Chapter4
1189 Words
Declan’s POV
The bitter tang of tobacco curled in my mouth as I exhaled. The smoke rose in a lazy spiral toward the ceiling.
I stood at the far end of my office… where the floor-to-ceiling glass wall offered a full view of the city I owned, yet never quite felt at home in.
From up here, everything looked clean, especially the golden sunlight spilling across the skyline, catching the glass of tall buildings like fire kissing metal.
Cars lined up like obedient ants on distant roads, and the parks below looked like emerald patches of peace stitched into the city’s chaos.
It looked calm. Like control.
But inside me? It was a different story.
My jaw tightened around the cigar, pressure building until I tasted ash and memories I hadn’t asked for.
“Life will get to you fast… and I’ll be waiting.”
My father’s voice rang again in my head. He always said it like a prophecy.
And damn if it wasn’t coming true.
I pulled the cigar from my lips and put it o on the edge of the desk. The moment it clinked against the wood, I grabbed my phone and dialed.
“Nathan,” I said the second the line connected. No greetings. No patience. “You have until 7 a.m. tomorrow to give me an answer. After that, the window closes. That’s as generous as I get.”
There was a pause on the line. Then a quiet, “Okay sur.”
I hung up without another word.
The door opened behind me.
“Xavier,” I said, not needing to turn. My best friends cologne always arrived a step before he did.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, stepping into the room like he had something heavier than documents in his hands. “Because this fake marriage idea… it’s not exactly damage control. It’s more like lighting a match and hoping it only burns what you want.”
I let out a faint breath through my nose.
Optimistic.
I moved back to the desk, planting both hands on it, staring down at the files I hadn’t touched.
“I’m already standing in the fire,” I said. “This just gives it direction.”
Alex didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward and laid a folder on the desk with deliberate weight. “Project Midas,” he said. “Board wants signatures by morning. You’ll want to read it before they start pretending it was your idea.”
I flipped it open, eyes skimming the first page without actually seeing it.
“Noted.”
He didn’t leave.
Of course he didn’t.
“You know…” he started, slower this time, like he was choosing whether to push or not, “you still have options, Dec. This doesn’t have to be the move.”
I looked up at him briefly, then back down at the file. “There are always options.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Better ones.”
I gave a small, humorless smile, thumbing the edge of the paper. “Not right now.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then—
“You don’t even know who you’re marrying,” he added. “For all we know, she’s connected to your father.”
I scoffed, shaking my head, fingers fumbling over the stapled pages.
“Please,” I muttered. “That family reeks of financial desperation. I won’t call them poor, but they’re... holding on by threads.”
Alex stared. “Just make sure you know what you're getting into, Dec, cause If this blows up,” he said, “it won’t just hit you. It ruins everything.”
I met his gaze fully this time.
Cold. Certain.
“Everything is already at risk,” I replied. “At least this way… I get to choose how it falls.”
He held my stare for a second longer, like he was still debating whether to argue.
Then he exhaled.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “You’ve already made up your mind.”
I didn’t answer.
Alex had been my best friend since high school. He had been there since before the money, before the power… back when things were simple enough to survive. He’d seen every version of me… the good ones, the ones I buried, the ones I pretend don’t exist.
If anyone could tell when I was about to make a mistake—
It was him.
Still… this wasn’t one of them.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
Because the truth was simple.
There was no other move left.
**********
It was past ten when I slid into the backseat of the car.
My driver caught my eye through the rearview mirror, gave a small nod, then pulled out into the street without a word.
Good.
I tapped my fingers against my knee.
Fifty million reasons to see this through.
But still, it felt like I was running toward a cliff, and to make matters worse, I felt blindfolded.
By the time we pulled up to my penthouse, I saw the cars before I saw them.
My father and his wife.
Of course.
The lights in the front room were on. It was glowing too brightly for this hour. I entered through the main door, and there they were… my father on my armchair, stiff as always, and Lorraine, his perfectly-dressed wife, perched beside him like a queen on porcelain.
“What the f**k are you doing here?”
Lorraine stood immediately, her smile smooth enough to pass for genuine if you didn’t know better. “Declan honey… we were just checking in. You haven’t returned any of our calls.”
I kept walking. “I’ve been busy.”
“Clearly,” my father muttered.
There it was… that ever-present judgment masked as observation.
They made themselves comfortable for ten more minutes, tossing shallow questions my way and offering even shallower advice. Lorraine played concerned. My father played watchful.
Same script. Different day.
When they finally stood to leave, Lorraine reached out, her fingers brushing my arm lightly.
“We just care, Darren.”
I looked at her.
Really looked.
Then nodded once. “I’m sure you do.”
I walked them to the door, already done with the performance. “Thanks for the surprise visit.”
They left.
The moment the door shut behind them, I dialed Nathan again.
He picked up on the second ring.
“If I don’t hear from you by 7 a.m tomorrow.” I said calmly, “Lawyer up.”
I dropped into the chair, reaching for the lighter, sparking it once before bringing the flame to the pipe. The burn hit my lungs sharp and familiar.
Grounding.
“And,” I added, exhaling slowly, “send me a picture of the woman I’m supposed to marry.”
I ended the call before he could ask anything more.
The truth was, I wasn’t even sure what I was doing anymore.
Ever since that day, every second ticked by like a countdown.
And somehow, I could feel it—I was running completely out of time.
- Writer
