The drawing room was unusually quiet. In fact, it was too quiet.
Jake Cross sat slouched in the velvet armchair. One foot hooked over the other knee. He twirled his signet ring with a bored expression that didn't reach his eyes. He sat with his usual defiant gait, but even he could sense the tension.
Mr. and Mrs. Cross sat across from each other at the massive table, with their backs straight and eyes forward.
The chandelier above glistened with false warmth, casting soft golden hues across the polished marble floors, the oil paintings, and his mother's expressionless face.
Mrs. Cross sat upright, her fingers laced neatly on her lap. Mr. Cross stood near the fireplace, nursing a glass of scotch like it was some sort of truth serum.
"You summoned me," Jake said, glancing between them with his voice dry. "What now? Did I breathe too loud again?"
Mrs. Cross didn't flinch. "This isn't one of your tantrum moments, Jake. Sit up."
He exaggerated a stretch and slowly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Better?"
"Much," his father muttered, staring into the fire. "We have a matter to discuss. One that concerns your future and more importantly, the future of this family."
Jake arched a brow. "Hmm, this sounds promising. Is it finally time to talk about how Andrew might actually be a robot?"
"Jake," his mother warned.
"I'm not sure i'm ready to have such an important discussion this early, I will…" He said as he stood up and proceeded to leave.
"Jake," his mother said without looking up, "sit."
He raised a brow. "No breakfast spread? What, no imported strawberries today?"
"Sit," Mr. Cross snapped.
Jake exhaled and dropped into the seat.
His mother folded her hands. "You're twenty-seven, Jake. It's time we talk about your future."
Jake tilted his head. "That's funny. I thought you gave up on that when you enrolled me in boarding school at eleven and forgot I existed."
Mrs. Cross didn't flinch. "You've had your fun with your motorcycles, your wild parties, your tabloid appearances."
"I call it character building."
"We call it shameful," his father added.
Jake leaned back. "So what now? Another threat to cut me off?"
Mrs. Cross's lips curled slightly. "Not this time."
Jake frowned.
He sighed dramatically. "Alright, go ahead. Hit me with the family prophecy."
Mrs. Cross straightened her spine, her chin lifting just enough to signal that what she was about to say had been rehearsed. "It's time you got married."
Jake blinked. "...I'm sorry. What?"
"We've spoken to the Bacchus family," Mr. Cross added. "Taylor has come of age. She's elegant, poised, and prepared to take her place by your side."
Jake blinked again. "Wait. Taylor Bacchus?She's a cobra in designer heels."
"Watch it." Mr. Cross shot back.
She continued, "You'll be getting engaged to Taylor Bacchus by the end of this year."
There was silence for a while.
Then Jake laughed. It was a deep, amused, and incredulous laugh. "You've got to be joking."
"She's poised," Mr. Cross said. "She is well-connected. Her family…"
"owns half the city, I know," Jake interrupted, eyes narrowing. "And we owe them something, don't we?"
Mrs. Cross's jaw twitched.
"Wow," Jake scoffed. "That's what this is?A payback marriage?"
"It's a strategic alliance," his father growled.
"It's slavery with jewelry," Jake shot back, voice sharp now.
His mother leaned forward. "You've wasted enough time, Jake. It's either this, or the board will reconsider your inheritance."
Jake pushed his chair back violently, the legs screeching across the floor. "You can't be serious."
"We're very serious."
His hands balled into fists. "I'm not marrying her."
"You will," his father said coldly, "or you'll regret it."
Jake stood up, moving to the sideboard and pouring himself a drink. "I thought this century came with options."
"It comes with responsibilities too," Mr. Cross said sharply.
He turned, glass in hand. "And what about love? Passion? The idea of marrying someone I actually want?"
"This is not about love," his mother snapped. "This is about legacy."
Jake sipped the whiskey, eyes never leaving hers. "I see. You want a merger not a marriage."
"You've been reckless, Jacob," Mr. Cross said coldly. "
Jake's laugh came again, but this time it was cold and bitter. "You two are unbelievable."
"Grow up, Jake," his mother snapped. "This isn't about what you want. It's about the Cross legacy."
"Well, maybe I don't give a damn about the Cross legacy."
Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The library door creaked open with a low groan as Jake stumbled in, an hour later.
No one followed him and no one called after him. He was glad they didn't.
The fireplace in the library burned low. Shadows danced along the bookshelves as Jake slouched on the leather couch, one boot dangling over the edge, tie loosened, shirt half-unbuttoned.
A half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich sat next to a second glass he'd poured and ignored.
Jazz hummed softly from an old vinyl in the corner. His fingers tapped the glass absently as he stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
"Marry Taylor Bacchus," he muttered. "Sure. While you're at it, sell my soul to her father and gift-wrap my spine." He rubbed his temples.
He reached for the bottle of scotch and didn't bother with a glass this time. The first swig burned all the way down. The second dulled the fury.
The third swig made the pain sit heavier in his chest.
He didn't want to admit it, but he felt like a pawn. Like a price tag. Like a burden they were trying to wrap in a suit and ship off.
And Taylor? That girl was poison.
He stood in front of the fire, watching the flames dance. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his hair was messy,and his sleeves were rolled carelessly. Somewhere in his fog of anger, he grabbed a glass and shattered it by accident. It sliced his palm.
He stared at the blood as if surprised. Then he just laughed it off, like a psychopath.
Ashley didn't mean to walk in on him.
She had been sent to grab a book on floral symbolism for Mrs. Cross's latest ridiculous luncheon. As soon as she stepped in and saw Jake, shirt open, bloodied hand, and slumped by the fire, she knew something was wrong.
Jake looked over. "Oh look. The maid."
"I'm here for a book," Ashley said, folding her arms.
"And I'm here for a breakdown. Looks like we both got invited."
She rolled her eyes. "You're bleeding."
He looked at his hand and shrugged. "And you're nosy."
Ashley hesitated, then stepped forward anyway. "Hold still."
She pulled a napkin from the serving tray she was still holding and wrapped it around his palm.
"Trying to save my life?" he said dryly.
"No," she replied. "Trying to avoid the paperwork if you die on my shift."
He smirked, watching her work. "You always this charming?"
"Only to drunk billionaires who act like children."
Jake grinned wider. "There she is. The sharp tongue."
Ashley pulled back and crossed her arms. "What happened?"
"They've decided I'm getting married."
She blinked. "To who?"
"Taylor Bacchus."
Ashley choked. "The one whom was rumored to sneer at your cufflinks at the gala last year?"
"The very same."
Ashley shook her head. "Your parents are insane."
"Tell me something I don't know."
Silence lingered.
Jake looked at her again, but for longer this time. "Why are you really still here?"
Ashley hesitated. "Because you look like you need someone."
He blinked.
Then chuckled. "You're full of surprises."
"You're full of scotch."
He took a slow step toward her. "I meant what I said. You're the only one in this house who talks back to me. It's... refreshing."
Ashley swallowed. "That doesn't mean I want anything from you."
Jake leaned in. "What if I want something from you?"
She stepped back.
But he followed and kissed her.
It was messy, too fast and too bold.
And for a second, just a second, she let it happen.
Then she shoved him back, breathless. "Jake!"
He looked dazed. "What?"
"You're drunk," she said. "And I'm not flattered."
"Liar."
"Sleep it off, Prince Charming," she said, turning toward the door. "You'll need it to marry your snake."
Jake watched her walk. He opened his mouth to say something else, something real, but stopped.
Ashley reached for the doorknob.
Just as she did, a tall, shadowy figure slid quickly across the hallway. Like a phantom, just out of reach. Just out of focus.
Jake froze.
Ashley didn't see it.
She opened the door, paused, then walked out.
Jake stood there, with his heart beating faster now. Not from Ashley, but from something he'd seen. Or what he thought he had seen.