Vows & Vendetta

CHAPTER 3 - ACE’S POV

It should've rained today.

The sun was out. Totally unbothered and too bright for a day like this.

The study smelled like old paper, mahogany, and whatever cologne grandfather had worn religiously.

That sharp, woody scent still lingered in the corners, clinging to the armrests, the bookshelves, the globe he used to spin while talking about legacy and empire.

We all sat quietly, watching the solicitor shuffle papers with methodical precision. No one spoke and the grandfather clock ticked like it was counting down to something.

It felt strange, being here without him. This was his study. Every book on those shelves had been touched by the man. Every cigar burn on the desk had a story. Now, the chair behind it sat empty, the presence was gone, but his weight was still thick in the air.

The burial had been swift. Somber but efficient, the way the old man wanted. No grand eulogies, no sobbing speeches - just tightly pressed suits, forced sympathies, and cold wind biting at their coats. Everyone did what they came to do. Pay respects. Watch. Whisper.

I stood at the grave in silence, hands buried in my pockets, listening to the priest drone on while dirt hit the casket like soft thunder. It hurt, but there was peace in it too.

I noticed the wind picking up, rustling the leaves around us and carrying the faint smell of damp earth. The air felt heavier with each shovel of soil, and I couldn’t help but glance down at the polished wood, knowing it would never hold him again.

The doctors called it heart failure brought on by age, and it crept up slowly until one day the body simply decided it had done enough. For the last few months, he’d been moving slower, speaking softer, though he’d still insisted on walking the estate every morning like nothing had changed.

All he had was time.

My grandfather had lived a hard, loud, relentless life. He fought for everything he had, burned through it like gasoline, and now… he got to rest.

My eyes drifted towards my mother where she sat with a tissue clenched in her hand, dabbing at invisible tears. She had been crying since the moment the burial started. Hell, even before that.

From the moment we got dressed in black, she'd been in full mourning operandi. Sobs in the car, sobs by the grave, sobs echoing down the hallway like a tragic opera.

To say I was confused was an oversimplification. Because truthfully, she hadn't been very fond of grandpa. Their relationship was civil at best, strained at worst. She never kept it a secret. Always rolled her eyes whenever he talked about family, always said it was a waste of time. Which made sense, considering the kind of mother she was to me. But now here she was, crying like her soul had been ripped out.

Ever the dramatic.

Behind me, Jackson sat quietly. He hadn't said much all morning. just offered a nod at the burial and another one when we entered the study. There was a solemnity to him today. Not the usual sarcasm or light teasing that normally colored our interactions, but he still winked at me.

I finally turned back to face the solicitor as he cleared his throat as a way of gaining our attention as he began reading the will of Harold Blackthorn in a tone so dry, it could start fire.

"To my beloved daughter-in-law, Eleanor Blackthorn, who stood by our family with grace and loyalty, I leave a trust of $500,000 may it support whatever endeavours bring you peace and joy in this life."

See? Civil. I could practically feel my mom roll her eyes.

"To Jackson Blackthorn, I leave my lake house at Arizona, where we shared laughter, long talks and life lessons.”

The solicitor paused for dramatic effect, and looked past me towards Jackson who I believe kept his face expressionless.

"Should he choose, Jackson may join the company in an executive role to stand beside his cousin, as they build its future together. "

That brought a smile to my face. With Jackson by my side, Blackthorn Enterprises would be greater than grandpa had envisioned.

But for some reason, I couldn’t stop the feeling that there was something up grandpa’s sleeve.

"To my grandson, Ace Blackthorn, legacy bearer of our name and the light of my final years, I entrust to you the crown I spent my lifetime building. I leave you the company, its reins, power and its future."

I shifted in my seat as the solicitor flipped the page.

"You shall also inherit a portion of the Blackthorn estate - including the lands, assets, and all that pertains thereto. "

"But this gift comes with one condition." A tiny bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck.

"You must marry before your 35th birthday. Love, commitment and family.."

His voice trailed off as I tried and failed to wrap my head around the condition. Marriage? Of all things he could've used to trap me, he chose marriage?

My mind raced through every possible explanation and none of them made sense. The old man knew me better than anyone. He knew I avoided relationships the same way most people avoided tax audits.

Business deals were easy, negotiations were simple. But marriage?

That was a lifelong contract with emotional fine print no one ever fully read.

This clause wasn’t just inconvenient, it was deliberate. Which meant he hadn’t written that clause to punish me.

"Should you fail to present a suitable union by that time, the company shall be placed under the control of the board of directors, who will assume full authority. The estate, too, shall be divided according to contingency instructions already sealed within this will.”

I sat so still I could be mistaken as a statue. The solicitor's eyes remained fixed on my face as he wrapped up, the last words echoing like a warning.

"My hope is that it never comes to that."

Fantastic.