I sank into my desk chair, phone pressed to my ear. "Send her flowers or whatever. I don't have time to explain anything to Isabella. She knew the marriage wasn't going to work—I wasn't into her, and she wasn't into me." My tone was clipped as I powered on my laptop.
On the other end of the line, Mark's skepticism bled through "I'm not sure she wasn't into you. She sounded very pissed when I spoke to her. Honestly, I don't want to see her either."
"Then don't." My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I stifled a yawn. "Have them delivered. We've got bigger problems, Mark. I've got less than three hours to breathe before my father summons me, and guess what? You're coming with me."
Mark groaned. "Great. Another cheerful day. Fine, I'll deal with Isabella's flowers. Oh, and I heard back from the agent—he says the woman we hired is out of her mind. Apparently, she's been handled."
"I doubt it." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"Huh? Why?"
"Instinct, Mark. People that determined don't just stop like that." I exhaled sharply, already losing patience. "See you in an hour."
I ended the call and focused on my screen. Reports flooded my inbox, a relentless tasks screaming for attention. Grabbing a pen, I began jotting ideas and action points onto sticky notes. Within minutes, the desk was a chaotic mess of neon-colored reminders, each demanding a piece of the precious 24 hours I didn't have.
Then the phone rang again.
I snatched it up absently,, until the caller ID made me sigh. My chest tightened as i anticipate the frustration i am about to feel, I braced myself and answered. "Mother."
Her voice cut through the line sharply. "It's only right for you to get married as soon as possible, isn't it? Why is this taking so long? You've already defied me by turning Isabella away—as though I haven't made the best decisions for you all your life!"
The final words lashed like a whip, each word hitting harder than the last.
"Now it's my turn to make the right decision for myself," I said, keeping my tone calm. "Stop bickering, Mom. Aria and I will get married when we're ready. Just convince Dad to pass the heirship to Hunter and free me—that's what you've always wanted anyway." The calmness I started with faltered by the end, my voice threatening to crack under the weight of my suppressed frustration.
Her response remained sharp and unyielding. "And you think if I could do that, your father would have even considered naming you heir? Stop biting off more than you can chew. Being chosen is already the greatest blessing of your life."
I clenched my jaw. "I have a company—a thriving company worth billions on its own. Stop pretending this is some grand favor you're doing me. Stay on Hunter's neck the way you've been on mine." My voice was calm, deliberate, but fiem. Without waiting for her reply, I ended the call.
The familiar ache of resentment settled over me, a weight I'd carried for more than 15 years. Controlled, mistrusted, disliked for a crime I didn't commit—it had worn me down to the point where even her words couldn't stir anger anymore. Just exhaustion.
The door to my office creaked open, and my secretary stepped in cautiously. I nodded at him, signaling him to proceed. Without a word, he began sorting through the chaos on my desk.
"When's the meeting?" I asked, pulling my focus back to the present.
"1 p.m., sir."
I glanced at my Rolex and shook my head. "I can't make it. I need to be at Pembroke Group."
He nodded, his polite smile barely masking his reservations as he continued tidying up. I caught the unease in his movements.
"What do I need to know?" I asked while shutting down my computer.
"Nothing, sir. Things have just been… hectic lately."
"Hectic?" I picked my bag, half-listening. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated before replying, his voice carefully measured. "I mean, everyone's on edge. They were really looking forward to this meeting. A lot of rumors have been flying around."
I raised an eyebrow and turned fully toward him, fixing my attention on him. "What rumors?"
Austin's lips quivered as though he was debating whether to speak. "Is this about my personal life?" I prompted.
"No, not at all," he said quickly, though his hesitation lingered. "It's about… the company. Everyone's on edge, worried we might lose our jobs."
I narrowed my eyes. "Lose your jobs? Why?"
He shifted uncomfortably but pressed on. "People are saying we might end up shutting down because of your father. Everyone knows how much you've been shuffling between here and Pembroke."
"And what do you think?"
He gave a nervous chuckle. "I mean… you can only push yourself so far before it takes a toll. It's hard to see a way out. We don't seem to have much of a chance."
"Have you looked at our performance lately? Do you really think I will abandon something I built from the ground up just to focus on Pembroke? We are not shutting down operations—ever. I'm not merging, and I'm not selling to anyone."
Austin's expression faltered, as if he wanted to believe me but wasn't quite there. He nodded slowly. "It would help a lot if you stayed for the meeting, sir. Hearing you say that would reassure everyone."
I glanced at my watch and sighed. " Tell every department head the meeting is happening in seven minutes."
Relief washed over his face as he nodded eagerly and hurried out of the office. The door clicked shut behind him.
Rubbing my forehead, I sank onto the couch, my mind racing. How could I keep this company afloat when my family seemed hell-bent on sinking it? For years, my father barely reacted to anything. But lately, he'd been orchestrating every part of my life—demanding I marry, insisting I work full-time at Pembroke Pharmaceuticals, pushing me to take his place. It was a relentless expectations I had no interest to fulfill.
Worse still, he didn't know the half of it. If he did, he wouldn't just dismiss me the way he did Hunter. He'd cut me off entirely. And maybe that would be a blessing but at what cost.
***
"Grant, nice to meet you again," said the elderly man seated next to my father. Raymond, the CEO of TMC Power Distribution, extended a hand to me, his face warm with a practiced smile.
I shook his hand firmly. "It's nice to meet you too, Raymond."
My father responded with a brief nod, his attention already shifting to others in the room.
"It's always a pleasure to see you every year, Grant," Raymond continued, turning back to my father. "His achievements keep piling up. I hear the chips company is soaring these days—I can't help but marvel at his diligence."
I stiffened, the mention of my company killing every excitement in me. I opened my mouth to respond, but my father snapped back into the conversation before I could.
"He's quite the talent," my father said with the faintest smirk. "Proving himself as a Pembroke heir."
"You must be so proud," Raymond said, his admiration almost reverent.
"I am," my father replied, his tone shifting. "But it's time for him to stop spreading himself so thin. He needs to focus fully on Pembroke. He's not getting any younger, and he has to learn the way of his father if he's going to take over."
The ease I had managed at the start of this conference was wearing thin. My stomach soured as Raymond nodded in agreement. "That's important. I hope you're wrapping things up nicely, Grant."
I forced a polite nod, biting back a sharp response. "I need to step out now," I murmured to my father, leaning toward him. His only reaction was a tighter purse of his lips—a silent order to stay put.
Anger simmered in my chest. Scenarios flashed in my mind: breaking free, walking out, carving a life entirely my own. But each possibility came with consequences—a disaster I will never be ready to unleash. I exhaled slowly and leaned back in my chair, tuning out the rest of the event with disinterest.
Hours later, the gathering finally ended. My father rose, and I followed, silently grateful it was over.
"I'll leave in my own car," I said as he climbed into the waiting sedan, the driver holding the door for him.
"No," he commanded without looking at me. "Ride with me."
I hesitated, then nodded reluctantly, sliding in beside him. The car roared to life as I reached for my phone and texted Mark to retrieve my car.
"And when is the wedding?" my father asked, his sharp voice slicing through the silence.
"Aria and I are not—"
"Let it be the 15th of next month," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"That's less than 30 days," I countered sharply.
"You like the girl, so marry her. I need you to be married. It's about time."
"About time?" I shot back, keeping my voice steady despite the irritation bubbling inside. "We should be the ones to decide that for ourselves."
His eyes narrowed, his reply firm and unyielding. "I've given you plenty of room to decide, Grant. Because you're not useless like your brother, I've given you options. I let you choose your fiancée against your mother's wishes. I've left you to make the final decisions for your business. I've let you do what you like for almost 30 years."
"That's what other people do—they take charge of their own lives," I replied, my tone calm but laced with defiance.
"You are not other people," he snapped, leaning forward. "You are a Pembroke!"
And so is Hunter! I wanted to shout. But the words caught in my throat, the familiar bitterness threatening to choke me.
"I can't—"
"---Watch you drag this out any longer," he interrupted coldly. "If you delay this, the rumors about your company will become true—it will sink."
His eyes locked onto mine, the calmness in his voice a cruel way for the threat simmering beneath. It wasn't a bluff; I saw it in his expression. He meant every word with a sinister certainty that made my stomach twist.
I forced myself to nod. "Let me out here," I said, turning to the driver.
"Let him out at the next stop instead," he countered smoothly.
I swallowed hard, leaning back in my seat.
"The 15th," he repeated, his voice final. "I'll have your mother start the arrangements. You'll have your fiancée and your mother settle their differences by then."