William finally got the time to talk to his mother. The weight of the day pressed down on him, suffocating. He had spent his entire life following—never questioning, never resisting. But now, the questions clawed at him, demanding answers.
As he descended the stairs, he found her seated in the grand living room, flipping through documents with an air of practiced control. She didn't even look up when he entered.
"Why now?" William's voice was steady, but colder than usual.
His mother finally lifted her gaze, arching a brow. "Why not now?"
He clenched his fists but kept his composure. "You always said business comes first. You never once pressured me about marriage. So why this sudden engagement?"
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling as if his question bored her. "Because it's time, William. You've always done everything perfectly. You've never disappointed me, never questioned me. And that's because you understand what's at stake."
Her voice turned sharper. "You have to be better than your cousin. You know that, don't you?"
His jaw tightened. Of course. It was always about that.
"Since childhood, you have been my perfect son," she continued. "You never did what I disliked, never questioned me. You were always controlled—for me. And I made you that way because you needed to win. You needed to surpass your cousin, to prove that you are the rightful heir. That's why you've done everything flawlessly. Because perfection is the only way to stay ahead."
A bitter taste filled William's mouth. So that was it. His entire life wasn't about being loved—it was about being better. A soldier in a war he never asked to fight.
"And Sarah?" he asked, his voice hollow. "What does she have to do with this?"
His mother smiled slightly, as if amused by his ignorance. "She's part of the strategy. A strong alliance. A secure future. You will marry her, and you will continue to play your role perfectly—just like you always have."
William exhaled sharply, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior. "And if I don't?"
Her expression didn't change. "That's not an option."
He should have expected that answer. He had never had options, only obligations.
His mother stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, controlling. "You understand, don't you? You can't afford to be weak. You have to win, William. And I made you perfect so that you would never lose."
But for the first time, he didn't feel victorious.
Later That Night
After dinner, his mother handed him a thick folder.
"These are details about Sarah," she had said. "Learn about her so you can interact better. It will make things smoother."
He took the folder to his room and sat at his desk, staring at it. The weight of it felt heavier than it should.
Then, with a sigh, he opened it.
Inside were photographs, documents, childhood memories. Pages filled with Sarah's life—the things she liked, the things she hated. Her favorite places. The events she had attended. The people she had loved.
And as he flipped through the pages, something inside him snapped.
Sarah had always been loved.
The only daughter in her family, cherished, protected, adored. Photos of her laughing, held in her father's arms, surrounded by warmth. She had never needed to fight for love—it had always been given to her freely.
And then there was him.
William. The boy raised in competition. The boy who had spent his life earning every scrap of validation, every nod of approval. Taught that love wasn't given—it had to be won.
Sarah had never been forced to be perfect.
He had never been allowed to be anything else.
His grip on the papers tightened. His mother had never once asked him if he was happy. Because in her world, happiness didn't matter. Winning did.
A sharp exhale left his lips as frustration twisted inside him. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream. But he knew better. Anger was a luxury he had never been allowed.
His fingers curled around one of Sarah's childhood photos, his chest tightening at the sight of her beaming smile. Without thinking, his grip tightened—too tight.
The photo crumpled in his hands.
He froze. For a moment, he simply stared at the creased image, at the ruined edges of something so… untouched. So free.
His breathing slowed. He straightened the photo, smoothing it out with careful fingers, but the damage had already been done.
Maybe that was a reflection of him, too.
No matter how much he tried to fix himself, smooth out the damage—he would never be whole.
A bitter chuckle escaped him. He had spent his entire life striving for perfection. But looking at Sarah's life, at the happiness she had without effort, he realized something that made his chest ache.
Winning had never made him happy.
Perfection had never given him love.
And yet, after everything… he still wanted it.
Because no matter how much he hated it, a part of him still needed his mother's validation.
Because if he wasn't perfect… then what was he?
William leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers against his temple. For the first time in his life, he didn't know the answer.
William sat in silence for what felt like hours, his thoughts a storm he couldn't calm. The weight of everything—his mother's expectations, his empty victories, the realization that he had never truly lived—pressed down on him.
He stared at Sarah's crumpled photo for a long time before finally setting it aside.
His decision had been made.
Standing up, he walked toward the door with steady steps, the cold, calculated expression returning to his face.
His mother's room was at the end of the hallway. The corridor felt longer than usual, the air thick with something unspoken. But William didn't hesitate.
He stopped in front of her door, his hand raised.
For a brief second, he considered turning back.
Then, with quiet determination, he knocked.
A pause. Then, his mother's voice, smooth and expectant.
"Come in, William."
The door handle turned.
And he finally told his mother his decision that.....