As the guests drifted out of the grand estate and the servants quietly cleared the remnants of the dinner party, the Woods family found themselves in the quiet solace of the library. The air was heavy with unspoken words, emotions lingering from a gathering that had been much more than a social affair. Magnus, Jessica, Tristan, and his grandparents—his grandfather sitting in the main chair, commanding attention—settled into the room.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the richly adorned walls, but the warmth did little to thaw the tension that had built over the course of the evening.
Magnus sat stiffly, his jaw clenched, still processing the unexpected arrival of his father. He had not seen him in years, not since their last fallout over the business. His mind churned with thoughts, swirling into one central suspicion. Did Tristan call him here? He glanced at his son, who sat quietly at the edge of the room, lost in his own thoughts.
Jessica, seated next to Magnus, shared his suspicions. Her eyes darted between Tristan and her father-in-law, wondering if her son had taken it upon himself to invite the man she knew Magnus had been trying to avoid for so long. Tristan had seemed tense recently, especially with the business struggles mounting. Had he thought this was the only way to salvage the situation?
Meanwhile, Derek and Matthew, who had just left, were still talking about the shock of seeing the man they had been planning to search for walk right through the door of the estate, as if summoned by fate. They had whispered to each other throughout dinner, eyes wide with disbelief. What does this mean for the estate, for Magnus? And more urgently, What will Magnus do now that his father was here?
Tristan, though silent, was no less anxious. His grandfather's sudden appearance left him just as surprised as the others. Was it really his fault? Did he somehow signal for this? He wasn't sure, but the timing couldn't have been more peculiar.
The silence in the library was broken by the deep voice of Tristan's grandfather. Sitting in the commanding main chair, his figure seemed larger, more imposing in the dim light.
"Magnus," he began, voice stern but not unkind, "I heard things have been... difficult with the business. Losing contracts, missing opportunities—what's going on?" His tone carried the authority of a man who had spent his life building his empire, expecting answers, not excuses.
Magnus's eyes narrowed. He could feel the old resentment boiling inside him, threatening to spill out. His father had a way of making everything sound like it was so easy, so solvable, as if Magnus hadn't been fighting tooth and nail to hold the estate together in his own way.
"I don't need your help, Father," Magnus said, his voice tight with frustration. "This is my business. I've handled it all these years without you, and I'll continue to do so."
His father leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
"It doesn't look like you're handling it well, Magnus. I'm here to offer my support. We can't let the estate fall apart."
Jessica winced slightly at the bluntness of the exchange. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing at Tristan, who seemed equally tense. Magnus had always been proud, always determined to prove himself. But they all knew the reality—the business was in trouble.
At that moment, Magnus turned toward Tristan, his frustration bubbling over. His eyes bore into his son, and for a split second, it looked as though the weight of all the recent struggles would be unleashed on him.
"Did you call him?" Magnus asked suddenly, his voice sharp and accusatory. "Was this your idea? Do you think I can't handle things on my own anymore?"
Tristan's eyes widened in shock. "What? No! I didn't call him. I didn't even know he was coming!" He stood up, his tone defensive but honest. "I wouldn't do that without telling you, Dad."
Magnus took a step toward Tristan, his face twisted with frustration.
"I told you I didn't want him involved. We don't need him. I've done everything to keep this business running, and now he shows up, pretending like he can fix everything?" His voice cracked, years of pent-up anger rushing to the surface.
His father remained quiet, watching the exchange. He didn't interrupt. He didn't defend himself. He knew this was coming.
Jessica rose, placing a hand on Magnus's arm, trying to calm him down. "Magnus, please—" she began, but he pulled away from her gentle grip.
"This isn't your fight," Magnus muttered, his eyes now back on his father. He wanted to say more, to unleash the full brunt of his emotions, but something inside held him back. He couldn't do it in front of Tristan, not now.
"Tristan, leave us," Magnus said abruptly, his voice soft but firm.
"Dad, wait, I—"
"I said leave."
Tristan hesitated for a moment, searching his father's face, but the unspoken command was clear. He turned, walking out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.
Magnus turned back to his father, his shoulders tense.
"I don't want your help. You weren't there when I needed you the most. When the business was crumbling years ago, when I was struggling to keep everything together—you did nothing. You just stood there. Now you show up, thinking you can fix it all?"
His father's gaze was steady, and his voice was measured when he finally spoke.
"Magnus, I know I made mistakes. But that doesn't mean I can't help now. You've worked hard, and I see that. But this estate, this legacy, it's bigger than both of us. You don't have to carry it alone."
Magnus shook his head.
"I don't need you. I never did." His voice broke slightly, the pain of years past flashing in his eyes. "I'll handle it, just like I always have."
"You're letting your pride get in the way of what's best for the family," his father said quietly. "I'm not here to take over, Magnus. I'm here because I care about what happens next."
"Care?" Magnus spat bitterly. "Where was that care when I was struggling to keep this business afloat? Where was it when I needed your support, your guidance? You turned your back on me."
"I was wrong," his father admitted, surprising Magnus with the simple admission. "But I'm here now. Let's not lose everything because of old wounds."
Magnus turned away, pacing toward the window and staring out at the dark night beyond. The anger inside him didn't fade, but the years of exhaustion, the relentless pressure of running the business, weighed down on him. He didn't want to admit it, but maybe—just maybe—he needed help. But not from him. Not now.
"I don't trust you," Magnus said quietly, his back still to his father. "You left me when I needed you most. I won't make that mistake again."
His father sighed, the weight of decades of distance between them hanging in the air. "I understand."
The conversation fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Magnus turned back to face his father, eyes filled with resentment, yet beneath it all, a flicker of uncertainty. The fight wasn't over—not with his father, not with himself—but for now, the room was quiet, the past left simmering in the darkened corners.