LEVI
"Sir, isn’t that too soon?" I asked, my voice betraying the nerves suddenly creeping up my spine..
"Nonsense!" he boomed, clapping me on the shoulders with an air of finality. "You are more than capable of handling our conglomerate. Look at what you’ve done with Ferrari! That alone proves your worth."
I forced a tight-lipped smile and simply nodded, knowing that arguing with him would be futile. "Let’s talk about business after food, huh?" I suggested, hoping to delay the inevitable. If there was one thing my father enjoyed above all else, it was a good meal. Despite his lean, well-maintained physique, he was a connoisseur of fine dining, and it was one of the few things we could still bond over without tension creeping into the conversation. His thick, jet-black hair—always dyed to perfection—masked his true age, making him appear a decade younger than he really was. I had inherited his sharp features, his piercing blue eyes, and his statuesque height, which at least gave me the reassurance that I would age just as well. Good genes, aye. Small comfort in the grand scheme of things.
He headed toward the door, pushing it open as I slipped on my home slippers to match my casual blue sweater and white pants, my mind already drifting to what awaited us at the dinner table until he spoke and all my excitement died. "I have someone who is more than eager to finally see you again," he announced as we stepped into the private elevator. "She’s told me how you’ve been avoiding her."
I frowned, my fingers instinctively curling into a loose fist. "Who is that, Dad?" I asked, genuinely perplexed. At first, I thought it might be one of my childhood friends, though I had barely kept in touch with any of them—if they could even still be considered friends. My schedule left little room for socializing, and honestly, I preferred it that way.
“If I tell you, I’ll ruin the surprise.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What surprise, Dad?”
The elevator hummed softly as it descended, the mechanical whirring filling the brief silence between us. My father simply smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes, refusing to elaborate. I sighed, once again regretting agreeing to his summon. Surprises weren’t my thing—I liked predictability, control.
The elevator slowed to a stop on the third floor. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and my breath hitched.
Elena.
The sight of her standing at the entrance of the living room, poised and elegant, made my stomach coil with irritation. She was beautiful—there was no denying that. Tall, slender, and draped in a shimmering gold gown that matched the rich golden hue of her curls, she exuded effortless elegance. The dress hugged her hourglass figure, highlighting her toned arms and long legs, making her look every bit the sophisticated, wealthy heiress my father envisioned by my side. Her black heels added a few extra inches to her already impressive height, bringing her almost eye-level with me.
But none of it impressed me.
She was just not my cup of tea. Too calculated, too manipulative. And seeing this stunt—one I was certain she had orchestrated—I knew I wasn’t wrong.
"Elena, what are you doing here?" I asked, stepping past her without so much as a second glance.
Her perfume—something floral and heady—lingered in the air between us. I knew richer men who would die for her. They wouldn’t be as young as I was or as good-looking—I was, after all, the youngest billionaire—but they could offer her money, luxury, and devotion. And I knew her father would welcome that kind of influence in his businesses.
So why was she still hung up on me?
Maybe it was the chase—the fact that I was the one saying no, resisting her temptation. That alone might have been enough to keep her lingering. A bruise to her ego, keeping her tethered.
But I had no intention of playing to anyone’s ego. Or of being with any woman who wasn’t Isabella.
"That’s no way to greet your future wife," she quipped, her voice smooth and self-assured as she followed me into the living room.
I stopped mid-step, my body stiffening. Slowly, I turned to face her, my gaze shifting to my father, who now stood beside her with a satisfied smile, as if this entire moment had been orchestrated to perfection.
"She’s right, Levi," my father said, his voice laced with quiet authority. "And you shouldn’t walk out on her. I raised you better than that.”
My father’s expression darkened slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. A flicker of something—anger?
I was beyond caring. I let out a low scoff, shaking my head. "You raised me, indeed."
He had pulled the strings for far too long, expecting me to dance like a marionette to whatever tune he played. Not anymore.
I shifted my gaze to Elena, who leaned against the couch like she owned the world. Her emerald eyes gleamed with amusement, her lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. The way she studied me—like a predator toying with its prey—sent a spike of irritation through me. It was as if she had already won some silent battle I hadn’t even realized we were fighting.
"Look," I said, my voice dropping to a clipped, icy tone, "if you think I’m going to fall for this cheap ambush, then you clearly don’t know me as well as you think you do. Either you’ve overestimated yourselves or underestimated me—either way, I’ll be the one making the real estimations by leaving."
I started toward the stairs when my father stopped me in my tracks.
"But what’s the problem, Levi?" he asked. "You're not getting any younger, and you need a woman by your side. I’m about to retire, and you'll take over the conglomerate. What better woman is there than Elena?"
I exhaled sharply, my jaw tightening. "The problem is that you're trying to control my life like your father controlled yours—and just because you let him doesn't mean I will. I will choose my bride myself."