What in hell does that old man want this time?
I paced back and forth in the room, irritation simmering under my skin as I waited for my father. Unlike the other day—when I'd been forced into that ridiculous sweater—I was now dressed in a custom-made black designer suit worth millions. Every line of it screamed authority and danger. This was the version of me people placed on their do-not-provoke list.
Ever since that day, I had been meticulous about what I wore.
"I don't know either, brother," Evan's playful voice chimed in as he flopped onto the couch—his couch. "By the way, where's that beautiful sweater you wore yesterday?"
My eyes darkened.
That sweater dragged with it the memory of a certain woman.
"I burned it to ashes," I replied coldly.
Evan shivered.
The chill in my tone successfully scared him out of further teasing. He nodded rapidly like a frightened puppy and sank deeper into the couch.
I sighed. "What are you even doing here? And why are you holding popcorn?"
"Buttered popcorn," Evan corrected enthusiastically. He adjusted the bag on his lap, eyes sparkling. "Father sounded furious. That usually means you've done something impressive again. I came prepared for the show."
I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Any normal person would have trembled. Evan only grinned.
I resisted the urge to kick him out.
"I postponed half my meetings because of that man," I muttered. "Doesn't he know how busy I am?"
"Who are you calling an old man?"
A deep voice sounded from the doorway.
My father walked in—tall, broad-shouldered, only a few streaks of white in his hair. Age hadn't diminished his authority in the slightest. If anything, it had sharpened it.
I turned and bowed slightly. "Father."
Evan opened his popcorn. "It's starting. I should've brought more snacks—last time I missed the best part."
The pressure in the room intensified.
Then—without warning—
Smack.
A rolled newspaper hit the back of Evan's head.
His eyes widened. "This is even better than I expected!"
I stared at my father in disbelief. If anyone else had dared—
"Don't look so innocent," he snapped, throwing the newspaper onto the table.
It unfolded.
A photo stared back at me.
My expression darkened instantly.
"Silent?" my father demanded. "Is this your defense? Lucas Blackwood, do you understand the consequences of your actions?"
"What happened?" Evan asked eagerly.
I said nothing. I simply stared at the photo, my gaze cold enough to burn holes through paper.
"Do you know how many crucial contracts we have tied to the Wright family?" my father continued. "This is already spreading internationally. Our stock dropped two percent overnight."
Evan couldn't stand it anymore. He rushed over.
And screamed.
"A woman?! Kissing my brother?!"
He stared harder, then collapsed onto the floor in shock.
My father ignored him. "Who is this woman?"
I stayed silent.
What was I supposed to say?
That she grabbed me, kissed me, called me a bumpkin, and walked away?
Absolutely not.
"I never stopped you from dating," my father said sternly. "That's why we arranged the engagement. You're the eldest son of the Blackwood family. This marriage is not optional."
His patience snapped.
"You will marry Vanessa Wright this Friday."
Evan froze—then slowly sat back down with popcorn in hand.
The drama had peaked.
"I won't," I said calmly.
My father smiled. Amused. Dangerous."Are you challenging me?"
"Yes."
"And your reason?"
I inhaled slowly.
"This woman is my lover," I said evenly. "We've been together for months. I've proposed to her. She's the only woman I intend to marry."
Evan fell off the couch.
Marry?What about his bet?
My father narrowed his eyes. "Is this true?"
"Yes."
I turned and left before he could say more.
Outside, my composure cracked.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
"Grace," I said as soon as she answered. "Find out who that woman is. One hour."
Grace Hill went numb.
"She's my future wife," I added calmly.
And ended the call.