The large door with golden handles opened slowly, accompanied by the sharp scent of alcohol wafting into the grand, colonial style house. A man in his mid-thirties leaned on the shoulder of his friend, who seemed overwhelmed.
"This is the third time this week," muttered the friend, glancing inside the house. "Please, help him inside. I can't take it anymore."
Stable footsteps soon echoed from within. Paul, a well-built man with graying temples, approached without saying much. He caught Steven's body before it completely collapsed onto the marble floor.
"Thank you. Let me handle this," Paul said calmly but firmly.
The friend nodded, then quickly left, as if relieved to be free from the troublesome responsibility.
Paul supported Steven, who was mumbling incoherently, his eyes half-closed, and his breath reeking of alcohol. But before he could move any further, a heavy, cold voice sliced through the air.
"What now?" The voice came from the top of the stairs. There stood an elderly man in a dark gray house suit, standing tall like a marble statue. His eyes were sharp, cold, and filled with disgust.
John, Steven's father, gazed down with a look that could paralyze anyone. Though seventy years old, the intensity of his gaze hadn't faded. He looked at his son as if he were nothing but a damaged object not worth keeping in the house.
"Take him to his room. Now," he ordered shortly to Paul, not even glancing at his son again.
Paul merely bowed his head in respect and began walking upstairs with Steven. No protests. No questions. Just a silence filled with unspoken anger.
☆
Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, touching Steven's face as he lay in the king-size bed, wearing a wrinkled shirt and with a heavy head. The dull throbbing at his temple made him wince. He groaned, rolled over, and lifted his hand to cover his eyes.
"Ugh... damn..." he muttered hoarsely, his breath smelling of last night's alcohol.
The moment he opened his eyes, his body stiffened. A man stood rigidly by his bed, silent, neat, and staring straight ahead with no expression.
"PAUL?!"
"Good morning, Sir," Paul responded in a calm, almost cold tone. "Your father is waiting in his study. He wants to speak this morning. I've been asked to ensure you're prepared and on time."
Steven looked at Paul with a mix of shock and annoyance. His eyes squinted against the light and the headache that gripped his head.
"Ugh... Fine, fine..." He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Leave. I'll get up myself."
Paul did not argue. He gave a small nod, then left the room silently, as though his presence had never existed in the first place.
Once the door closed, Steven muttered a curse under his breath, sitting up while rubbing his still heavy face.
"Damn... drama first thing in the morning," he grumbled before dragging himself to the bathroom with slow steps, his eyes half closed.
☆
Steven stepped into his father's study with a weary expression on his face. As soon as the door closed behind him, he immediately felt the tension that had accompanied every meeting between them lately. The spacious, book filled room felt even smaller under the heavy atmosphere. John, his father, sat behind his desk, his gaze sharp and full of meaning. The room was silent, with only the ticking of the wall clock clearly audible.
"Steven," John's voice echoed, piercing the silence. "I'm old, you know that. I'm already 70, while you, my son, still can't take responsibility."
Steven paused for a moment. That sentence, though he had heard it many times, still hurt. He lowered his head, trying to suppress the emotions that were starting to rise. John continued, his voice growing louder, as if he wanted to crush Steven to his lowest point.
"You're still partying, getting drunk, living without direction. You're not a child anymore, Steven. You're 35 years old, you should already have a family. Listen! I won't give you a single cent of inheritance if you don't get married," John stated firmly.
Steven swallowed hard, feeling the words sting more than he had imagined. He opened his mouth to reply, but his tongue felt numb. John continued without giving Steven a chance to speak.
"I need a grandchild, Steven. My wife is already 66, and she's sick. I can't leave this world without seeing someone continue all of this. Without an heir to inherit this business," John said, his voice now softer, yet full of pressure.
Hearing that his mother was sick, Steven's heart felt like it was being torn apart. Without saying anything, he turned around and was about to leave. However, before he could step out of the room, his father's voice rang out again, firmer, more threatening.
"Don't even think about running, Steven. This isn't just a family matter, it's about your future. If you don't get married, you'll lose everything. Everything I've built, everything I've fought for our family, it will all end without you ever having a piece of it."
Steven paused for a moment, looking at his father who now sat with a face full of hope, and then walked away without a word. The door to the study closed slowly, leaving behind an unresolved tension inside.