2. Marcus Vale
1540 Words
Marcus*
“Mateo is everything I hate.”
Marcus’s voice was low, controlled—but the irritation beneath it was sharp enough to cut glass.
“It hasn’t even been up to a month since Father died, and he’s already fighting for the chairman’s seat at Vale Group.”
The words lingered in the vast office like smoke.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline behind him, sunlight glinting off steel towers that bore the silent signature of power. At the center of it all stood the headquarters of **Vale Group**—his family’s empire. Glass, steel, and legacy.
And war.
Life with Mateo had once been simple.
They had shared everything from the moment they entered the world—same face, same laugh, same mischief. Two halves of the same pulse. Growing up, there had never been competition between them. If Marcus won a race, Mateo cheered louder than anyone. If Mateo aced an exam, Marcus boasted about it like it was his own victory.
They had been inseparable.
Until the board made the announcement.
Only one of them would inherit the position of Chairman.
Only one.
At first, it seemed like a distant problem. A technicality. Something for the future.
Then their father died.
And the future arrived like a blade.
Since the funeral, Mateo had changed. He moved through the house like a stranger. Ate alone. Avoided family dinners. Left without explanation. Returned without apology. Even moved out of the house. Conversations that once flowed easily between them now turned into battlegrounds of suspicion.
Marcus could still remember the night Mateo had looked at him—not like a brother, but like a rival.
“You’re pretending,” his twin had said quietly. “You act calm so you can stab me in the back later.”
It had hurt more than Marcus cared to admit.
He didn’t want the company at the cost of his brother. He didn’t want the title if it meant tearing apart what little family they had left.
But Mateo didn’t see it that way.
Two weeks from now, the board was going to name the most eligible successor on their 29th birthday.
A symbolic choice, the board had called it. A new era on the day they stepped into their thirties.
To Mateo, it felt like a cruel delay. In his mind, the position already belonged to him. He was the first twin by six minutes. Six minutes that had apparently transformed into entitlement.
Marcus dragged a hand through his dark hair and exhaled slowly.
He had been at the office since dawn, yet not a single meaningful task had been completed. Files lay open on his desk. Reports waited for approval. Emails blinked unread.
But his mind refused to cooperate.
It felt foggy—like static buzzing between thoughts.
He leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the ceiling, lost in a maze of memories and what-ifs.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he muttered absentmindedly.
His secretary, Mary stepped inside, tablet in hand. She was efficient, punctual, and rarely flustered—a quality he usually admired.
“Sir, your meeting scheduled for 2:00 p.m. will begin in an hour,” she said. “The stakeholders’ meeting will commence immediately after your session with the marketing team.”
Marcus didn’t move.
Didn’t respond.
Mary hesitated.
“Sir?”
Still nothing.
She took a cautious step forward. “Excuse me, sir?”
Marcus remained motionless, eyes unfocused.
Mary leaned closer, waving a hand gently in front of his face.
“Mr. Marcus—!”
“Yes,” he snapped suddenly, jolting upright. “What is it?”
Mary straightened immediately. “Sir, I came to remind you of your meeting with the marketing team by 2pm and the subsequent meeting with stakeholders.”
Embarrassment flared hot beneath his collar.
How had he allowed himself to drift so far during work hours?
Personal life stays outside the office, he had always believed. Business required clarity. Precision.
Control.
“Alright,” he said curtly. “I’ll have it in mind.”
He wasn’t angry at her.
He was angry at himself.
There was a frustration coiled tight inside his chest, restless and unrelenting.
“Are the documents for the agreement between Vale Group and NOLA Company ready?” he asked quietly, fingers pressing against his forehead as he leaned toward the desk.
Mary stiffened.
“Not yet, sir. I’ll have them completed before the end of the day.”
Marcus’s head snapped up.
“What?”
His voice was sharp now.
“I instructed that those documents be ready by yesterday evening. Why was it extended to today?” His tone rose with each word. “What if NOLA decides to move the timeline forward? This deal is crucial.”
Mary’s composure faltered. “S-sir, I—”
“What excuse are you going to give for this incompetence?” His eyes flashed. “We cannot afford mistakes right now.”
“Be calm, Marcus.”
The voice came from the doorway.
Marcus turned.
Zach stood there, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyes assessing the scene with mild amusement.
His cousin. His best friend. His right hand.
If there was anyone who understood the weight Marcus carried, it was Zach.
“You,” Zach said firmly to Mary. “Leave. Now.”
Mary wasted no time exiting the office.
The door clicked shut.
Silence followed.
Zach walked further into the room, dragging a chair opposite Marcus’s desk before sitting down. “You shouldn’t have raised your voice at her like that,” he said evenly. “Mistakes happen.”
Marcus exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I know. I just… wasn’t in the right state of mind.”
Zach studied him carefully. “What’s going on?”
“Everything,” Marcus replied, frustration resurfacing. “I can’t focus. I can’t think straight. It’s like my head’s constantly buzzing.”
Zach said nothing.
He simply tapped his fingers lightly against the desk.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Marcus continued ranting—about the will, about Mateo’s hostility, about the tension suffocating their home. Zach listened without interruption, the rhythmic tapping steady and oddly grounding.
After a moment, Marcus snapped.
“Can you quit hitting the desk? You’re getting on my nerves.”
The tapping stopped immediately.
Zach didn’t react. He simply stared at Marcus.
The silence that followed was different this time. Intentional.
Marcus blinked, his anger faltering under the weight of that quiet gaze.
“What?” he demanded.
Zach smirked faintly. “Nothing. I just discovered a new way to handle your temper.”
“Oh?”
“Let you rant. Let you exhaust yourself. Don’t interrupt.”
Despite himself, Marcus felt a corner of his mouth lift.
“You’re insane.”
“I’m forever your insane,” Zach replied with a wink.
Marcus recoiled theatrically. “Don’t ever wink at me again.”
They both burst into laughter.
For a moment, the tension dissolved.
Zach leaned back in his chair. “I know what will cheer you up more.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”
“Let’s go to the club.”
Marcus blinked.
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. If we leave now, we’ll have plenty of time to get ready.”
“I have two very important meetings,” Marcus pointed out.
Zach tilted his head. “And has that ever stopped you from having fun?”
Marcus hesitated.
It shouldn’t be this easy to distract him. He was the more disciplined twin. The composed one. The responsible heir.
Yet the idea of drowning his frustration in music and dim lights suddenly sounded dangerously appealing.
He reached for the telephone and dialed Mary’s extension.
The door opened almost immediately. She stepped inside cautiously, as though expecting another outburst.
“Cancel all my meetings for today,” Marcus instructed.
Mary’s eyes widened. “B-but sir, this is the third time you’re postponing the marketing meeting.”
“Tell them I ate something bad and it made me sick.”
Zach snorted.
Marcus grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on.
Mary looked thoroughly confused.
Marcus caught Zach’s amused expression, and the two of them burst into laughter again—this time louder, freer.
“Sir…?” Mary ventured.
“I’ll handle the fallout tomorrow,” Marcus said lightly. “Consider this a strategic recovery day.”
Without waiting for further protest, he strode toward the door. Zach followed, hands in his pockets, grin firmly in place.
As they stepped into the hallway, the polished floors reflecting their synchronized strides, Marcus felt something loosen inside him.
For a few hours, he could forget about wills and inheritance.
Forget about rivalries.
Forget that in two weeks, his entire life might change.
He didn’t know that tonight would do more than distract him.
He didn’t know that somewhere across the city, another life was bal
ancing on the edge of collapse.
And he certainly didn’t know that a girl with burgundy curls and a worrisome debt was about to collide with him.
But fate rarely sends warnings.
It simply opens doors.
And sometimes—
It leads straight to the club.
- Writer
