Tristan said nothing, the kind of silence that descended upon the glass walls of the greenhouse could have drowned a whole army.
Eleanor's veined fingers closed around the head of her cane even tighter. She knew everything she would say here today went against everything her grandson stands for, but it had to be done.
"Hmm, marriage. Is that what you want from me?" Tristan's dark voice echoed the words like a calm negotiation.
"You are the heir I choose, naturally I want to be sure that you won't kill the traditions of our family by omitting the vital step of having a wife." Eleanor replied.
A cold scoff escaped his rigid lips. Before he could say anything, his grandmother laid down all the terms.
"Think twice before you refuse my offer grandson. If you refuse this, your company will be scattered to the winds. Piece by piece, it will be absorbed into Blakewood Groups. The name Grayson will stand for nothing, it'll be nothing but a footnote in Blakewood Groups annual report."
