"Never! I would never accept it!" Clinton was still enraged, "Fatima, you better watch what you say."Rowland, the former menial worker, received an official appointment as the project manager from his father. His heart thumped with humiliation and rage. Amaya stood beside him, witnessing the color drain from his face, but she too was unable to get over her shock. How was this even possible? How could Rowland, of all people, be granted such power?Amaya interrupted the silence. "Make a call to your parents. There must be a mistake." Although she spoke steadily, there was a hint of urgency in her tone. She did not have to tell Clinton twice. He grabbed his phone right away and dialed his father's number, hoping he would pick up. However, the phone rang, but his father was not answering at the time.He immediately dialed his father's second number, holding out hope that he would answer. Rather, the well-known tone of Khalid, his father's personal helper, responded. Clinton’s stomach

“Let's take this way, Rowland.”The auction hall was filled with low murmurs and anticipation as people took their seats. Rowland observed the vast area from the entrance. Rich men and women were gathered around the elaborate chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, bathing them in a gentle golden glow. Their expensive clothes and well-mannered demeanor served as a sharp reminder of the world he had only recently entered, and he could feel the weight of their status.However, fitting in was not the goal today. The idea was to make a statement.Khalid, who had gone with him to the function, was ready to follow Rowland inside when Rowland waved a hand and refused. "Thank you, Khalid, but I am going in alone," he said, his voice steady. "I must do this on my own."After a brief moment of hesitation, Khalid nodded. "As you desire, Mr. Rowland. I will be nearby in case you need me."After adjusting his suit jacket and nodding curtly, Rowland strode into the hallway. He could feel the elite

The following morning, Rowland sat with a sketchpad on his lap by his father's study's large bay window. While his eyes scanned over a few jewelry designs scattered across the desk in front of him, he twirled a pencil absentmindedly in his fingers. The elegant pieces were all expertly made with the attention to detail and care for which the Fence Emerald Company was renowned. None of them, however, really impressed him. Despite their beauty, these designs lacked the soul and originality he longed to see in jewelry.He let out a sigh and tapped his pencil on the page before lowering it to the blank. His fingers moved almost without conscious thought, and in a matter of minutes, shapes started to take shape. Sharp lines gave way to softer curves, and soon a ring started to take shape. Rowland was sketching a plan that had been circling around in his head for several days.As he worked, the door creaked softly, echoing throughout the room. Mr. Fence, his father, walked in wearing a puzz

Mr. Fence's response infuriated Clinton. He slammed his phone against his desk, fists clenched. He was shocked that his father had assigned Rowland—a novice and unproven "rookie"—to manage such a significant undertaking. Frustration whizzed through his head. How could his father have believed such a person as Rowland? Clinton called Mr. and Mrs. Jones without any delay."Clinton?" Mrs. Jones responded, her tone from the previous meeting still astringent."I just spoke with my father," Clinton growled, "and it appears Rowland is here to stay. But that does not mean we will let this go." His tone reflected his growing resentment, with a hint of venom and calculated bitterness. "It makes no difference what my father says. That idiot has no business being involved in this project.”Mrs. Jones grasped the phone more tightly, her anger at the public humiliation matching her own. "What are your suggestions? We cannot openly defy Fence Emerald without jeopardizing their investment.""I do

The following morning at Fence Emerald, Clinton sat behind his desk, his mind racing with frustration as he impatiently tapped his fingers against the smooth wood. Rowland prospered in spite of all he had thrown at him, including misinformation, sabotage, and delays. Clinton thought less of him. It was making Clinton crazy that Rowland was turning out to be more resilient than anyone had thought.As Clinton's thoughts spiraled, the door to his office opened, and Amaya walked in, her face calm but calculated. Clinton, still enraged by Rowland's frustrating success, hardly raised an eyebrow. "Clinton," she said with grace as she shut the door behind her. "I have heard the most recent information. Rowland is still making progress on the jewelry project. Your strategies do not appear to be weakening him."Clinton's face twisted with rage as he slammed his fist against the desk. "No thank you, Amaya. I thought bringing you in would be enough to upset him. But he just keeps going, regardl