Disclaimer: I own nothing except the newly fixed Mac in which I wrote this on…

AN: I should not be publishing any new stories. I'd planned to retire from writing. Clearly I have zero follow-through. That said, I did miss the characters from the RoA world and I wanted to revisit them. All the while royally bombing the semi-happy-endings I gave them after college graduation. It starts off slow since I'm re-introducing everyone and how they're living now. Also, this is four years after the last chapter of RoA.

Breakin' All The Rules

Futures So Bright That They Burned Out

-xx-

"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky"

—TS Eliot

-xx-

It's a rainy day on the Upper East Side. Hordes of New Yorkers wearing expensive suits seek cover under black umbrellas as the crowd on corner of 53rd and 5th continues to grow.

The outside of St. Thomas' Episcopalian Church has never been this crowded.

Clayton Evans walks out through the Gothic-styled church doors and immediately camera flashes blind him. Reporters left and right continue to snap pictures and thrust cameras in his face, shrieking voices pressing for a comment. The voices blur together into incoherent mumbling.

The handsome brunette pulls out his Ray-Bans and slides them on to shield his cobalt-blue eyes. His free arm wraps around Brooklyn Davis' shoulders, and the twosome finally shoves their way out of the mosh pit and sneak inside the safety of a large limousine.

"Drive." Clay's voice is void of emotion; he merely stares out the window without really seeing anything at all.

Sitting across from them in the limo is Jake Jaglieski in a charcoal suit with a black tie, a briefcase in his lap. "Sorry I missed the service," he says in a polite tone, "We've been circling around for a while. The streets are completely jammed."

Brooke's hands unclip a pin and her chocolate colored locks spill freely down her shoulders. "Friggin' press hounds," she mutters under her breath. "Won't even back off for a funeral. They have no respect."

Clay clears his throat, "Fuck it, then," he says offhand, "Got the papers for me?"

Jake nods and opens up his briefcase, pulls out a few documents. He's been Clay and Brooke's lawyer for a while now—having such high-profile clients had made his firm grow quickly. "I talked the details over with your father's lawyers and everything's in order. You now own the controlling interest in Evans Enterprises and all its subsidiaries."

"Thank you." Clay half-hazardly folds the papers and slides them into the pocket of his all-black, vintage Sy Devore suit—only the best for the funeral. Bradford Evans would've expected nothing less. "Your check's already in the mail, Jay."

"Clay, you know you—"

"—it's business, Jake." Clay cuts him off. He rolls down the partition window, "Raoul, take me to Evans Plaza." He slides the partition back up, "I've got an empire to run."

The ride is quiet, not even Brooke being able to break through Clay's thick head.

There's another media horde outside Evans Plaza—big shocker there. "Car's yours for the day." Clay announces before climbing out and disappearing into the crowd.

All this and the shit hasn't even begun to hit the fan yet, Brooke thinks. She sighs, focuses on Jake, "Have you talked to Hales, Jay?"

"No." Jake looks away, the subject still uncomfortable for him, "She wasn't there when I dropped off Emma last weekend."

Brooke nods in understanding, but says nothing.

It's still a tough concept to process: Jake Jaglieski and Haley James (formerly James-Jaglieski) are divorced.

It all started when Jake went into his third and final year of law school, when Nicki Smith suddenly made a comeback. With a seven-year-old boy in tow. His name was Dexter Smith-Jaglieski. And, as the DNA test soon confirmed, he was Jake's son from his brief stint dating Nicki during junior year of high school.

Haley says that the separation (followed by the divorce) wasn't because of Dexter—because he really is a sweet and bright kid—but, really, no one can deny that having the slutty ex-crazy-bitch-girlfriend from high school make a comeback with a bastard kid seriously puts a strain on a marriage.

Brooke licks her lips, "And how's Dex?"

"He's doing really good. Birthday party's next week. You're gonna be there, right?"

Brooke nods again, "Yeah. I'll definitely be there." she says with a half smile, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good..." Jake mutters, looks down at his hand, "Um, I sent Rae an invite, too. I actually haven't heard from Rae in a while. I think Haley has tried calling her, but she never calls back. Y'know, I'm actually really surprised she didn't show up for this. I mean, I know she and Clay broke it off a while ago, but..." he shakes his head as if snapping out of it, "Anyhow, have you heard from her lately?"

This time it's Brooke who looks down at her hands, "Yeah, I talk to her from time to time." she answers with what's obviously a forced smile, "She's been really busy. You know, she finished out her internship this year and now she's really into residency. It's a lot of work."

"Work. Right." Jake clears his throat. "And have you talked to Luke?"

The question makes Brooke glare at Jake, "Not lately." she answers curtly, and Jake knows the conversation is over.

-xx-

Clay looks around his father's office—now his office.

He'd only ever been here a handful of times when he was a kid entering his teens. Back when his father thought he had potential and wanted to groom him to take over the business.

His hands tucked into his pants' pockets, he eyes the City through the glass. It's all his now.

Somewhat hesitantly, he sits down on his father's desk chair—now his chair—and leans back.

Hannah, his father's secretary—his secretary now—eyes him sympathetically as she says, "You might want to turn on the TV, Mr. Evans." She suggests with a pitying smile, "There's something you should see."

"Right," Clay answers, reaches for the remote mechanically, "And Hannah," the woman turns around to face him, "Call me Clay. Mr. Evans was my father. And he's dead now."

Clay moves to stand in front of the large plasma TV. He turns it on, and tucks his hands in his pants' pockets once more, watching the news special featured on VIP Insider.

'As the city of New York mourns the loss of Bradford Evans, the business world focuses its eyes on his only heir and son, Clayton Evans.

Clayton Evans has just inherited full control of Evans Enterprises making him one of the youngest billionaires in New York City. The company controls land in 3 continents, and it is well known for its variety of investments ranging from hotels to the renowned Evans Publications.

Now, the question that remains: will his Bradford Evans' empire crumble in Clayton Evans hands or will it flourish?

The reigning Evans is not new to running his own business. Upon graduating Summa Cum Laude from Duke University and signing on to represent NBA All-Star Nathaniel Scott with ISC, he broke out and started his own agency, the now internationally renowned Fortitude.

However, his personal history does leave something to be desired. His notorious and oftentimes tumultuous relationship with Brooklyn Davis has made the headlines on more than one occasion. Though both refuse to comment further on it, they've gone on record numerous times claiming that their friendship is a purely platonic one. Nonetheless, since his teens he's been dubbed one of New York City's most infamous billionaire playboys.'

The "news special" comes accompanied by plenty of pictures—Clay and Nate with their Sigma Chi ties and khakis looking far more serious than they'd ever been in college, Clay's Duke graduation picture, Clay and Brooke downing shots at an unnamed club, followed by multiple tabloid covers of Clay surrounded by multiple women.

Various headlines read: MAN OR BOY? CAN HE REALLY RUN A BUSINESS?, EVANS' FLAVOR OF THE WEEK, PLAYBOY CAUGHT REDHANDED, PARTY BOY EVANS, WILL HE EVER SETTLE DOWN?

'His friendship with multiple other entrepreneurs is also much rumored about by the press. Among his most notable acquaintances are heir to Davis International, Junior Davis as well as the CEO and founder of Epos Advertising, Logan Echolls.

Furthermore, the fictional character 'Clark Evers' from the New York Times bestseller Impulse is believed to be based on Clayton Evans himself. When pressed, author Lucas Scott has commented that all of his characters are fictional and any similarities are coincidental.

While there's no doubt that Clayton Evans has always thrived under the spotlight, his business ventures always successful, the question still remains: is he serious enough to take on the empire his father entrusted him and carry on his legacy? Or will he crash and burn under the pressure?'

"You shouldn't watch that crap," Nathaniel Scott's voice booms from the office's doorway, "It'll warp your brain, man."

Clay smiles at the sight of his best friend, "Nate," he can't quite hide the surprise and gratitude in his voice.

"C'mere, dude," Nate walks towards him and greets him with a half-hug, "I'm sorry I'm late. Had a hard time getting a plane out."

Clay grins his best lopsided grin, "I can't believe you're here, man." he says, "You didn't have to come."

"Your old man's dead, Clay." Nate says seriously, though there's empathy in his blue eyes, "You just put him in the ground. Friends show up. It's what we do."

Clay sighs, pauses for a beat, "Want a scotch?"

"Macallan?"

"You know me. Only the best, dude."

Nate smirks, "Bring it."

-xx-

Lucas Scott is currently sitting on a much-too-expensive couch in the luxurious lobby of the Imperial. The brooder rolls up the sleeves of his Hugo Boss shirt, and glances at his watch.

Brooke should be back already, he thinks.

Anxious fingers run through short flaxen locks of hair. The author finds himself to be fatally tired, the leftover of a hangover headache pounding on his fever-ridden temples. "Fuckin' hell..." he mutters to himself.

Just like every time he stops by the prestigious hotel Brooklyn Davis calls home, he wonders how the fuck did they end up like this?

Everything seemed so...possible when they'd graduated Duke. Brooke eradicated herself from the family business (Davis International), and moved on to form Davis Enterprises and its subsidiary Clothes-Over-Bros flourished into a multi-million dollar franchise.

Lucas' first two books made it onto the New York Times' Best Seller List—Impulse was even being turned into a movie—and he'd successfully ventured into his new role as producer and screenplay writer.

They were both considered A-list celebrities in their own rights.

Sometimes Lucas wished he could go back in time a burn the first draft of Impulse he'd written in his bedroom at the Phi Delta Theta frat house. But then there were times he didn't. That book had singlehandedly launched his career with a bang.

New York Times said: It's Easton Ellis with slightly more humane characters; Times Magazine called it: A voice for the new college generation.

But for Brooke Davis it was their wild college years immortalized on paper and publicized for the whole world to read.

And then suddenly their relationship was a threesome: Brooke, Luke and the paparazzi.

The screaming and broken property came soon after, followed by a turbulent break-up.

A familiar voice pulls him out of his introspection. "Hey, Don, any messages?"

Navy-blue eyes focus on the petite brunette in her Chanel little black dress, just tasteful enough for a funeral and just sexy enough for Brooke Davis. Her matching five-inch Manolo Blahnik heels are in her left hand, and her right hand slides the dark Gucci shades to push her chocolate locks of hair out of her face.

The concierge shakes his head, "No messages, Ms. Davis," he answers succinctly, "But you do have a visitor." he tilts his head subtly towards Lucas.

"Fuckin' hell," the brunette mutters, braces herself for the fight—because there will inevitably be a fight.

Lucas stands up, slides his hands into his pants' pockets, "How's Evans doing?"

"Like you care." Brooke answers dismissively as she heads towards the elevator. Despite the many things that had changed in the last few years, Lucas and Clay had never really learned to get along.

Lucas doesn't let this deter him—he's used to the hostility by now. "His father just fuckin' died." he replies, following her into the elevator. He grips her arm and spins her around to face him, her body pulled close to his, "I'm not a complete insensitive jackass."

It still sends shivers down her spine, being pressed up against him like this. "Let go." she orders, "You're hurting me."

Lucas licks his lips, loosens up the grip. "I'm sorry." he says, steps back, "Look, I'm not here to fight—"

"Jesus, you still reek of last night's booze!" Brooke cuts him off.

Lucas rolls his eyes, "Oh, will you come off it!" he snaps, rubs his forehead, "Look, I am just here to see him."

It's Brooke's turn to roll her eyes, "And I've told you to stop popping up whenever you feel like it!" she snaps back. "You don't get to see him."

"It's my goddamn kid!" Lucas yells, slams a fist against the paneling of the elevator. "You don't get to push me out of his life."

Brooke doesn't back down, "He is my son," she growls, shoves him away from her, "And I will do whatever I need to in order to protect him!"

"Yeah, well, a boy needs his father!" Lucas fights back, "He's just a baby now, and I will not have him grow up not knowing me."

Brooke glares at him, knows there's no taking it back once she says it. But she says it anyways. "What makes you think he's even yours?" she hisses venomously.