The crisp autumn air swirled fallen leaves around Leo's feet as he approached the imposing Vanderbilt mansion. He clutched a takeout coffee cup, the warmth a meager comfort against the gnawing dread in his stomach. Lunch with Haram had been delightful, a spark of genuine connection amidst the monotony of his life. Yet, the impending meeting with his father cast a long shadow. These unscheduled encounters often meant nothing good, and Leo braced himself for the inevitable lecture on company performance or another round of criticism over his introverted nature.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors to the grand foyer, the echo bouncing off the marble floor. An unfamiliar sense of urgency hung in the air, palpable even amidst the usual bustle of staff. A frantic butler hurried past, his face etched with worry.
"Mr. Vanderbilt is waiting for you in his study, sir," the butler informed him, his voice hushed. "He's not feeling well."
Leo's heart hammered against his ribs. His father, a man seemingly impervious to illness, rarely faltered. He ascended the grand staircase, his mind racing with possibilities. Was it a cold? Overwork? A more serious concern?
He pushed open the study door, bracing himself for the sight of his father slumped in his chair, pale and weary. Instead, Mr. Vanderbilt sat ramrod straight behind his desk, his face ashen, but his eyes blazing with a feverish intensity.
"Leo," he rasped, his voice weak and strained. "Good of you to come."
Leo approached cautiously, a familiar flicker of concern stirring within him.
"Father," he said, his voice low. "What's wrong? You look terrible."
Mr. Vanderbilt let out a rattling cough, clutching a handkerchief to his mouth. When he lowered it, a smear of red stained the white fabric. Leo's blood ran cold.
"It's the damned cough," Mr. Vanderbilt wheezed, his voice barely a whisper. "The doctors say it's… it's worse than they thought."
He paused, his gaze locking onto Leo's with a desperate intensity. "They say I… I don't have much time left, son."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Leo's father, the seemingly invincible patriarch, facing his own mortality? The news hit him like a physical blow, leaving him breathless and disoriented.
"But… but how?" he stammered, his mind struggling to grasp the concept. "The doctors… there must be something they can do."
Mr. Vanderbilt shook his head, a tear glistening in his eye. "There's nothing left to be done, Leo. It's time for me to… to put my affairs in order."
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a worn leather-bound book – the Vanderbilt family lineage. Leo knew its significance – a record of generations, a legacy that had weighed heavily on his shoulders since childhood. His father placed it in his trembling hands.
"You're the next in line, Leo," he rasped. "The future of the Vanderbilt name rests on your shoulders."
Grief threatened to engulf Leo, a suffocating wave of emotions. He understood his father's concern, the fear of an uncertain future for the family empire without an heir. Yet, the news of his father's impending demise felt surreal, overshadowed by the desperation in his eyes.
"Father," Leo began, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll find a cure. We'll fight this together."
Mr. Vanderbilt offered a weak smile, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of sadness and… relief? "It's too late for me, son," he said, his voice barely audible. "But you… you can still build a legacy to be proud of. And to do that…"
He paused, taking a shallow breath. "You need an heir, Leo. Someone to carry on the Vanderbilt name, someone to lead the company with strength and vision."
Leo's mind clicked. This wasn't just about his father's illness. It was a desperate play, a calculated ploy to manipulate him into marriage.
"Marriage?" Leo repeated, a flicker of anger sparking within him. "Surely, the future of the company doesn't hinge on… on who I marry!"
Mr. Vanderbilt's voice turned steely. "It does, Leo, more than you realize. A strong marriage, a well-connected family… it brings stability, power, alliances that benefit the company as much as the family name."
He reached out, his hand trembling as it grasped Leo's arm. "There isn't much time left, son. Promise me you'll find a wife, someone who can stand beside you and carry on the Vanderbilt legacy."
Leo stared at his father, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within him anger, hurt, and a cold, hard realization. His father, the man who had always preached strength and integrity, was resorting to manipulation and a fabricated illness to force his hand. The weight of the Vanderbilt legacy, a burden he had shouldered his entire life, felt oppressive and suffocating.
"Promise me, Leo," his father rasped, his voice laden with urgency.
Leo clenched his jaw, the leather-bound book feeling heavy in his hand. He knew this was a defining moment. If he gave in, he would be sacrificing his own happiness for a life dictated by tradition and expectation.
"I won't make any promises based on lies, Father," he finally said, his voice surprisingly steady. "If your health is truly failing, then I want to spend every remaining moment with you, not fulfilling empty obligations."
A flicker of surprise crossed Mr. Vanderbilt's face, followed by a deep sigh that seemed to deflate him. The facade of illness faltered for a moment, a flicker of desperation replaced by a weary resignation.
"Leo," he started, his voice quieter now, "you don't understand. It's not just about the company. It's about… about the family. Leaving this empire to someone outside the bloodline… it would be a betrayal to everything we stand for."
Leo's anger softened, replaced by a wave of sadness. He saw the fear in his father's eyes, the fear of losing control, of the family legacy crumbling under someone deemed unworthy. Perhaps, the illness was real, but embellished, a desperate grasp at a future he couldn't control.
"Father," Leo said, his voice gentle, "I understand your concerns. But forcing me into marriage won't ensure happiness or a capable heir. If I find someone, it will be because of genuine love and respect, not a fabricated illness or a desperate plea."
He placed the leather-bound book back on the desk, its weight now symbolic of the burden he refused to carry blindly. "Let's focus on your health, Father. And marriage can come next".