chapter 6
727 Words
JADEN
The scent of roasted duck and aged wine hits me the second I walk into my parents' dining hall. Ava’s laughter floats from the far end of the long table, Malik is already halfway into his second plate, and our grandfather—sharp as ever at eighty-two—is sipping his whiskey like it holds the meaning of life.
CraveMore is demanding, fast-paced, and full of calculated chaos—but family dinners? They are a war zone with silverware.
I slide into the empty seat at the center. As always, perfectly placed between my mother and Malik, like a peacekeeper who never signed up for the role.
"Late again," Ava sings, smirking at me from across the table. Her makeup is flawless, her medical internship badge still pinned to her blouse. "Another boardroom romance keeping you behind schedule?"
"Watch it," I mutter. "I’m still your boss, technically."
She snorts. "Technically. Emotionally? You’re just a grump with control issues."
"Ava," my mother says in that cool, clipped tone that means cut it out before he actually snaps. Isabella Davenport has a way of quieting rooms without raising her voice. She’s elegance with a razor edge.
My father, Jordan, gives me a once-over. "You’ve lost weight. Work again?"
I shrug. "I’m fine."
Malik, lounging with the grace of a man who knows he’s the favorite, leans forward. "He’s been distracted lately. Maybe he met someone."
I shoot him a glare. He grins wider.
"Enough," Grandfather says, voice cutting through the room like a judge delivering a sentence. "Let’s eat first, then talk about Jaden’s nonexistent love life."
Laughter ripples around the table, but I don’t join in.
Because I did meet someone.
Because she is the reason I haven’t been sleeping. Or focusing. Or breathing normally.
Because I don’t even know her name.
The plates are cleared, wine glasses refilled. The after-dinner routine always leads to this: the interrogation.
"So," Jordan begins, folding his hands on the table. "Thirty-eight. CEO. Record profits. New eco-line thriving."
"Is this a toast or a trap?" I ask.
He doesn’t flinch. "A reminder. You’ve accomplished nearly everything—except settling down."
Ava bites her lip to suppress a grin. Malik doesn’t bother hiding his amusement.
Grandfather leans forward, tapping his ring against the crystal glass. "You’ve had time. Plenty. But I’m tired of watching you treat your heart like a quarterly forecast."
"I’m not avoiding marriage. I’m avoiding marrying wrong."
My mother nods approvingly, but my grandfather barrels on. "I gave your father till thirty-five. Gave your uncle till thirty-seven. You? I’m being generous. You have until your thirty-ninth birthday. Bring home a bride—or I’ll choose one for you."
I nearly choke on my drink. "You’re not serious."
"Deadly."
"This isn’t the eighteen-hundreds."
"You think legacy cares about modernity? Davenport men marry. Davenport men build dynasties."
Ava raises her hand like she’s in class. "Can I pick her? I promise she’ll be hot and give you hell."
"Ava," my mother warns, but she’s chuckling.
I lean back, jaw tight. "You’re all insane."
"We’re family," Malik says, popping a grape into his mouth. "Same thing."
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. For once, I want to get through one dinner without pulling rank or checking a report.
Still, the weight of it all settles over me.
Marriage.
Heir.
Legacy.
It was easier when it was all abstract. But now…
Now there’s a woman who haunts my dreams. Who stole my peace with a kiss. Just imagining her carrying a piece of me gives me a possessive and protective edge.
As the family starts exchanging stories about board members and construction permits, I quietly pull out my phone and text Ethan.
JADEN: Any updates on the woman from that night?
ETHAN: Not yet. We’ve cross-referenced security footage with the bar’s guest lists. Still narrowing down.
JADEN: Hasten it.
ETHAN: You sure?
JADEN: I’ve never been more sure.
I slip the phone back into my jacket and look up just as my grandfather lifts his glass again.
"To love," he says, eyeing me with that familiar fire, "and the fools brave enough to chase it."
The room echoes with clinks of crystal and low laughter.
But I don’t raise my glass.
I sit back, eyes distant, and whisper to myself: "I’m coming for you. Whoever you are. I’m coming."
- Writer
