In the evening grandpa organised the party.
The house was unrecognizable by evening.
Lights glowed warmly along the walls. Fresh flowers filled every corner. Soft classical music floated through the air while staff moved briskly, adjusting curtains, aligning tables, perfecting details.
At the center of it all stood Grandpa.
"Careful," she said sharply, adjusting a floral arrangement herself. "Those flowers go to the left. Guests will enter from the right."
"Yes, sir," a servant replied, rushing to obey.
This wasn't just a party.
It was his party.
And when Grandma hosted something, it wasn't an event it was a statement.
Ethan came down the stairs, taking in the transformation with mild surprise. "Did I miss a memo," he said casually, "or did our house suddenly decide to become a palace?"
Grandpaa turned slowly and looked at him over her glasses.
"If you don't fix your habit of arriving late," she said coolly, "you might miss more than just memos."
Ethan smirked. "Who are we impressing tonight?"
She smiled then but it wasn't gentle.
"Everyone who matters," she replied. "And a few people who will."
Ethan felt it.
That subtle shift in the air.
The kind that meant this party wasn't about celebration.
It was about purpose.
By evening, the house came alive.
Cars lined the driveway. Laughter floated in through open doors. Expensive perfume mixed with polite smiles as guests began arriving one by one business partners, old acquaintances, people who knew names more than stories.
Ethan stood near the entrance with Marcus, both dressed perfectly and mentally checked out.
"Smile," Marcus muttered. "You're representing three generations of legacy."
Ethan leaned closer. "I'd rather represent a bar tab."
Marcus snorted. "Two hours ago you were complaining about the club noise."
"Yes," Ethan replied dryly. "But at least there, people pretend they're having fun."
A middle-aged man approached, shaking Ethan's hand enthusiastically. Compliments were exchanged. Numbers mentioned. Promises hinted.
The man left.
Ethan exhaled. "That took energy I didn't consent to give."
Marcus scanned the room. "Welcome to adulthood."
Ethan's eyes drifted across the polished hall crystal glasses, forced laughter, conversations that started and ended with profit. His mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
Normally, by this hour, he'd be under flashing lights. Music too loud. Drinks too strong. No expectations beyond the next moment.
Now here he was standing straight, nodding politely, making connections.
"What a thrilling night," he muttered. "I could be at a club right now."
Marcus smirked. "You could also be grounded by your grandfather."
"Tragic," Ethan said. "I've been reduced to networking."
Another guest waved. Ethan lifted his glass in acknowledgment, his smile automatic.
"This is punishment," he added quietly. "For crimes I don't remember committing."
Marcus chuckled. "At least try to look interested."
Ethan took a slow sip of his drink, eyes drifting toward the crowd again.
Same house.
Same name.
Different life.
And for the first time that evening, the thought crossed his mind uninvited and uncomfortable
That boredom, it seemed, was becoming a theme he couldn't escape.
The music softened.
Not stopped just lowered enough to demand attention.
Ethan noticed the shift immediately. Conversations slowed. Glasses paused mid-air. Even Marcus straightened beside him.
At the center of the room, Ethan's grandfather stepped forward, cane in hand.
That alone was enough to quiet the hall.
"I won't take much of your time," the old man said calmly.
Ethan frowned.
That sentence never meant anything good.
"I've spent my life believing in preparation," his grandfather continued. "In legacy. In decisions made before chaos can interfere."
A few guests nodded knowingly.
Ethan leaned toward Marcus. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm about to be adopted… or disowned?"
Marcus whispered back, "Smile. This is how ambushes begin."
The old man's gaze swept the room and then landed squarely on Ethan.
Ethan's smile stiffened.
"There comes a time," his grandfather said, "when enjoyment must give way to responsibility."
A murmur rippled through the guests.
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"And tonight," the old man continued, voice steady, "is about such a time."
Silence fell completely.
Ethan felt it then that subtle pull, like the floor shifting beneath him.
"This family," his grandfather said, "has reached an understanding with another."
A woman near the front smiled.
A man adjusted his cufflinks.
Ethan's pulse spiked.
"With a family that values stability, strength, and future."
Marcus slowly turned his head. "Oh no."
The old man lifted his chin.
"It is my pleasure to announce the engagement of my grandson—Ethan Blackwood—to Miss Isabella Hartman, daughter of Richard Hartman, CEO of Hartman Holdings."
The room erupted.
Applause. Congratulations. Smiles.
Ethan stood frozen.
Isabella stepped forward gracefully tall, elegant, composed in a soft champagne-colored dress. Her smile was practiced, perfect, and entirely unfamiliar.
She met Ethan's eyes.
And smiled wider.
Ethan leaned toward Marcus, his voice barely moving. "I've never seen her before."
Marcus didn't look away from the applause. "Congratulations. You're engaged to a stranger."
His grandfather turned toward Ethan expectantly.
Ethan forced a smile, lifted his glass, and nodded once for the crowd.
The applause grew louder.
Inside, everything went quiet.
An engagement.
A future.
A plan made without him.
And somewhere across the city, a woman sat alone with a truth that no announcement could erase.
Ethan took a sip of his drink, the taste suddenly bitter.
What a perfectly boring night, he thought.
And for the first time that evening, boredom felt dangerous.
The applause slowly faded, but the noise inside Ethan's head didn't.
He was still holding his glass when Isabella Hartman approached him, heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Up close, she was undeniably beautiful perfect posture, flawless smile, eyes trained carefully on his face.
"Ethan," she said warmly, as if the name already belonged to her. "I suppose congratulations are in order."
He blinked once. "I suppose they are."
She laughed a little too quickly. "This is… unexpected. But exciting, isn't it?"
"Unexpected," Ethan repeated. "Yes."
She ignored the hesitation, stepping closer. "My father has spoken so highly of you. Strong. Visionary. Very… independent."
Ethan nodded politely. "That's one word for it."
She smiled again, tighter this time. "I'm glad our families finally decided to stop waiting. These things take time, but timing is everything, don't you think?"
"Is it?" Ethan asked calmly.
Isabella clasped her hands together, clearly nervous. "I've always believed relationships work best when there's structure. Understanding. Commitment."
She looked at him expectantly.
Ethan offered a neutral smile. "You believe that?"
"Yes," she said quickly. "I mean—of course. Love can grow later. Stability comes first."
That made him pause.
"Love can grow later," he repeated.
She laughed again, softer now. "That's how these things usually work, right? We're sensible people."
Ethan took a slow sip of his drink. "Some people might call that… optimistic."
Her smile faltered for half a second.
"I know this might feel sudden," she continued, voice dropping slightly, "but I'm very adaptable. I don't ask for much. I just want this to work."
There it was.
Need.
Not affection.
Not confidence.
Need.
"I'll do my part," she added quickly. "Whatever you need. Space. Time. Rules."
Ethan lowered his glass. "That's generous."
She leaned in a little, hopeful. "So… dinner tomorrow? We should start somewhere."
He hesitated—not long, just enough to be noticed.
"We'll see," he said.
The word hit her harder than rejection.
"Oh," she said softly, recovering too fast. "Of course. You must be overwhelmed."
She smiled again, but this time it didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm really looking forward to getting to know you," she said. "I think we could be very… good together."
Ethan watched her walk away, the elegance returning the moment her back was turned.
Marcus appeared at his side instantly.
"She's nervous," Marcus murmured. "And very invested."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "That makes one of us."
He glanced back at Isabella—laughing now, perfectly composed for the guests.
Desperation hidden behind polish.
And for reasons he couldn't explain, that unsettled him more than the engagement itself.
________
The house finally fell quiet.
Guests were gone. Music silenced. Lights dimmed. What remained was exhaustion dressed up as elegance.
Ethan stood outside his grandfather's room for a moment, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Then he knocked—once—and walked in without waiting.
His grandfather sat on the edge of the bed, jacket off, cane resting nearby, glasses in hand. He looked older here. Smaller. Less like the man who commanded rooms.
"You made a decision without asking me," Ethan said immediately.
His grandfather didn't look up. "Sit."
Ethan didn't. "You announced my engagement like it was a quarterly report."
His grandfather sighed and finally raised his eyes. "And you would have said no if I had asked."
"That's not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
Ethan ran a hand through his hair. "You can't plan my life for me."
His grandfather smiled faintly. "I already did. I just forgot to tell you."
Ethan scoffed. "This isn't funny."
"No," the old man agreed quietly. "It isn't."
He reached for his cane, not to stand—just to hold it. "Do you know how many days I have left, Ethan?"
Ethan froze. "Don't."
"I don't know either," his grandfather continued calmly. "That's the problem."
The room shifted.
"I've built companies. Protected names. Watched generations grow up," he said. "And now all I want—just once—is to play with my grandchildren."
Ethan blinked. "That's emotional manipulation."
"Yes," his grandfather replied. "I learned from the best."
Despite himself, Ethan let out a short laugh. "You ambushed me with an engagement."
"Because if I had asked nicely," the old man said, "you would have smiled nicely and continued going to clubs."
Ethan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
His grandfather tilted his head. "Don't pretend I'm wrong."
Silence.
Then the old man added casually, "Besides, if you've already found a girl for yourself, I have no issue."
Ethan stiffened. "What?"
"I'm not unreasonable," his grandfather said. "Bring her. Introduce her. Give me grandchildren from love instead of contracts."
Ethan groaned. "You make it sound so easy."
His grandfather smirked. "At my age, everything sounds easy. Even chasing toddlers."
Ethan shook his head. "You're impossible."
"And you," his grandfather said softly, "are stubborn because you care."
That did it.
Ethan's shoulders dropped. Just slightly.
"You know I can't argue with you," he muttered.
His grandfather smiled—not victorious, just content. "I know."
Ethan stepped forward and kissed his forehead lightly, the way he had since he was a boy. "You play dirty."
"I play for keeps," the old man replied.
Ethan turned toward the door, defeated but smiling.
Behind him, his grandfather's voice followed gently:
"Don't wait too long, Ethan. Some joys don't reschedule."
Ethan paused.
Then nodded once and left the room knowing he'd lost the argument.
And willingly so.