I'm Not Supposed To Love You

Chapter Two – The Morning Storm

Aima stayed until the final guest left and the last candlelight died. Standing at the empty ballroom, she took off her headset, set down her clipboard and finally allowed herself to breathe. The silence after any event always left her feeling reflective–the magic dispersed, leaving behind memories. But this day, despite the exhaustion, there was hope. She gathered her things and headed out as the cleaning team moved in.

Outside, streetlights lighted up the corners of the city, and droplets of rain fell from the clouds. Aima's face was buried in her phone–gisting Tilly as the car carried her down the driveway.

“You should see his grey eyes…so charming.”

“Charming enough to make you fall in love huh” – Tilly teased her.

She leaned against the car door, while staring out at the city. She took in a deep breath, and soaked it all in as the thunder roared.

Mornings at Carl Graham's mansion always began the same. At precisely six o'clock, the curtains purposefully slid open in silence, unwrapping the city. The city below pulsed with activities. But up at the mansion, it was all calm and predictable.

Without hesitation, Carl rose from bed. His shower was specifically eight minutes long, followed by a cup of black tea–no sugar. His custom-tailored suits hung neatly in order. And his room–spotless. He genuinely hated disorder. Everything and everyone had its place. He dressed in a navy blue suit with tie perfectly knotted, and cufflinks engraved with the family crest–ready to start a new week.

He stood before the window wall of his room–both hands in his pocket. He should have been thinking about his itinerary for the day. Instead, he found himself thinking about the lady from the previous night's event–Aima. He wasn't used to being intrigued. But curiosity overtook him.

“Sir.” The intercom sounded–interrupting his thoughts. “Your father is here.”

“Tell him I'll be there shortly.” He responded. He adjusted his tie once more, and headed to the parlor.

Egbert Graham sat on the leather sofa with a cup of coffee in hand, his round-shaped glasses relaxed on his nose, looking commanding in his black suit. His cold gaze landed on Carl the moment he entered.

“You're late.”

Carl glanced at the clock, “by forty-five seconds”

“Forty-five seconds,” Egbert repeated, “is enough time to lose a deal.”

And that was how Egbert's good mornings sounded. His assessing eyes stared at Carl for a moment.

“You look tired.”

“I'm fine.”

“Usually means the opposite. You should go on a vacation. Preferably with someone…photogenic.” He sipped a coffee.

And there it was. The main reason he had come.

“Ah!” Carl dryly said. “We are already discussing my love life before seven?”

“Your lack of one.” Egbert corrected, leaning back in his seat.

“Son, everyone is beginning to notice. There are whispers that you're…unapproachable. It doesn't project stability.”

“I project competence.” Carl defended.

Egbert scoffed. “You need to be seen as a deep-rooted man…a man with a respectable partner.”

Carl stiffened his jaw. “Where respectable means being advantageous?”

“Good shout.” Egbert responded–with a faint smile.

Carl averted his gaze to the window, to avoid eye contact. He was getting flared up. He certainly knew where the discussion was headed.

Carl was the youngest billionaire CEO in the history of the Graham's. A business mogul who signed multi million deals. An industry leader in the world of automobiles. His name carried weight in boardrooms. He was the only child to his parents. It had taken him years to build his reputation independently from his father's. And yet, Egbert still found ways to remind him he wasn't liberated.

“Regarding the forthcoming charity gala,” Egbert said, “this year will be different. There will be senators and foreign investors. I need you to charm them. And you will do that with Lillian on your side. She's back in town.”

Carl swiftly turned. “No!”

“Yes!” Egbert retorted with a cold voice–rising from his seat. “Your refusal is noted, but unnecessary. You two were quite the pair once.”

“We were never a pair dad, we were an arrangement.”

“You broke it off!” Egbert said, his tone icy. “That is a mistake you need to fix!”

And for a moment, they both held a gaze. The man who had taught him everything about strength, but nothing about warmth.

“Dad, I'm not interested in reviving the past. Lillian and I ended things a year ago.”

Egbert didn't blink. “That's irrelevant. The public still assumes.”

“The public assumes what you want them to.”

“Look…her father is on our board. Her family's influence–”

“Has nothing to do with my personal life.” Carl interrupted.

A brief silence suddenly filled the room. The kind that drew the air out of the room.

“You may not care what others think, but I do. This family controls its narrative. You therefore have no luxury of rebellion.”

Carl's jaw tightened, but didn't respond. He didn't need to. Because, they both knew the conversation was over. Egbert left with the echo of control without looking back.

Carl stood for a while, wondering not for the first time–when control stopped being protection but prison. He joined his driver in the car, as they headed to the office.

Upon arrival, his composure was back in place. The employees moved with urgency, as he walked past them–nodding once or twice in response to their greetings.

“Morning, boss,” said Julian Smith, with a bright tone–waiting outside his office with two cups of coffee in hand. He was the only person that greeted him like a human being instead of a brand.

Julian, his Managing Director and closest friend, was the opposite of Carl in every way. He always wore a relaxed composure, loosened tie, and laughed about everything and anything.

“You look like you've had three arguments already and it's barely nine.” Julian said, handing him a cup.

“Close,” Carl said, taking it. “One argument, but it countered for three.”

“Your father again?”

“Who else?”

“Let me guess, he wants you and Lillian back together?”

Carl didn't respond. Julian began to laugh softly, “I'll take that as a yes.”

Carl looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You know him too well.”

“No, I know you too well.” Julian chuckled.

The rest of his morning was occupied with meetings, investment reviews, and analysts dissecting figures. By late afternoon, the boardroom was filled with senior directors, as they discussed the anticipated charity gala–politics and power disguised as philanthropy.