Chapter 46

Damian’s POV

The silence in the Marshall estate dining room was unbearable.

My mother sat at the head of the long mahogany table, posture immaculate as always, hands clasped around a porcelain teacup that hadn’t been touched since the bomb she’d dropped minutes ago.

Across from me, Alex leaned back in his chair with a smirk that made my jaw twitch. He’d always enjoyed seeing me thrown off balance.

I set down my glass of scotch. “You’re saying that Dad—” I stopped, shaking my head. “—put that in his will?”

Mother exhaled softly, almost impatiently. “It isn’t just in his will, Damian. It’s a binding clause. The board has been instructed to enforce it.”

Alex’s grin widened. “Our father always knew how to make things interesting.”

“Interesting?” I snapped, turning to him. “This isn’t a game.”

He shrugged lazily. “You’ve been running the company your way for years, little brother. Maybe it’s time someone reminded you that you’re not invincible.”

“Enough,” Mother said, her voice cutting through the tension like glass. “Both of you.”

I ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself to look at her. “What does this clause actually say?”

Her gaze softened, though only slightly. “Your father wanted to ensure stability in the Marshall legacy. The clause dictates that the next heir—meaning you—must be married and have a childwithin the next twelve months.”

I stared at her. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I wish I weren’t,” she said quietly. “But the terms are clear. If you fail to meet them, the controlling shares of Marshall Group revert to a trust—one that Alex and the board can administer jointly.”

I pushed back from the table so suddenly that my chair screeched against the floor. “So that’s what this is about. Control.”

Alex’s smirk turned into something sharper. “Don’t look at me, brother. I didn’t write the will.”

“No,” I shot back. “But you’re damn happy about it.”

He spread his hands innocently. “I’m just saying… it would be tragic for Marshall Group to lose its edge because its CEO can’t balance work and personal life.”

Mother sighed, placing her cup down gently. “Stop this, both of you. Your father wanted you to have a life, Damian. Not just a company.”

I stared at her, incredulous. “You think this is about me needing a life? He’s trying to control me from the grave.”

Her eyes flickered—guilt, regret, something buried deep. “He believed the company would be strongest if it stayed within a family unit. He didn’t trust outsiders.”

Alex’s gaze drifted toward me. “So, brother, any lucky woman in mind?”

I glared at him. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled. “Come on. You’ve got options. The media already loves speculating about who Damian Marshall’s mystery woman might be.”

Mother turned sharply toward Alex. “That’s enough.”

He smirked but said nothing else.

I stood abruptly, the weight of the conversation pressing down like a physical force. “This is insane.”

“Damian,” Mother called as I started toward the door. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

I stopped, hand on the doorframe. “Define reckless.”

Her expression softened. “You can fight this, but it won’t be easy. The clause was witnessed and approved by the board. They’ve already set a timeline.”

“How long?”

“One year,” she said quietly. “Twelve months from now.”

My chest tightened. A year.

A year to find a wife. A year to become a father.

Or lose everything I’d built.

I walked out before she could say another word.

The drive back to the city blurred past in streaks of light and memory. By the time I pulled into the garage beneath my penthouse, my pulse had finally steadied—but my thoughts hadn’t.

I went straight to the bar and poured myself another scotch. Then another.

The city glowed beneath the glass walls, a thousand moving lights mocking the storm in my head.

I didn’t believe in fate. I believed in control. In power. In precision.

And yet—my father had managed to strip all of that from me with one clause in a legal document.

I sat down heavily on the couch, the scotch burning my throat as I swallowed. My mind wandered, uninvited, to her.

Kayna.

The way she’d smiled that morning at the office, bright and soft, the kind of smile that didn’t belong in boardrooms.

The way she’d spoken to me on the phone from Boston—gentle, curious, unassuming.

The way she’d looked at the gala—elegant and strong, despite every whisper that surrounded us.

It was ridiculous, the thought that crept in next.

Could she—?

No. Absolutely not.

I wasn’t the kind of man who dragged people into the chaos of my life. Especially not someone like her. She deserved something cleaner, simpler.

And yet, even as I told myself that, the image of her lingered—longer than it should have.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts.

I set the glass down, frowning. “It’s late.”

When I opened the door, Julian stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing that unreadable expression he saved for when things were serious.

“Bad time?” he asked.

“Depends. Are you bringing more bad news?”

He stepped inside. “You tell me.”

I poured another drink and gestured toward the couch. “My mother just informed me that my father wrote me into a marriage clause. I have twelve months to get married and have a kid—or Alex takes over half the company.”

Julian whistled low. “That’s… twisted, even for your family.”

“You’re telling me.”

He studied me. “You gonna fight it?”

“Of course I’ll fight it,” I said sharply. “But the board will back it if they think it’s what Father wanted.”

Julian leaned forward. “Then you better come up with a plan fast. Because Alex? He’s going to make damn sure you don’t.”

I rubbed my temple, feeling the dull pulse of a headache. “I don’t need him sabotaging me right now. The Cosmo deal is barely sealed. I can’t afford more distractions.”

Julian’s gaze lingered on me for a beat too long. “You mean her.”

I froze. “What?”

He smirked faintly. “Kayna. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Hell, everyone has.”

I glared at him. “Careful.”

“I’m not judging,” he said easily. “Just… reminding you that emotions complicate strategy. And you’re going to need a clear head if you want to beat Alex at this game.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because he was right.

When Julian left, I sank deeper into the couch, the echo of his words ringing in my mind.

Emotions complicate strategy.

I stared out at the Manhattan skyline until the lights blurred.

Maybe. But at that moment, it was her face—not Alex’s smirk or my mother’s cold warning—that I couldn’t get out of my head.

Hours later, long past midnight, I finally stood and headed toward my bedroom. The empty glass clinked against the counter as I set it down.

My father’s portrait hung on the hallway wall, his familiar, calculating stare following me. I stopped for a moment, looking at him—this man who had built an empire, who had shaped me into the weapon I’d become.

“You’d still be pulling the strings if you were here, wouldn’t you?” I muttered under my breath.

A flicker of resentment tightened my chest. “But I’m not your pawn anymore.”

The lights of the city glowed across his painted face, and for just a second, I thought I saw a shadow move behind me—something faint, a reflection maybe—but when I turned, there was nothing there.

I shook it off, stepping into my room.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Mom.

I hesitated, then answered. “What is it?”

Her voice came through faint and composed, but there was something in it that made me tense.

“Damian, we need to talk. There’s something else about your father’s will—something I didn’t mention at dinner.”

My stomach sank. “What now?”

She paused.

“You’re not the only one being watched.”

The line went dead.