Bound by Ink, Chosen by Heart

CHAPTER THREE

The moment I stepped into the design studio, the room shifted. Chairs scraped back quietly. Pens froze mid-scribble. Even the hum of the air conditioner seemed louder, as if it too were holding its breath.

Marcus stood at the center, sketch in hand, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. My gaze settled on the paper. One glance, and the color drained from his face.

“You submitted this design as your own?” I asked, voice low, deliberate.

“I… I only—” he stammered.

I folded my arms, letting the silence stretch. The other designers didn’t move. They didn’t breathe. The sketch quivered in Marcus’s hands.

“You altered a competitor’s design and presented it here,” I continued, measured, calm. “Do you understand the consequences?”

He swallowed, stumbling over words. “I—I didn’t think—”

“You’re fired.”

The words landed like a hammer. His knees threatened to give way. The sketch slipped, and he barely caught it. He bolted for the door, leaving silence behind.

The room didn’t exhale. Not yet. I turned back to the table, folding my hands neatly, posture straight. The meeting had only just begun.

We went through the agenda methodically. Ideas were pitched, critiques delivered, and suggestions dissected. I asked questions that made designers second-guess their own logic. Every answer was measured, every hesitation noted. No one dared cut corners. No one dared lie. Fear followed my every move, a silent observer in the room.

By the time the meeting ended, the designers filed out quietly, leaving only the faint rustle of papers behind. I stood, buttoning my jacket, and left the studio without a word. The hallway was empty. The echo of my footsteps alone seemed enough to keep order.

I returned to my office. The door closed behind me with a quiet click. The room smelled faintly of leather and polished wood, familiar and controlled. I sank into my chair, running a hand over the desk, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the meeting.

Before I could settle, Luca appeared at the doorway. He didn’t announce himself—he never did. “Sir,” he said evenly, “there’s a call from the Valence estate. Your grandmother has taken ill. The family is gathering. They’re expecting you immediately.”

I straightened, letting the words sink in. My chest tightened slightly—not panic, not yet—but awareness of the weight the name carried. Family came with expectations, and the Valence legacy demanded presence.

“I’ll go,” I said, standing. “Prepare the car. I want to leave in twenty minutes.”

Luca gave a small nod and stepped back, already moving to organize things quietly.

The drive to the estate was uneventful. Too smooth. Too quiet.

By the time the gates closed behind us, the house was already lit—every window glowing like a signal flare. Luca opened the door for me, but I was already moving.

The sitting room was full.

Couples, mostly—hands resting on knees, shoulders touching, quiet unity displayed without effort. My parents sat together. My uncle and aunt shared a sofa. My cousin leaned into her husband, whispering something I didn’t catch.

My sister stood apart—not alone, but not paired either. She didn’t need to be. Confidence followed her like fabric she’d tailored herself.

Only two spaces stood empty.

My brother leaned against the wall, arms folded, paint-stained fingers shoved into his pockets. No partner at his side. No pretense of one either. He met my gaze and gave a slight tilt of his head—acknowledgment, not sympathy.

And me.

Two Valence sons. Two unfinished stories, according to this family.

My grandfather sat at the center of the room, cane in hand, eyes sharp despite the years pressing on his shoulders. He watched us both, then shifted his gaze to me.

“She’s still with the doctors,” he said. “But she’s asking for you.”

Not one of you.

You.

A doctor passed through the hallway then, murmuring reassurances that sounded rehearsed. Stable. Resting. Waiting.

My mother stood. “Zach—”

“I’ll see her,” I said, already moving.

As I turned down the hall, my brother’s voice followed me, low and dry.

“Looks like you’re the favorite tonight.”

I didn’t look back.

The hallway felt longer than usual. Each step echoed off the walls. I stopped in front of the door and knocked once.

“Come in,” her voice called—controlled, deliberate.

I pushed the door open. She lay propped on crisp pillows, silver hair perfectly arranged, hands folded neatly over a blanket. Monitors beeped quietly beside her, steady. Too steady.

She didn’t look frail—she looked like she was waiting.

“There you are,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “I was beginning to think work had made you forget family again.”

“I was called,” I said.

Her lips curved. “Three months, Zachary.”

I raised a brow. “Three months for what?”

“To marry,” she said, calm, deliberate. “Or the Valence jewellery company will no longer be yours to inherit.”

I let out a short laugh, sharp, humorless. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly serious,” she replied. “You are the only one capable of running this legacy—but a Valence heir without a wife is incomplete. Three months. Fail, and the business goes to the board. Your inheritance… gone.”

I studied her, the steady monitors, the perfectly arranged pillows. “You staged this,” I said.

“I staged nothing but reality,” she replied, eyes glinting. “The choice is yours.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.

Outside, the rest of the family waited, couples paired, except my brother and me—the only two still untethered. But unlike me, he thrived in that freedom. I… never had.

Three months. Or the business I’d been born to lead would slip from my hands.

I stepped out of my grandmother’s room, the weight of her words pressing down on me. The hallway felt emptier than before.

When I reached the sitting room, only my brother and sister remained. Her husband stayed close to my sister, protective, calm. The rest of the family had already left—the doctor had reassured them it was a false alarm, that grandmother was stable.

I ran a hand over my face, exhaling sharply. “She wants me… married. Within three months. Or I won’t inherit the company.”

My sister’s eyes widened, but she didn’t speak immediately. Her husband’s jaw tightened slightly.

My brother leaned back against the wall, smirk playing at the corner of his lips, paint-stained fingers tapping lazily on the arm of his chair. “So the old lady’s playing hardball,” he said lightly. “Figures.”

I shot him a look. “This isn’t a joke.”

He shrugged, casually brushing it off. “I never said it was. But it’s… amusing. You, marriage? The world’s most stubborn Valence son, under three months to comply?”

“I’m serious,” I said, tone sharper than I intended. “She’s giving me an ultimatum. Three months. Or the business isn’t mine.”

My sister leaned forward slightly, concern etched on her face. “Zach… you knew she wouldn’t make it easy. But… three months? That’s…” Her voice trailed, unspoken worry in the silence.

I let the words hang, letting them sink in. Only the three of them and her husband were here, still, watching, listening.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my brother grin faintly. “Well… looks like we’re in for an interesting few months, aren’t we?”

I clenched my fists, jaw tight. “This isn’t about fun. This is about what I’ve worked for… what I’m supposed to inherit.”

Silence filled the room, heavy, except for the faint hum of the heater. Outside, the estate was quiet, but inside, the tension pressed on all of us. The game had started, and it wasn’t optional.