Chapter3
1533 Words
Rowen
Grandpa’s hospital room was as sterile as the rest of the place—white walls, beeping machines, and a faint scent of antiseptic. Yet somehow, it felt different here. Warmer. Like the room itself, it bent under the sheer force of his presence.
Even now, lying frail in the bed with wires attached to him, Grandpa was as sharp as ever. His eyes crinkled with mischief as he looked up at me.
"You’re here again," he said, his voice raspy but strong enough to carry that familiar teasing tone. "Didn’t you say you hate hospitals?"
I smirked, pulling a chair closer to his bedside. "I do."
"Yet you keep coming," he said, shaking his head. "Stubborn, just like your father."
He chuckled, a dry sound that caught in his throat, and I leaned forward to pour him a glass of water. He waved me off, his fingers brushing mine as he took the glass.
"You should thank me for being so stubborn," I said, settling back into my chair. "Without me, this family would’ve run itself into the ground a long time ago."
Grandpa grinned, his expression softening. "You’re not wrong. Do you remember the time you thought you could fix my car?"
I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Never," he said with a grin. "You were, what, fourteen? You came storming into the garage with that toolkit like you were a damn engineer."
"I was trying to help," I muttered, though a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"Help?" He let out a wheezing laugh. "Boy, you flooded the engine so bad the mechanic charged me double to clean up your mess!"
I laughed at myself, the memory as vivid as ever. "You told me it was a learning experience."
"And it was," he said, his expression softening. "You learned to leave the real work to the experts."
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "Or maybe I learned that I could charm my way out of trouble with you."
Grandpa raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. "You always did have a way with words. But I wasn’t letting you off the hook entirely. You spent that whole summer mowing lawns to pay me back."
I sighed dramatically. "The sweat. The sunburns. I still have PTSD from the smell of freshly cut grass."
"Good," he said, his smile widening. "Builds character."
I laughed, the sound reverberating in the small room. For a moment, the machines, the wires, and the sterile walls faded away. It felt like old times—just Grandpa and me, trading stories and teasing each other like we always had.
But then, his smile faded. He set the empty glass aside and fixed me with a serious look.
"Rowen, you know why I’m bringing this up again," he said.
I sighed, already knowing where this was going.
"You’ve been saying the same thing for months, Grandpa," I said, my tone edged with frustration.
"And I’ll keep saying it until you listen," he shot back, his voice firm despite his condition. "If you want the inheritance, you know what you have to do."
I leaned back, dragging a hand through my hair. "I’ve already told you—if you take it away, I’ll fight for it. And I’ll win."
Grandpa chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re smart, boy. But I’m smarter. I won’t change my mind. You need to get married, Rowen."
I clenched my jaw, irritation prickling at the back of my neck. "And what does marriage have to do with running the family business?"
"It’s not just about business," Grandpa said, his voice softening. "It’s about stability, about showing the family that you’re ready to lead."
"I’ve been leading for years," I snapped.
"And you’ve done a damn good job," he admitted. "But that doesn’t change the fact that the will is clear. If you’re not married, the inheritance goes to the next eligible family member."
My stomach twisted. "Arch."
Grandpa nodded, his expression grim. "He’s already circling like a vulture. If you don’t act fast, Rowen, it won’t be long before everything your father and I built falls into his hands."
I pushed to my feet, pacing the room. The thought of Arch taking over was enough to make my blood boil.
"Fine," I said finally. "I’ll figure it out."
Grandpa smiled, leaning back against the pillows. "Good. Just don’t take too long, boy. Time’s not on your side."
The park outside the hospital was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I lit a cigarette, taking a long drag as I tried to make sense of the conversation.
Marriage. The word itself felt foreign, like a weight I wasn’t ready to carry.
"Excuse me," a voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see a nurse standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and a disapproving look on her face. Her small, round glasses perched precariously on her nose, making her look more like a librarian than a nurse.
"You can’t smoke here," she said firmly.
I raised an eyebrow, taking another drag. "Do you know whose hospital this is?"
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. Her gaze dropped, and I couldn’t help but smirk at her sudden silence.
"That’s what I thought," I said, blowing out a plume of smoke.
She huffed, muttering something under her breath as she turned and walked away. I watched her go, amused by her attempt at authority.
"Still making friends everywhere you go, I see," a voice drawled behind me.
I stiffened, my jaw clenching as I turned to see Arch strolling toward me. His perfectly pressed suit and fake smile only added to my growing irritation.
"Arch," I said coolly.
"Rowen," he replied, his tone equally cordial and condescending. "Still trying to smoke your way through your problems, isn't it? Acting like the rules don't apply to you."
I didn’t respond, taking another drag instead.
He sighed dramatically, as if I were some wayward child he had to scold. "You know, if you’d just step aside and let someone more responsible take over, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."
My lips curled into a smirk. "You mean you?"
Arch’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Of course. The family needs someone stable, someone with vision. Not someone who spends his time chasing women and pretending to care about the business."
I stepped closer, towering over him. "Say what you want, Arch, but we both know who’s actually been keeping this family afloat."
His expression faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Enjoy it while it lasts, cousin. Time’s running out, and you’re not exactly making progress on Grandpa’s… conditions."
I didn’t flinch, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my frustration. Instead, I blew out a slow stream of smoke and smiled. "We’ll see who’s left standing, Arch."
His smile tightened, and he turned on his heel, walking back toward the hospital.
As I watched him go, the cigarette burned down to the filter in my hand. I flicked it to the ground, grinding it under my heel.
Grandpa was right. It was time to act.
The woman from the club.
I didn’t even know her name, yet I couldn’t forget her. There had been something raw about her, something real. She wasn’t pretending to be anyone else. She danced like she owned the floor, exuding confidence and energy that pulled me in like a magnet.
And the s*x?
It had been the best I’d ever had. Hands down. The memory of her under me, her skin warm and slick, her breathless moans echoing in my ears, was enough to send a shiver down my spine even now.
I’d spent months trying to find her after that night. Months scouring clubs, asking around, digging for any clue about who she was. But she’d vanished without a trace, like smoke slipping through my fingers.
Then, just when I was ready to give up, she walked into my office.
When I reached for her, when I let my desire take control for just a second, she slapped me. Not metaphorically—physically. The sting on my cheek had burned less than the embarrassment of watching her walk out of my office and resign without a backward glance.
For seven years, that slap had stayed with me, a constant reminder of her defiance.
And now, as I drove into the parking lot of Duke Enterprises, a silent prayer escaped my lips.
"God, if there’s any mercy in this world, don’t ever let our paths cross. Let her stay wherever she’s hiding so I can forget she ever existed."
Because if she did come back…
I’d make her regret it.
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped into my office, already loosening my tie. It had been a long day, and the last thing I needed was—
My steps faltered.
She was standing by the window, her back to me, her frame outlined by the sunlight pouring in through the glass.
She turned, and my breath caught in my throat.
Claire.
- Writer
