Chapter2
1276 Words
The Hartford estate woke slowly, like a lion stretching under morning light. Golden rays spilled through tall windows, catching on marble floors and framed oil paintings of long-dead Hartfords who still seemed to judge everyone in the room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, but the warmth didn’t reach the people seated at the long dining table.
Alexander Hartford sat at the head, his posture straight despite the subtle weight of his sixty-two years. Time had carved fine lines into his once-youthful face, but his eyes still held that sharpness, the one that made CEOs flinch and stock markets shift. His silver cufflinks glinted as he reached for his cup.
To his right, Vivian Hartford — wife number one — looked impeccable, as always. Her cream silk blouse matched the pearls around her neck, and her perfume floated faintly across the table like an invisible claim on the room. Vivian’s beauty had always been the kind people noticed instantly, but it was her poise that drew people in… and her ice that kept them at arm’s length.
Across from her sat Clara Hartford — wife number two. She was softer in presence, but not in spirit. A plain blue dress, hair tied back, makeup minimal. She was the kind of woman who seemed gentle until you looked into her eyes and saw the steel. If Vivian was winter elegance, Clara was the quiet storm that followed.
Between them sat the two men who were both the pride and the curse of Alexander’s life.
Ethan Hartford, eldest son — twenty-five years old, tall, with the same jawline as his father but a sharper gaze. His suit jacket hung over the chair beside him, his tie loosened. He looked like he’d come straight from work without sleeping, which wasn’t far from the truth.
Beside him, Lucas Hartford — also twenty-five, though technically younger by a day. Lucas leaned back in his chair, one arm hooked over the backrest, his smirk barely concealed. He was the sort of man who looked like trouble even when he was doing nothing at all — especially then.
Alexander broke the silence first.
“Glad to see you both here for breakfast. That’s rare these days.”
“Busy schedules,” Ethan said shortly, buttering his toast. He didn’t look at Lucas.
Lucas’s smirk deepened. “Some of us make time for family, even when we’re busy.”
Vivian’s fork paused over her plate. Clara’s gaze flicked briefly to Lucas, then away. The air between the women tightened, the way it always did when Lucas took subtle jabs.
The servant returned to the table with fresh coffee. Clara reached for the pot and poured into Ethan’s cup without asking. “You still take it with two sugars?” she asked, her voice even, almost tentative.
Ethan froze. His hand hovered over the cup. For a moment, no one breathed.
The coffee’s steam carried him backward in time — to the smell of chicken broth and lemon, to the warmth of a kitchen in winter, to Clara’s voice telling him to eat because he looked pale. He’d been seven years old. He’d taken two spoonfuls before the nausea hit. By nightfall, he was curled on the floor with fever, shivering so hard his teeth clattered.
Vivian had stormed into that kitchen like a blade unsheathed. What did you feed him? What did you do?
Clara had insisted the soup was fresh, the same she’d made for Lucas. Lucas was fine. Ethan hadn’t.
The argument had been loud enough for Alexander to come down from his office. But even his authority hadn’t erased the suspicion that lodged itself in Vivian’s heart that night — a suspicion that still lingered like smoke after a fire.
“I haven’t eaten sugar in years,” Ethan said finally, pulling his hand back. “And I can pour my own coffee.”
Clara’s jaw tightened. “I was just—”
“I know,” Ethan cut in, but his eyes were already on his plate.
Alexander sighed, setting down his cup. “It’s been almost two decades. Can’t we—”
“No,” Vivian said sharply. “Some things you don’t forget, Alexander.”
Clara’s voice was cool. “Some things you don’t forgive, you mean.”
Lucas reached for his orange juice, utterly unbothered. “Can we not ruin breakfast? It’s barely nine.”
Alexander shot him a look. “You think this is a joke?”
Lucas smiled faintly. “I think it’s a waste of energy. But hey — if you all want to keep rehashing ancient history, go ahead.”
Ethan’s fork scraped against his plate. “You weren’t the one who—”
Alexander raised a hand. “Enough. Both of you.”
The silence that followed was taut. Outside, birds sang in the manicured gardens. Inside, the air was so tense it could have cracked glass.
After a moment, Alexander leaned back in his chair. “Next month is the company’s anniversary gala. I expect both of you there. You’re my twenty-five-year-old son — you should present a united front.”
Lucas’s brow arched. “Here comes the lecture.”
Alexander ignored him. “And before either of you start — yes, I know your birthdays are close together. Just one day apart. But that shouldn’t make you rivals.”
Vivian’s knife stilled over her plate. Clara’s gaze dropped to her lap. Only the servants moved, but even they exchanged the briefest, sharpest glance — one that said they knew more than they’d ever tell.
Ethan frowned faintly. “You’ve never talked about why that is.”
“Because it’s irrelevant,” Alexander said quickly. Too quickly.
Lucas gave a slow, lazy smile. “Yeah. Completely irrelevant.” His phone buzzed under the table. He glanced at it and saw the message:
> Your move. She’s already in.
His smile widened, but he slipped the phone away without a word.
Alexander reached for his coffee again. “I want you both to remember — the future of Hartford & Co. depends on family unity. That’s not just a slogan; it’s survival.”
Lucas muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Depends on which family.”
Ethan shot him a look. “You want to say that louder?”
“I would,” Lucas said, leaning back, “but it’d ruin the mood.”
Vivian pressed her napkin to her lips, hiding a smirk. Clara sipped her tea without expression.
The table felt less like a family gathering and more like a battlefield where everyone had their own strategy.
Then Alexander’s phone rang.
He answered it, his tone brisk at first — but as he listened, his posture shifted. His free hand tightened around the arm of his chair.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I’ll handle it.” He hung up and rose from the table. “Excuse me.”
He left the room without another word.
Almost immediately, a servant entered through the side door and approached Vivian, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
Vivian’s expression didn’t change at first — and then it did. Just slightly. Her lips parted. Her gaze flicked to Lucas.
“We need to talk,” she said quietly, her voice cool and urgent. “Now.”
Lucas’s eyes glittered with interest. He pushed back his chair, stood, and followed her out.
Ethan watched them go, his gut telling him that whatever that was, it wasn’t good. Cla
ra reached for her coffee again, and this time, she drank it without thinking — and instantly regretted it.
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