UnMarried

Chapter2

The Knight Estate sat on twelve acres of manicured land just outside the city limits—a sprawling Georgian mansion that had been in the family for three generations. Adrian pulled through the iron gates at exactly eight fifty-five, his black SUV crunching over the gravel driveway. He had not slept. After Marco left his office, he had spent the remaining hours staring at the ceiling of his penthouse, replaying his father's words from that dinner last month.

"A man who can't manage a household has no business managing an empire."

He parked and walked up the stone steps, his jaw set. The morning air was crisp, and the gardens were immaculate, but Adrian felt nothing but cold dread pooling in his stomach. He knew what this meeting was about. He had known the moment Marco said the word succession.

The foyer was silent, polished marble gleaming under a massive crystal chandelier. A housekeeper took his coat without meeting his eyes. They all knew. The staff always knew.

"Your parents are in the study, Mr. Knight," she said quietly.

Adrian nodded and walked down the long corridor. The study was his father's domain—dark wood paneling, leather chairs, shelves of books no one had ever read. It smelled of cigar smoke and old money. Victor Knight sat behind his desk, a heavy, silver-haired man with the same sharp eyes Adrian had inherited. Eleanor stood by the window, her posture rigid, dressed in a pale blue Chanel suit.

They did not greet him warmly.

"Sit down, Adrian," Victor said.

Adrian remained standing. "I'll stand."

Victor's jaw tightened, but he didn't push. He exchanged a glance with Eleanor, then folded his hands on the desk. "You know why we called you here."

"I assume it's about the succession."

"It is." Victor leaned back in his chair. "Your mother and I have made a decision. We are ready to name a successor to the CEO position by the end of the quarter."

Adrian's pulse quickened, but his face remained stone. "And?"

"And we cannot, in good conscience, hand the company to a man who is not married."

The words landed like a physical blow, though Adrian had expected them. He kept his expression neutral. "Julian is married."

"Julian has given us an heir," Eleanor said, stepping forward from the window. Her voice was soft but sharp as a blade. "He has shown us he understands the importance of legacy. You, on the other hand, have given us nothing but work and excuses."

Adrian's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I have given this family everything. I built the East Side division from nothing. I doubled our revenue in three years. I took a bullet for this family two winters ago."

"And we are grateful," Victor said, his tone flat and entirely ungrateful. "But gratitude does not build dynasties. Your mother and I have discussed this at length. We are not asking you to fall in love. We are asking you to be practical."

Adrian stared at his father. "Practical."

"Find a suitable wife. Someone who can represent this family at galas and charity events. Someone who can give us an heir." Victor paused, letting the weight of the demand settle. "You have thirty days. If you are not married by then, we will name Julian as CEO."

The room went very still.

Adrian felt something cold and sharp twist in his chest. Thirty days. They were giving him thirty days to find a wife, or they would hand everything he had bled for to his incompetent younger brother. The brother who had never worked a day in his life. The brother who had nearly bankrupted their father's shipping company before Adrian stepped in to save it.

"You're serious," Adrian said quietly.

"Entirely," Eleanor replied. "We have been patient with you, Adrian. But patience has limits. We will not let this empire fall into the hands of a man who cannot even manage his own household."

There it was again. The same line. The same quiet, cutting dismissal of every sacrifice he had ever made.

Adrian did not argue. He did not beg. He simply nodded once, his face unreadable, and turned to leave.

"Adrian," Victor called after him. "This isn't a punishment. It's a necessary step. You are our son. We want you to succeed. But we cannot wait forever."

Adrian paused at the door, his back to them. "Thirty days."

"Thirty days."

He walked out without another word.

---

By the time Adrian returned to Knight Tower, the sun was fully up, casting long shadows across the city. He rode the private elevator to the forty-fifth floor in silence, his mind a storm of rage and calculation. Thirty days. His parents had given him thirty days to find a wife, or lose everything.

He stepped into his office and closed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it. The room was exactly as he had left it—blueprints on the desk, the counting machine silent in the corner. But it felt different now. Smaller. The walls were closing in.

He walked to his chair and sat down, staring blankly at the blueprints. His father's words echoed in his skull. A man who cannot manage his own household. As if he were still a child, waiting for permission to sit at the grown-ups' table.

Adrian Knight was not a man who broke. He had been shot and betrayed. He had buried friends and enemies alike. But sitting in his office, staring at the evidence of everything he had sacrificed, he felt something he had not felt in years.

Defeat.

He pressed his palms against the desk, his head bowed. For a long moment, he simply breathed, trying to push the weight off his chest. He had no woman. No prospects. No time.

A soft knock on the door made him look up. He had not heard anyone approach.

"What?" he snapped.

The door opened. It was Sarah, one of the junior administrative assistants—a nervous, mousy woman in her late twenties who had worked on the forty-fifth floor for six months and still flinched every time he spoke to her. She was clutching a paper coffee cup in one hand and a thin folder in the other, dark circles smudged beneath her eyes like she hadn't slept in days.

"I—I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Knight," she stammered. "The East Side permits came back from legal. I was told to bring them to you directly."

Adrian stared at her. She was small, hesitant, and entirely unprepared for the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"Get out," he said, his voice low and cold.

Sarah blinked, frozen in the doorway. "I—sir?"

"I said get out." Adrian's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.

Sarah flinched, the coffee cup slipping from her hand and spilling across the floor, the folder scattering papers at her feet. Her face went pale, and her eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth to apologize, but nothing came out. Instead, she bent down quickly, gathered the scattered papers with shaking hands, and fled the office, pulling the door shut behind her.

Adrian sat in the silence that followed, his chest heaving, his knuckles white against the desk. He stared at the closed door, the memory of Sarah's tear-filled eyes burned into his mind. She was innocent. She was just doing her job. And he had shouted at her like she was the enemy.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. He looked at the coffee spreading across the floor, the scattered papers she had been too afraid to pick up properly. The silence of the office pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating. For a long moment, he simply sat there, listening to his own breathing.

Then his phone buzzed.

A text from Marco.

"Found a few candidates. The kind you asked for. Should I bring the files?"

Adrian stared at the message for a long moment, the glow of the screen illuminating the hard lines of his face. Then he typed back a single word.

"Tomorrow."

He put the phone down and turned to the window, staring out at the city he had built his life around.

Somewhere out there, a woman was living her life, unaware that she was about to become a transaction.