Chapter 3: An Unexpected Meeting
1486 Words
Trystan sat in the therapy chair, staring at the white ceiling of the room he knew so well. Meanwhile, Dr. Chris Harvey was looking at the paper in his hand, which was none other than Trystan's therapy data, which once again showed no signs of significant progress.
“How’s it going, Doc?” Trystan asked with a heavy sigh. “Any signs of a miracle from above?” he asked sarcastically.
Dr. Chris turned and raised his eyebrows, his expression trying to smile to keep Trystan motivated.
Dr. Chris shook his head and said, “Same as before, Trystan. No significant progress. Maybe we can move on to the fifth method next week, or do you want to repeat today’s therapy?”
Trystan rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m getting sick of this. I feel like a lab rat. I’ve tried all your therapies, all your methods, repeatedly. Forget it, I might as well just marry my job. At least it won’t make a fuss about this.”
A bitter smile appeared on his face. He stood up from the therapy chair, took his black suit hanging on the door hook, and walked out while putting on his suit in one fluid motion.
After spending the night at an expensive pub, Trystan returned to his penthouse. The transparent-walled elevator slowly carried his tired body up to the top floor of the luxurious building. When the apartment door opened, something was off—the living room light was on.
Trystan furrowed his brow. “Patrick? Why are you in my house this late at night? Did you fight with Cynthia again?” he muttered. But there was no response. The figure sitting on the sofa remained motionless, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. As Trystan’s footsteps grew closer, he widened his eyes.
The man wasn’t Patrick. It was Mr. Grayson.
His father.
An elderly man with elegant white hair, a stern face like a statue, but his sharp gaze still resembled an eagle watching its prey. He sat upright on the sofa, holding a golden staff with a dragon’s head. Not far from him stood two bodyguards accompanying him.
“You’re late,” Mr. Grayson said without preamble.
Trystan dropped his briefcase to the floor. “Dad... This is unusual you–”
“I wouldn’t have come if this weren’t serious.”
Trystan sighed, then sat on the sofa, facing him.
Mr. Grayson touched his staff slowly. “You know, our stocks are starting to falter. Investors are worried about the rumors spreading. They say the only son of Grayson, the heir to Nexus Corporation—is impotent.”
Trystan closed his eyes. “I know. But—I didn’t ask for this condition. I’ve tried everything. But there’s been no change.”
“Yeah.” Mr. Grayson’s voice grew softer, but it was filled with disappointment. “That’s why I’ve prepared a solution.”
Trystan turned with a suspicious expression. “A solution?”
“You’re going to marry,” he said succinctly.
Trystan stared blankly. “Excuse me, what?”
“You’ll get married. To a girl from a prominent family. This will be a big press conference. We’ll clear your name. Let the world know that you’re… ‘functioning normally.’”
Trystan stammered, as if his mind had gone blank. Before finally blurting out, “With whom? I don’t even have a girlfriend!” Trystan stood up. “Dad, this is crazy!”
“That’s exactly why. Because no one would want you. Now I’m choosing a spouse for you.”
Trystan laughed sarcastically. “And you think this fake marriage will cure my illness?”
Mr. Grayson stood up too, now level with his son. “Sometimes... illness isn’t about the body, but the mind. And our reputation, Trystan, is more valuable than your ego.”
“No. No. I don’t want to marry just anyone. Especially a girl I don’t even know.”
“You have no choice, Trystan. This is an order!”
Silence. Only the ticking of the wall clock broke the tension.
Trystan finally bowed his head. “Who is the girl?”
Mr. Grayson merely smiled faintly. “You’ll find out tomorrow,” Grayson said, before walking away. Leaving Trystan, who could only kick the sofa in front of him. To vent his frustration and disappointment at himself.
****
At Carleone's Restaurant, the most popular fancy place in the city center—filled with marble pillars, white roses, and neatly dressed waiters who smile warmly because the guests are mostly upper-class people. In the corner of the VIP room sat Layla, looking elegant in a dusty rose knee-length dress that fit her petite body perfectly. Her hair is half-up, her makeup flawless. She even wears her favorite nude lipstick—which Hannah says is perfect for a "casual yet sweet first impression." Though Layla herself isn’t sure if the man will think that way or the opposite.
Especially now, she’s been waiting for over an hour, and they still haven’t arrived.
Across from her, Boston—her authoritative father, in a custom-made gray suit—clears his throat softly, pretending to be relaxed even though he’s clearly anxious. He glances toward the entrance now and then. Beside him, Meghan—Layla’s stepmother—fiddles with her ring while pouting.
"When are they going to arrive? Maybe they're just playing with us," Meghan grumbled.
"Wait a little longer, Meghan. They are important people with many things to do. So, it's normal for them to be late."
"Dad. I'm very worried about Eliza right now. Can I call her for a moment? Just to make sure she's okay."
"Are you crazy? What if they find out you're a b***h girl with an illegitimate sick child? Our plan could fail." Meghan immediately protested.
"Yes. And I think, starting today, you should stop thinking about that illegitimate child, Layla."
"What? But, Dad–"
"I don't want her to ruin our plans again like before. Especially since the money Mr. Grayson is offering is enormous. So, if you still insist on contacting or thinking about her, I won't hesitate to get rid of her. Remember! You were wrong to keep that damn child!"
"Don't! Don't do that. Alright. I'll do anything to make sure you're willing to help pay for her treatment. Let her live. Please."
"So, don't mess around. Got it!" Meghan said. Layla immediately nodded with teary eyes.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world.
On the 36th floor of Grayson Tower, Trystan sat in his office staring at the dark screen of his phone. A moment ago, Grayson had called repeatedly, but he hadn't answered.
Trystan sighed heavily, leaning back against the sofa.
"I won't sit idly by in front of a girl who, after getting my money, will mock me because she knows my current condition. There's no way a girl would accept a weak man like me. She only wants the money."
He looked out the window. The city looked beautiful, with its captivating city lights, but his heart was truly dark.
All this time, every woman who approached him was only interested in his wealth. But after finding out about his impotence, they left with reasons that always broke his heart.
"Better to marry my work. That’s enough drama in my life," Trystan muttered.
"Easy for you to say!" Mr. Grayson said, causing Trystan to turn around in surprise.
"Dad. When did you arrive?"
"That’s not important. Now get ready and come to the dinner event."
"No. I won’t come."
"I’ve been silent all this time, Trystan. But this time, you must come. Now!"
"But, Dad—"
"It's not just for me. It's for your family. But also for your company. If you truly love your job, you have to come and follow all my plans. Only then can we silence all that media nonsense." Mr. Grayson paused for a moment. "Unless you want our company to collapse."
Trystan flinched. Only in his work did he feel happy, always receiving praise and being proud of everyone.
Trystan looked into his father’s eyes. Silent. Then, finally stood up while grabbing his jacket.
“Fine. But don’t blame me if that girl divorces me soon.”
Back at the restaurant...
Layla and her family stood up, ready to leave, as the VIP room door opened.
Enter Mr. Grayson and Trystan, both dressed in neat black suits, making them look very formal and classy. Layla and her parents bowed their heads in respect.
"Welcome, Mr. Grayson," said Boston.
"It seems like you were already ready to leave. Did we come too late?" Mr. Grayson said jokingly. Boston and Meghan shook their heads quickly.
"No. Of course not, sir. We understand you're very busy."
When Layla and Trystan's eyes met, they immediately glared at each other.
"You?" they both said, pointing at each other.
- Writer
