Chapter 5: Her Guardian

Clarence’s POV

Freya Madison.

I stared at the name printed at the bottom of Jack Ramaswamy’s will—black ink on white paper, final and unquestionable.

I returned the folder to the drawer and sat still for a moment.

Jack wasn’t just a client. Many years of interacting, sharing hobbies, and deep conversations had made him my friend and confidant. He was someone I had come to hold dear. Being my client was just a secondary thing.

When he asked to meet in private six months ago, I thought it would be the usual catching up—golfing or playing chess, as we usually do, after not seeing each other for three months. I didn’t expect our meeting place to be the VIP ward of a hospital. Neither did I expect him to look like that—gaunt, tired, skin too pale for someone whose presence alone could command rooms full of important people without even opening his mouth.

Stage four pancreatic cancer. That’s what he’d said the moment I walked in. Jack was everything, but never one for small talk. He was the kind of guy who’d give you pointers and references for you to fill in the blanks—and that would be the end of it. Even then, looking frail, he stated his ailment with no emotion, as if he were giving a passing comment.

But on a deathbed, not even he could escape being a bit sentimental.

So, for the first time since we’d known each other, Jack talked about his personal life. That day, I learned he had had no children with his wife, who had passed three years ago. So with one foot in the grave, there were no legitimate heirs, no siblings, not even a distant family he could hand over his assets to. His estate—valued at well over a hundred billion—was hanging in the balance.

Then he told me about the woman.

“I met her at a bar,” he said, eyes fixed on the IV tube. “Years ago. Before I got married. She was a waitress. It was one night.”

He didn’t know her full name. Said she liked jazz and had a sharp tongue. They were both drunk. He left a note and walked out the next morning.

His family had arranged his marriage. There was no space for hesitation. “I never heard from her again,” he said. “I assumed that was it.”

But when the doctors gave him the diagnosis, Jack wanted to set his affairs in order. That included finding out what became of the woman.

He hired a private firm.

What they found was simple: she had died earlier that year of cancer.

But she hadn’t died alone.

She had a daughter.

Freya Madison.

Jack found the woman a few weeks before her death. Marianne—that was her name. 

She was living quietly in a small town north of the city, raising Freya alone. She had no partners. Whether it was because she never forgot him or she was too burdened to indulge, he did not know. But Jack said he liked to believe she fell in love with him too and could never forget him—as much as he couldn’t forget her. It was the fairytale he wanted to cling to.

Marianne had no family aside from Freya and supported her alone on her income—until cancer kicked in, leaving her a burden for her child.

When he met Marianne, Jack said he spilled his guts to her—told her how he’d loved her but couldn’t go against his family’s wishes at the time, and how he wanted her to be in his life, if she’d have him.

When she refused, he confessed that he was now a dying man and wanted to leave everything he’d worked hard for to their daughter.

Marianne refused him.

She told him not to show up again, not to bring his guilt to the doorstep she’d spent twenty years protecting. She didn’t want Freya’s life tangled with the Ramaswamy name—not after all the years of silence.

He couldn’t change her mind. She didn’t want his help.

But Jack wasn’t the kind of man to walk away without doing something. And that’s why he’d asked to meet me this time.

Laying everything out—Marianne, the daughter, the refusal, and his guilt—was his way of letting me understand how desperate and guilt-ridden he truly was.

“Clarence, I can never rest in peace knowing that even after death, I could not fulfill my duties to her as a father. How can I leave my little girl alone in this world with nothing to her name? Please take care of her for me. I beg of you.”

Jack—who was everything but sentimental or a pleader—begged me to take care of his daughter.

He wanted me to hold the will. Not because I was his lawyer, but because I was his confidante. And he trusted me to give the care he couldn’t make up for to his daughter.

He wanted me to make sure everything went to Freya—when the time was right.

And he asked me to look after her.

“Quietly,” he said. “Don’t interfere in her life. Make sure she doesn’t make the headlines. Just… make sure she’s alright.”

Yes, Jack was sick. Exhausted, even. But the way he said it—direct and final—left no space for negotiation.

There was no reason to say no.

So I didn’t.

I agreed.

Because he was my client. And because he was my friend.

Taking on the role of a professor at Arlington College was not initially part of my plan. I was a very booked and busy lawyer—why would I add the burden of lecturing freshers to my pile?

But the moment I got wind of Freya Madison being on the confirmed admissions roster, I had to secure a job at that college.

How else was I going to observe, wait, and deliver the inheritance when she was ready?

Initially, I felt awkward about reaching out to the dean to accept a role I had rejected multiple times. But it seemed Jack was more determined than I was. Before I could reconsider my decision or explore alternatives, the dean reached out to me again—this time about a temporary position covering Criminal Law. Not for the master’s students, but for freshers. I accepted without hesitation. The timing was impeccable.

I cleared half my schedule not just to make time for the class, but to be able to report on the same day the freshers arrived. I just couldn’t wait to meet my charge.

I'd envisioned multiple scenarios in which I’d meet Jack’s daughter. A coincidental encounter near the dormitories, the administration building, even the cafeteria—and if all else failed, I settled for the typical classroom meeting. I even made sure Criminal Law was the first class for the freshers because I had to meet her officially. All I had seen so far were the photos from Jack’s investigations.

Of course, envisioning was just that—a matter of visual imagery. The much-anticipated first meeting didn’t happen in a classroom, not at orientation, and not in any of my imagined spots. It happened deep in the wooded path behind the residence halls.

I’d gone for a walk to clear my head after securing the first lecture slot and compiling lecture notes. The campus was, as expected, busy—it was the beginning of student nightlife. I walked through the noisy stretch without being noticed until I reached the east path, which was very quiet. Knowing students, quiet sections were often where the illegal activities and bullying happened, so I walked in and tried to catch any faint sounds or suspicious whispers.

And just as I suspected, I heard voices. One voice in particular stood out—imposing, raised, sharp, and threatening.

At first, I thought it was a typical student drama. Nothing serious. But as I moved closer and the words became clearer, it was apparent this was something else entirely.

There were five or six girls—one in the center, looking shaken. She was draped in a black shirt, her knees scuffed. Three girls stood off to the side, looking like they feared that if they breathed wrong, they’d be in the same condition as the one on the ground. They watched as the blonde girl’s wrist was held in a tight grip, and a cup of coffee was tilted dangerously close to her face.

The perpetrator—or should I say, the cause of the chaos—was busy asserting her dominance. I hadn’t seen her face yet, not with her back turned to me, but there was no doubt she was a proper thug. How dare she? I had thought. The day hadn’t even ended, and this girl had already hacked down five people to start her bullying journey? I was incensed.

But when I made my presence known and got a proper look at the “thug,” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

That jawline. The light brown of her eyes. Marianne’s face echoed in hers. There was no mistake.

That was Jack’s daughter.

Saying it wasn’t a pleasant introduction would be putting it lightly.

I had seen it all. The scuffle. The intimidation. The posturing. Even when the other girls tried to fade into the background, I noticed who was in control.

Freya stood at the center, like she owned the space—like she had every right to dictate the outcome.

And when I stepped in, she didn’t flinch.

She let go of the blonde’s wrist, yes—but it wasn’t out of shame. It was a calculation. Even her expression stayed level. Calm. Unbothered. She didn’t fear being caught. She was thoroughly unrepentant, and I wanted nothing more than to drag her somewhere and give her a good beating for my dear friend. But that would be uncouth. So I thought, if I could get the girls to admit Freya bullied them, then I could find a proper reason to single her out and discipline her.

But of course, she was her father’s daughter—cunning, intimidating, and just as ruthless.

In a skillful display of dominance, she had the blonde girl claiming it was a misunderstanding. A joke. Just something between friends. But I wasn’t new to performance. I’ve watched seasoned attorneys lie without blinking, and I’ve seen clients break under pressure within five minutes of questioning.

Freya didn’t break. Such a unique stillness—except it was being put to the wrong use.

When I returned to my office after that unpleasant encounter, I had to review her records again, thinking I might have missed something. But it was still the same. Her grades were excellent. Her recommendations had only good things to say about her. One teacher even referred to her as reserved. Freya Madison, on paper, was the dream child of every parent.

But I couldn’t erase the memory of what I’d seen with my own eyes.

That wasn’t discipline. It wasn’t self-control.

It was power—misused, unchecked, and public.

I leaned back in my chair, rolling a pen between my hands.

Jack had spoken of Freya as if she were a precious, rare gem. He told me she reminded him of himself—sharp, independent, unwilling to bend.

That might have been true. But there’s a fine line between strength and arrogance. And what I saw in Freya didn’t suggest restraint. It suggested she knew she was stronger than the people around her—and had no intention of hiding it.

I thought about the size of the estate again. Everything Jack left behind: property, stocks, patents, liquid assets, investments with reach in over a dozen countries. It wasn’t just a fortune. It was power. Long-lasting, legacy power. The kind that could open any door—or destroy someone if it landed in the wrong hands.

He wanted her to have it. He wanted her to carry his name, quietly, and step into the life he never had the chance to give her.

But that life came with weight.

A girl like the one I saw last night—reckless enough to publicly confront and overpower someone in the middle of campus—wasn’t ready to shoulder it. Not yet.

This wasn’t the time to tell her. She wasn’t ready. If she was already this bold and arrogant without knowing what was waiting for her… I didn’t want to imagine what she’d become with a hundred billion dollars at her feet.

I’ve seen too many people buckle under a fraction of that.

So no. She wouldn’t know yet. Not who her father was. Not what was coming to her. Not who I was in any of this.

Jack had trusted me with the responsibility of safeguarding her future.

And that meant more than delivering a legal document.

It meant holding the line until she proved she could walk it.

So I’m going to observe her, test her, and guide her—mold her into someone worthy—then give her what she’s owed when she’s ready to be responsible for it. 

One semester is all I have, but I’ve done far more with far less. And this? This, I will see through.