On the third floor of the grand Frankford estate, Zanier stood by the large, ornate window, his posture rigid and composed, eyes fixed intently on the small cottage nestled in the far corner of the estate grounds.
The moonlight bathed his face in a cold glow, accentuating the sharpness of his detached expression. His silver-gray eyes glinted with curiosity, though his face betrayed little emotion.
His gaze lingered on the cottage's window, where moments earlier he had seen a figure—Bae—slip inside with hurried movements. The image puzzled him. Why would she enter through the window, in such haste and secrecy?
Zanier's lips barely moved as he spoke, his voice low and commanding. "Gather more information about that girl."
His tone carried a weight of authority, leaving no room for question.
He didn't turn away from the window, still watching the small cottage as though expecting something—or someone—else to emerge from the shadows.
"Yes, sir." Michael, his trusted aide, responded promptly.
He slipped off the black coat that had been draped over Zanier's shoulders and nodded before swiftly exiting the room to carry out the order.
The room fell silent once again, save for the faint rustle of the heavy curtains brushing against the floor.
The night outside was still, the estate bathed in the serene glow of moonlight, but Zanier's mind buzzed with questions. Who was that girl, and why did she seem so desperate to avoid detection?
After a few more moments, he finally turned, his footsteps barely making a sound on the polished wooden floor.
Zanier sat in a luxurious chair, the rich velvet fabric soft against his back.
Above him, the chandeliers cast a warm, golden light, illuminating the grand room with a soft, opulent glow.
The light shimmered off the polished wood floors, reflecting the wealth and elegance that surrounded him.
Opposite him, in a chair much grander, sat his grandfather, Frankford. The old man's frailty was visible in the way he slouched slightly, his body worn down by time, but his eyes still held a sharpness.
His face, wrinkled with age, broke into a faint smile, barely visible beneath the shadows of the chandelier's light.
"Happy to see you here on this occasion, Zanier," Frankford said, his voice gravelly with age, but the pride in his tone was unmistakable.
Zanier's gaze flickered toward his grandmother, Elaine, seated beside him. Her presence was regal, with her silver hair perfectly styled, and her sharp eyes softened only by her affection for her favorite grandson.
She smiled warmly at him, though the weight of expectation was clear in her expression.
"Zanier, dear. I'm so happy you showed up," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and hope.
Her hand rested gently on the arm of his chair, a subtle sign of her concern.
Her tone shifted, becoming more serious. "But that aside, how are you doing with our request of marrying her already?"
Elaine's words hung in the air, heavy with the pressure of family duty.
She had asked this question before, but tonight, with Brag's wedding fresh in everyone's minds, it carried more weight. The comparison between the two grandsons was inevitable.
"I mean, she isn't bad," Elaine continued, her voice taking on a persuasive note. "Besides, I wouldn't choose a bad lady for my beloved grandson."
Her eyes studied Zanier's face, searching for any sign of compliance, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest in a rhythmic beat.
Frankford sat in his elegant white chair, its carved arms reflecting the wealth and history of the family.
His gaze was fixed on Zanier, his beloved yet distant grandson, who sat across from him, cold and indifferent as always. The boy who once laughed and played was now a man hardened by the death of his father when he was only ten.
Frankford's heart ached to see that innocence lost, replaced by the unyielding demeanor Zanier now wore like armor.
"You heard your grandmother," Frankford said weakly, his voice carrying the weight of age and the burden of tradition.
Zanier's silver-gray eyes flickered toward him, but his expression remained unreadable.
"I only wish to see an heir from you, Zanier," Frankford continued, his voice trembling with the hope that clung to his words. "And to witness our great lineage and tradition passed down before my time comes."
Frankford's gaze remained steady, filled with the urgency of an old man running out of time.
The tradition was clear—only the firstborn of the first son would inherit the Frankford businesses. If Zanier failed to produce an heir, it would break a legacy that spanned generations.
"But if you fail," Frankford added, his voice lowering with fear,
"it won't only reflect on you as incapable of handling the Frankford businesses. It will mean the end of our tradition. And if any of your male cousins has an heir before you…" His voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
Zanier, sitting with his legs crossed, looked unperturbed. His cold gaze remained fixed on his grandfather, but his lips twitched into the faintest of smirks. He uncrossed his legs slowly, a calculated movement, before speaking.
"If I had an heir," Zanier said, his voice calm, cold yet with an edge of sophistication, "from someone other than Elise, would that count?"
His words, though spoken softly, reverberated through the room like a shockwave.
His grandmother, Elaine, gasped, her body stiffening in disbelief. Her hand flew to her chest as she turned to look at her grandson, her face a mask of shock and dismay.
"Dear, an illegitimate heir is a destructive path," she said immediately, her voice shaking. "That's out of the question."
Zanier's cold gaze shifted to his grandmother, but his expression remained unchanged, save for the smirk still playing at the corner of his lips.
Elaine straightened in her chair, her voice firm with authority.
"And I'm sure your grandfather will agree," she added, glancing at Frankford. "Such an heir wouldn't even be considered, let alone looked at. Our lineage cannot be tainted by illegitimacy."
Frankford, though silent, nodded weakly in agreement. The weight of tradition bore down on them all, and Zanier's defiance seemed to shake the very foundation of the room they sat in.
Zanier, however, appeared unfazed. He remained cool and detached, his cold gaze never leaving his grandfather's frail figure.
Though his expression remained as frozen as ever, there was a flicker of understanding between them—an unspoken bond that went beyond words.
Frankford, despite his age and weakness, had always understood his grandson better than anyone. He knew exactly what Zanier's suggestion implied.
Frankford's lips curved into a faint smile, the kind only years of wisdom and resignation could produce.
He knew the family legacy was far more complicated than the traditions they were bound to.
"Do as you see fit," Frankford said quietly, his voice gentle yet heavy with the weight of their unspoken agreement.
His eyes, though tired, shone with a flicker of acceptance. "As long as you fulfill my wish, then I'm happy."
Though Frankford wasn't entirely pleased with Zanier's plan, the necessity of preserving the family tradition outweighed his reservations.
He needed the lineage to continue before his time in this world came to an end. His gaze lingered on Zanier, who stood like a shadow in the dim light of the room, tall and unyielding.
"As long as he's the next successor after you…" Frankford thought to himself, imagining the future son of Zanier—his heir, the one who would take the family name forward.
He watched Zanier turn to leave, his sharp footsteps echoing in the silence as his grandmother, Elaine, sat speechless beside him.
Elaine, usually so vocal and insistent, seemed stunned into silence, her face pale as her eyes followed Zanier's retreating form.
She had no words for him, no argument left to sway him from the dangerous path he seemed determined to follow.
Frankford's gaze shifted back to the grand chandelier hanging overhead, the soft light illuminating the luxurious room around them.
He could hear Elaine's voice in the background, her nagging words falling on deaf ears. She was ranting about his approval, her hands clenched tightly in frustration. But Frankford paid her no mind.
"All I need is to see him back to his old self," Frankford thought, his gaze now distant, his mind wandering to the child Zanier used to be.
"And if that path seems right for him… if it brings him peace… then I'll be happy, regardless of the woman he marries to bear his heir."
He sighed softly, turning his attention away from his wife's endless protests. His body may have been weak, but his mind remained sharp.
All that mattered now was the continuation of the Frankford name, and if Zanier could find his way back to some semblance of happiness—even in the most unconventional way—then Frankford would find peace.