Episode 3: Not my terms
1313 Words
Adrian's POV
Meetings like this were predictable.
Someone presents. Someone overreaches. I correct it.
“...and based on current projections, we’re expecting a twenty percent increase by next quarter.”
I didn’t respond immediately. I flipped through the report in front of me, scanning the numbers again, giving him just enough silence to start second-guessing himself.
Then I looked up.
“Twenty percent?” I asked.
He nodded, a bit too quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Based on what?”
“The current market trend and—”
“No.”
The word landed quietly, but it was enough.
I leaned back slightly. “That projection assumes stability in a sector that hasn’t been stable in months.”
He hesitated. “We accounted for—”
“Did you factor in the regulatory changes from last week?”
He paused.
“…Not fully.”
“I can see that.”
No one else spoke. They rarely did when it got to this point.
I closed the file and slid it back toward him. “Redo it. Use actual data this time.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stood. “We’re done.”
Chairs shifted almost immediately and everyone left.
I stayed where I was for a moment after the room cleared, staring at nothing in particular.
Then, uninvited, something crossed my mind.
A voice. Calm and steady.
“You could at least pretend to have manners.”
I exhaled quietly.
I knew who she was.
I had known the moment I saw her last night. Lila Hart. Not just another face in a crowded room, not someone out of place.
Her family name carried enough weight on its own.
Which was exactly why I didn’t bother with introductions.
People like her came with expectations, interest that rarely stopped at surface level.
And I wasn’t interested in any of that.
And I had no intention of starting something I didn’t plan to continue. So I had ended it before it began.
I picked up my jacket and left the room.
—
My father was sitting in my chair when I walked into my office.
I stopped just inside the door. “You’re in my seat.”
He didn’t move. “It used to be mine.”
“Not anymore.”
He smiled slightly, like that meant something to him.
I walked past him, setting a file down on the desk. “What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“You could have called.”
“I did.”
“And I ignored it.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
I didn’t argue with that.
He watched me for a moment, then said, “Come home for dinner tonight.”
“No.”
He sighed, like he expected that answer.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You haven’t been home in weeks.”
“I’ve been working.”
“You’re always working.”
“That’s the job.”
He leaned back in the chair slightly. “Your mother asked about you.”
I glanced at him. “You’re using her now?”
“I’m telling you she misses you.”
That made me pause just for a second.
I looked away, already reaching for another file. “I have meetings.”
“Reschedule them.”
“I won’t.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t push harder either. Instead he just stayed there, waiting.
I exhaled slowly. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“No.”
I closed the file. “Fine. I’ll come.”
—
The house was the same. It always was.
Nothing out of place, nothing changed.
“Adrian.”
My mother crossed the room before I could say anything, pulling me into a hug like I hadn’t just seen her a few weeks ago.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” she said, pulling back to look at me.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s usually true.”
She studied my face like she didn’t quite believe me. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Ma I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I'm fine mom,” I repeated.
She sighed softly but let it go. “Sit my boy. Dinner is ready.”
“Look who decided to show up.”
I glanced toward the doorway.
Noah stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely too relaxed.
“You’re still here,” I said.
“Last I checked, this is still my house too.”
“Barely.”
He smiled. “Missed you too.”
I walked past him toward the table.
“Unlikely.”
Dinner started normally, the food smelled heavenly.
I've missed ma's food.
That was the only reason I stayed.
My mother asked about work. I gave short answers. Noah filled in the gaps with commentary no one asked for. My father watched everything without saying much.
For a moment, it felt like routine.
Then my father set his glass down.
“There’s something we need to discuss.”
I didn’t look up. “Then say it.”
“It concerns you.”
I leaned back slightly. “That narrows it down.”
“The board has raised concerns.”
Now I looked at him.
“The board doesn’t make decisions for me.”
“No,” he said calmly. “But they pay attention.”
“To what?”
“Your image.”
I almost laughed. “My image is not their problem.”
“It becomes their problem when it affects the company.”
“It hasn’t.”
“It could.”
I held his gaze. “Get to the point.”
He didn’t hesitate this time.
“They think you should get married.”
Silence settled for a second.
Then I shook my head once. “No.”
My mother spoke gently. “Adrian—”
“No,” I repeated. “We’re not doing this.”
“It’s not just about the company,” she said. “It’s about your son too.”
I stilled.
“He’s fine.”
“He’s always with the nanny,” she replied softly. “That’s not the same.”
“I make sure he’s taken care of.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Noah spoke then. “He barely sees you.”
I looked at him. “Stay out of it.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I don’t need you to say anything.”
“Maybe you do.”
“Enough,” my father cut in.
The room quieted again.
Then he continued, like nothing had interrupted him.
“We’ve already considered a suitable match.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Who?”
“Lila Hart.”
The name landed, and for a brief second, I saw her again.
The way she had looked at me. Not intimidated. Not impressed either which was unusual with most girls.
Instead she looked annoyed.
I don't blame her though, I wasn't exactly nice to her.
Then exhaled slowly.
“No.”
This time, it came quieter.
More certain.
“I’m not marrying her.”
“She’s a good match,” my mother said.
“Strong background, well-educated—”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
I didn’t answer.
Noah did.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
My father looked at him. “Why?”
He shrugged slightly. “She deserves better than him.”
I turned to him. “Careful.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Be quiet.”
“Adrian—” my mother started.
I pushed my chair back, standing.
“This conversation is over.”
“You don’t get to walk away,” my father said.
I picked up my jacket. “Watch me.”
“Adrian—”
I didn’t stop.
And I didn’t look back.
- Writer
