Carcel Evander Dawson

"Carcel, find anything you like?" Crue called out, waving a t-shirt in my direction. I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before responding.

"No." My voice was steady as I took a sip of the coffee in my hand.

He glanced at the bags I was holding. "So, whose bags are those?"

"Ciel's." My reply was short, leaving no room for further questions. Crue's smirk grew, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, the doting fiancé, I see." His teasing tone grated on my nerves.

"Cut it out"

Before the conversation could continue, Ace's voice rang out, loud enough to draw everyone's attention. "Hey, guys, guess who just walked in!"

Our heads turned as one, focusing on Ace. He had Galini under his arm, practically dragging her into the store. Her face was a storm of fury as she tried to break free. But behind them—there she was—the grocery girl. A low chuckle escaped me. She keeps showing up everywhere.

"Relax, we're friends," Ace said to the girl, trying to downplay the tension. But her eyes remained hard, her expression unyielding.

"No! we're fucking not!," Galini spat, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. I shot a glance at Crue, who was already looking uneasy.

"Alright, alright, no need for the death stare." Crue moved toward them, trying to calm things down. But Ace, being the fool he is, thought it would be funny to try the same move on the grocery girl.

Big mistake.

As Ace was about to put his arms around the girl's shoulder, with swift, practiced ease, she locked onto his arm, twisting it behind his back until he was on his knees, a scream of pain escaped from Ace lips.

"Damn it!" Crue cursed, rushing forward to intervene, but it was too late. The damage was done. The ruckus pulled the other girls out of the fitting rooms. Faye's eyes widened in shock, Ceil looked startled, and Jade remained unfazed.

Ceil stepped up beside me, her voice tight with concern. "What's going on?"

"That idiot was harassing those girls" I nodded toward them, who now stood over Ace with cold confidence.

"Kalila?" Ciel's voice softened with recognition, her posture shifting slightly. Without hesitation, she moved toward the group, leaving me to narrow my eyes in curiosity. How does she know her? And why? Ciel walked ahead, and I followed a few steps behind, my gaze fixed on the scene unfolding.

"Let's just calm down, alright?" Crue's voice was a thin attempt at diplomacy as he tried to ease Kalila's grip on Ace, who was still grimacing in pain. I lingered in the background, stifling a laugh at the sheer agony etched across Ace's face.

Serves him right.

"Didn't peg you for the violent type, Kalila," Ciel remarked, crossing her arms as she assessed the situation. Kalila finally released Ace, who wasted no time retreating to my side, rubbing his arm like a scolded child. I couldn't help but chuckle at his misfortune.

"Stop laughing, Carcel. It actually hurts," he whined, his voice laced with indignation.

"That's because you're a pussy." I shot back, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

He glared at Kalila, who was now engrossed in conversation with Ciel and Crue. "She's lucky I don't hit girls," he muttered, clearly trying to salvage some shred of his pride. "Wait, what am I saying? A girl that tough can't be called a girl right?"

"Do yourself a favor and shut your mouth. And next time, keep your hands to yourself," I replied, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before giving it a hard squeeze. His yelp of pain was almost too satisfying. Without another word, I turned and walked away, feeling a sense of boredom settle in as the others continued their chat.

I found my way back to the couch inside the store and sank into it, pulling out my phone. The thrill of watching Ace get his retribution was short-lived, and I quickly lost interest in the ongoing drama. I tapped on a game app, letting the sound of explosions and digital battles drown out the noise around me. Waiting for everyone else was always the most tedious part.

My gaming session was cut short when my phone buzzed—Dad. He never called me at the office. In fact, I'd only been there a handful of times as a kid, and after that, nothing. His call was rare enough to grab my attention. 

Something had to be up. Without wasting a second, I called for the car to be brought around back. I slipped out through the rear exit without saying goodbye. I wouldn't want to interrupt a rather very fun drama. Jordan pulled up fast, and soon, the car was gliding through the streets, smooth and silent.

"You look excited." Jordan said glancing at the mirror. I just smirked in response.

My relationship with my father was better than the one I had with my mom. So, for him to call me to his workplace, it had to be something important. Dad valued his time very well, and as a man of honor, I respected that. Even though I struggled with my life, as the 'perfect son', my father never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to. He let my mom take control of my life and I don't know if he simply can't do anything about it or he actually doesn't care . He never defended me, never helped me escape her grasp. He just stood there and watched—or maybe 'watched' isn't even the right word, because he was hardly ever home to begin with.

As soon as I arrived at the company, an employee greeted me and escorted me to a separate elevator. I'm guessing it's the only one that could access to the top floor and when the door finally opened, I was reminded of just how enormous the it was. The entire space was dedicated to Dad—his office, his secretary's workspace, and a sleek guest lounge. It felt more like a luxurious penthouse than a corporate office. The silence was unsettling—or maybe I just wasn't used to silence this loud. So this is why he preferred his office over home.

I knocked twice and pushed the door open, and step into the room. Dad was on the phone, speaking in a foreign language—a sight that never failed to impress me. Despite the distance between us growing up, I couldn't help but admire him. Even with his absence in my childhood—and still, even now—I knew he was an extraordinary man, the one who had led Dawson Holdings to become a multi-billion-dollar empire. I genuinely appreciate the relationship we have. It's built on mutual respect—a business-like dynamic that works just fine for us. It's not warm or sentimental, but it's clear, and that's something I can value.

Mom's a different story. It's always a battle with her. I never understood why she's so hell-bent on pushing me to my limits. She wants me to be perfect, to shine like some rare gemstone, to prove to everyone—especially Dad—that I'm the perfect son. But I can't do it. Trying to live up to her expectations feels like a slow form of suicide. It's suffocating, impossible, and no matter how hard I try, it's never enough for her.

"How are you doing, Son?" Dad asked, his voice cool and measured as he slipped his phone into his pocket, his eyes briefly scanning me like he was evaluating something—probably not me, though. More likely, the idea of this conversation.

"I'm doing well," I replied, my tone just as controlled. "I see you're busy. Should I come back later?" There was no point in forcing a conversation if he was distracted, and I wasn't particularly in the mood for this unexpected heart-to-heart.

"No, I wanted to catch up for a bit," he said, surprising me as he stood up and moved to the pantry. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans soon filled the room. I watched him work with his hands, each of his movement was precise, almost mechanical.

This was new. Not the coffee but the effort. I couldn't remember the last time he'd offered to sit down and talk, not like this. Anyway, I kept my expression neutral, but my mind went flying to all possible reason why I'm summoned here. When he finished, he placed a cup in front of me, steam rising as he sat across the table, mirroring my posture.

"I heard school starts on Monday," he began, his eyes finally meeting mine. I took a sip of the coffee, its rich flavor better than the store-bought stuff I usually settled for. I nodded in acknowledgment.

"And you're a senior now, right?" he continued, his voice holding a touch of something—pride? Maybe. But it was too faint to be certain.

"Yes, you're right, Father," I responded, setting the cup down.

His gaze sharpened, "With graduation coming up, what do you think about starting to work here?" he asked, his tone casual, but the question carried weight. It was less an offer and more a test. He was gauging my ambition, my readiness to step into the world that he built for me.

I met his gaze, holding back the easy answer. Sure, I could've jumped at the chance, but I wasn't about to show my cards too soon. "Can i negotiate?" I said, my voice steady, betraying nothing. Cool, collected—just like what I learned from him.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. "Alright. Let's hear what you've got." He leaned back in his seat, taking up the space in the room, suddenly making me feel small. I smirked. So, this is what it felt like to face a man at the top of the food chain.

"My engagement." I got straight to the point, my gaze fixed on him—I wanted to see how he'd react to the topic. Dad didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tapped his fingers on his lap, as if he already knew exactly what was coming next.

With a slight chuckle, he asked, "So you want to call off your engagement?" He sounded too calm it's actually making me uncomfortable. It threw me off. I hadn't even considered that he'd ask me about it, and he sounded like he wasn't against the idea at all.

"How much will it cost to make it happen?" I couldn't help but let myself hope. Maybe this was the way to finally break free, to loosen the chains that had held me down for so long. Maybe, just maybe, this could ease the burden of the crown I had to carry. 

"You know, your engagement wouldn't have that big of an impact on the company to begin with," he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge. "If—" He paused mid-sentence, the hesitation speaking volumes. Finally, he finished, "If it were up to me, sure. But your mom's the one pulling the strings on this one."

I chuckled, shaking my head. Guess I was wrong—turns out even the most powerful man in the business still answers to a woman. What a surprise. "But you're also my son," he said, his tone firm, like that somehow settled it. "And the successor of this company." He stood up, crossing the room with deliberate steps, and grabbed a stack of documents from his desk.

"I didn't build this company for you to lower your pride and think that marriage is the only way to secure your place here," he said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

I let his words sink in. For a moment, his right in another perspective, the Montclairs are still our rivals. Most people in the corporate world see it as a brilliant move—combining two powerhouses. To them, it's purely logical. But Dad? He sees it differently, and get where he's coming from.

I believe Dad built this company to stand alone at the top, without relying on anyone else. Sure, the Montclairs could boost its power even further, but Dawson Holdings will remain on top—with or without them, and his making sure I am aware of this fact.

"By the laws of nature, the strong always prey on the weak," he said, leaning back in his chair. The message hit me loud and clear—it was to eat or be eaten. "I'm sure your mom wouldn't insist on the engagement again if you can prove yourself capable of running the company without using it as an excuse." He paused and took a sip of his coffee. 

"Avoiding the engagement early on is better than dealing with a divorce later—it would minimize our losses," he said, as if he knew me all too well. He wasn't wrong, though. Even if we went through with the wedding, I wouldn't hesitate to file for divorce the day after.

"And I suppose this—" I wave the papers at him "Would prove my capabilities?"

He smirked and lean forward. "you catch on pretty quick, son"  

I scanned the paper in my hands, flipping through each page with an expression I hoped came off as confident, even if my stomach twisted slightly. It wasn't that I doubted myself—I was sure I could handle whatever was coming—but the weight of this project screamed high stakes.

"It's a joint venture," my father began, his tone even, measured. "Dawson Holdings will be partnering with a prominent European technology firm, Celestia."

The name rang a bell. Celestia was known for it's cutting-edge artificial intelligence and renewable energy solutions. They were a big deal, even for us. My fingers traced the glossy logo at the top of the documents as my father continued.

"They've developed a groundbreaking platform—a hybrid between AI-driven business analytics and sustainability optimization tools. It's something no one else in the industry has quite cracked yet. The potential applications span across logistics, resource management, and long-term profitability models. But their expansion plans are hitting a bottleneck due to limited market penetration outside Europe."

He gestured to the stack of papers in my hand. "This is where we come in. They want a partner with our global network and capital to scale the platform in Asia, North America, and beyond."

I nodded, my mind already working through the logistics. "So, essentially, they provide the tech, and we handle the market expansion and operational execution?"

"Precisely. But there's more." He leaned back slightly, folding his hands. "You'll lead the entire initiative—oversee every stage of this partnership. From negotiations with Celestia's executives to launching the platform in new markets. I want you to spearhead the project."

His words hung in the air, the enormity of the task settling in.

"Isn't this something that would typically be handled by the senior executive team?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

"It would be," he agreed. "But this is your opportunity to prove to me, to your mother, and to everyone else, that you're going to lead Dawson Holdings into the next era. If you pull this off, no one will have grounds to question your position—not now, not ever."

"And what happens if I fail?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You won't."

This man, I let out a soft chuckle. For the first time, I could sense he truly believed in me, not just as a son, but as someone capable of leading this company.

"And one more thing," he added. "This partnership with Celestia isn't about just profit margins or innovation. If executed correctly, this will redefine how Dawson Holdings is perceived globally. It's about showing the world that we're not just a business empire—we're a force for sustainable change. The stakes aren't just high; they're transformative."

I let out a slow breath, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "So, no pressure, then?"

"It's a matter of mindset" He really is an insufferably smart man. "So," he said, steepling his fingers, "Will you take on the challenge, or shall I hand it to someone else?"

I stared at the documents again, weighing the potential pros and cons of accepting this. And then it hit me—this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. So why was I hesitating?

A confident smile tugged at my lips as I closed the folder and stood a little taller. " "I'll take it, and I'll make sure it's up to the Dawson standard."

My father gave a rare smile. "I hope you're a man of your word, son."

His words weren't laced with warmth or encouragement; they didn't need to be. The challenge itself was motivation enough. I stood up and turn to leave. Pounding with what to do next. The folder tucked under my arm. But just as my hand touched the doorknob, my father's voice stopped me.

"Wait," he said, opening a drawer in his desk. "I almost forgot."

I turned back, watching as he retrieved a sleek black key fob and set it on the desk. "What's this?"

"The key to your new apartment," he said, sliding it across the desk toward me.

I raised an eyebrow. "New apartment?"

"Yes. It's about time you moved out of the house. I had the place set up for you—and I also bought Jordan one across from yours."

 "Wait, so you bought me an apartment without even asking?" I said, crossing my arms.

My father shrugged. "You've been ready to move out for years. The only thing holding you back was... well, you know."

I did know. My mother.

"Alright I'll be going now." I said looking at the keys I had in my hand.