, at least come for your mother. Every time we are together, she talks about how much she misses you." I looked away, swallowing hard. "I’ll think about it." He didn’t push the issue any further, and that alone struck me as odd. Soon, everything was finished, and he was getting ready to leave. I realized something that made my chest tighten, he never said a word about Zayn. He had walked in on us, yet he didn’t comment, didn’t scold me, and didn’t show any reaction beyond that brief glance he gave earlier. That was not like Rogan at all. Usually, he would have taken immediate action, confronting me or making his displeasure known. The fact that he stayed silent unsettled me far more than if he had actually been angry. Even Zayn seemed off. He sat quietly, barely moving, his politeness masking something underneath, a flicker of unease, maybe fear, but not enough to make him tremble. As Rogan walked toward the door, I turned to Zayn. "I’ll see my father off. I’ll be back." He nodded. "Okay." He stood as well, intending to offer a polite farewell. And then it happened. The moment I truly caught what I had missed before. Rogan paused, glancing back at Zayn. His voice was low but clear, cutting through the silence. "You don’t look good, Zayn." Zayn’s shoulders stiffened, but he managed a small, respectful reply. "I’m just a little tired, sir." "Take care of yourself," Rogan said simply, before stepping out. I froze. My father’s words echoed in my mind. I looked from Zayn to him, trying to piece it together. Why would he speak to Zayn like that? Why notice him at all? Turning back to Zayn, I demanded, "What was that?" Zayn met my eyes briefly before lowering his gaze. "See him off first. We’ll talk when you get back." His tone made my stomach twist. So I followed Rogan outside, determination hardening in my chest. As I walked beside my father down the hallway, the echo of our footsteps filled the silence between us. I kept glancing at him, searching for answers in his calm, almost unreadable expression. He didn’t look like a man who had just caught his son in an intimate moment. He didn’t even look like a father coming to lecture me. That unsettled me more. Finally, I broke the silence. "Father," I said quietly, my voice taut, "how do you know Zayn?" Rogan slowed his pace, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He only tilted his head, the faintest trace of a smirk brushing his lips. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the same weight as always, measured, deliberate, almost suffocating. "Evric... I already told you," he said without looking at me. "When the time comes that I need to settle things with him, I’ll go for him. Until then, he is not your concern." Not my concern? My chest tightened, anger and unease knotting together. I stopped in my tracks, forcing him to face me. "Not my concern? You walked into my office, saw him with me, and now you’re pretending nothing happened. That’s not like you, Father. What are you playing at?" He finally turned, his sharp gaze cutting into me. For a moment, it felt as though he was seeing straight through me, straight into the truth I tried so hard to hide. But instead of answering my demand, he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Focus on what you can control, Evric. Don’t let distractions ruin your judgment. Zayn... will cross his path with mine when the time is right." The words chilled me. He wasn’t talking about casual acquaintance. There was something deeper, something dangerous in the way he spoke Zayn’s name. "Father..." I started, but he cut me off with a look so stern it shut me down instantly. "You’ve done enough for today," Rogan said firmly, already moving toward the elevator. "Try to find some time and visit your mother soon; she’s been waiting for you." And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the elevator without giving me the answers I needed. I stood there frozen, my thoughts racing. His indifference to catching me with Zayn was far more disturbing than his anger would have been. Rogan always had a reason, always moved with intention. If he wasn’t furious... it was because he already knew something I didn’t. When I turned back toward my office, Zayn was lying flat on the couch, his body stretched out as though he were resting. But his eyes weren’t closed. They were fixed on the ceiling, unblinking, his jaw tight, and calm. I stepped inside, the click of the door shutting behind me cutting through the silence. He didn’t move, didn’t sit up, didn’t even look my way. His posture was stiff, and though he pretended to be at ease, I could see the tension in the way his hands gripped the fabric of the couch. "Zayn," I said, my voice lower than I intended. His lips curved into a small, practiced smile. "You’re back." I took a step closer, studying him carefully. "What just happened between you and my father?"