Morning arrived with a quiet kind of authority.
Sunlight streamed boldly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Hawthorne estate, spilling gold across polished marble floors and illuminating walls adorned with portraits of men who had built empires from nothing but calculation and nerve.
The Hawthornes were not simply wealthy.
They were legendary.
In business circles across continents, the name Hawthorne Consortium was spoken with a mixture of admiration and fear. Shipping, energy, technology acquisitions, international investments.....if it generated power, the Hawthornes had touched it.
And at the center of that rising dynasty stood the next heir.
Khaos Hawthorne.
He adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit as he stepped out of his bedroom. The fabric fit him flawlessly, accentuating a broad frame built not only from disciplined gym routines but from confidence carved over years of expectation.
His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw sharp, his expression composed in a way that suggested control came as naturally to him as breathing.
He descended the grand staircase with unhurried steps, the muted echo of polished leather shoes tapping against marble announcing his presence before he spoke.
The dining hall below was already alive.
The long mahogany table gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier that refracted morning light into fragments of brilliance. Silver cutlery was arranged with precision. Porcelain plates bore the Hawthorne crest.
His mother, Eleanor Hawthorne, sat elegantly at the head's right side, dressed in a soft cream silk blouse. Her posture was perfect, her smile warm the moment she noticed him.
"Good morning, Khaos," she said, her eyes softening.
"Morning, Mother."
At the far end of the table sat his father, Victor Hawthorne, flipping through financial reports on a tablet. Victor was a man of few words, his authority quiet but immovable.
"Morning," Khaos greeted him.
Victor nodded once. "You're early."
"I prefer it that way."
At the table's head sat the true monarch of the family.
Grandpa Edward Hawthorne.
His silver hair was combed back neatly, his suit immaculate despite the walking stick resting beside him. His presence alone carried decades of dominance in boardrooms across the globe. When Edward Hawthorne spoke, markets shifted.
Charles inclined his head slightly. "Grandfather."
Edward regarded him with sharp, assessing eyes. "You look prepared."
"I always am."
A soft snort came from the left.
Leonard Hawthorne....Khaos' cousin, sat slouched in his chair, dark sunglasses shielding bloodshot eyes from the brightness. He held a glass of water as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
"Prepared," Leonard muttered under his breath.
Khaos' sister, Vivienne Hawthorne, elegant and poised in a pale blue dress, shot Leonard a warning glance.
"Good morning, Khaos," Vivienne said smoothly.
"And to you."
Eleanor stood slightly. "Breakfast is ready. Sit down, darling."
"I can't, Mother," Khaos replied, checking the time on his wristwatch. "I have an early meeting at the headquarters. It's already late."
"Nonsense," Eleanor said immediately, moving toward him with maternal insistence. "You cannot run an empire on an empty stomach."
"It's just one morning."
Before she could argue further....
Thud.
Edward's walking stick struck the marble floor.
The sharp sound echoed through the dining hall like a judge's gavel.
Khaos paused and turned toward his grandfather.
Edward's gaze locked onto his grandson's with deliberate intensity.
"Sit," he said calmly.
It was not loud.
It did not need to be.
Khaos held his stare for a second before nodding once and taking his seat at the table.
Servants moved swiftly, placing plates of eggs, toast, grilled tomatoes, and freshly brewed coffee before each member of the family. The clink of cutlery filled the brief silence.
Edward waited until everyone was seated.
Then he spoke.
"It is time."
Victor lowered his tablet.
Eleanor stilled.
Vivienne's fork hovered mid-air.
Khaos took a sip of coffee. "Time for what, Grandfather?"
Edward leaned back slightly, resting both hands over the head of his walking stick.
"It is time for you to get married."
The words settled over the table like a slow, spreading storm.
Khaos blinked once.
Then he laughed.
Not mockingly. Not angrily.
Simply amused.
"I'm afraid I do not currently have a bride in mind," he said lightly.
"You do not need one," Edward replied.
Leonard choked on his water.
A spray of liquid escaped as he coughed violently. "Don't need one?" he croaked before a laugh slipped out. "This should be interesting."
Edward's gaze shifted toward him sharply.
Leonard straightened instantly, wiping his mouth. "Apologies, Grandfather."
Silence returned.
Khaos leaned back in his chair, folding one arm over the other. "I assume this is not a suggestion."
"It is not," Edward confirmed. "The wedding will take place in two weeks."
Eleanor's hand flew to her chest. "Two weeks?"
Victor frowned slightly. "Father…"
"You need not concern yourself with the details," Edward interrupted smoothly. "The arrangements have already begun."
Khaos' expression changed subtly. The humor faded, replaced with cool calculation.
"And who," he asked slowly, "is the lucky lady?"
Edward's lips curved faintly.
"You should not worry about that. I have already selected a suitable bride."
Leonard made a strangled sound that suspiciously resembled another laugh, but he quickly disguised it by clearing his throat when Edward's gaze flicked toward him again.
Vivienne looked between them. "Grandfather… Khaos deserves to at least know her name."
Edward stood.
The scrape of his chair against marble echoed loudly.
"What Khaos deserves," he said evenly, "is to protect the Hawthorne legacy. This marriage ensures that."
Victor's jaw tightened. "Is this about the partnership?"
Edward's eyes gleamed.
"I have spoken enough," he declared. "The matter is settled."
And with that, he turned and walked out of the dining hall, his walking stick tapping rhythmically against the floor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The silence left behind felt heavier than before.
Eleanor looked around the table slowly. "Does anyone know the girl's name?"
Vivienne shook her head.
Victor exhaled deeply. "Grandfather moves ten steps ahead of everyone."
Leonard leaned back in his chair with a crooked grin. "Well, cousin," he said to Khaos, "looks like you're getting a wife."
Khaos did not respond immediately.
His eyes had darkened slightly, the calm surface concealing something far more strategic underneath.
"Two weeks," he murmured.
And then he stood.
"I will head to the office," he said simply before walking out.
Across the city, morning sunlight bathed the Cuns estate in deceptive serenity.
Penelope sat at her vanity, brushing her long blonde hair carefully as she had done every morning for the past month. The movement was rhythmic, almost meditative.
Since the accident, routine had become her anchor.
She rose early.
She ate on time.
She smiled when required.
She remained quiet.
The girl in the mirror looked composed, but there was something in her eyes that had changed. A watchfulness. A question she had not yet found the courage to voice.
A maid knocked softly.
"Miss Penelope, breakfast is served."
"Thank you."
When Penelope entered the dining room, she immediately sensed the tension.
The round dining table was already occupied.
Desmond Cuns sat upright, fingers laced together.
Janette sat beside him, her face unreadable.
Francesca, however, looked radiant.
Excited.
It was a brightness Penelope had not seen since she had awakened in the hospital a month ago.
"Good morning," Penelope said gently.
"Sit," Desmond replied.
She obeyed, her gaze flickering briefly to Francesca, who was practically glowing.
What was she so pleased about?
Desmond cleared his throat.
"I have something important to discuss."
The air seemed to thin.
Penelope folded her hands in her lap.
Francesca's lips curved in anticipation.
Desmond inhaled slowly.
"You are aware," he began carefully, "that our family has been negotiating a major alliance. One that would secure our position for decades."
Penelope nodded faintly.
"This alliance," he continued, "requires a marriage."
The word struck her chest like a muted drumbeat.
Marriage.
Janette's eyes shifted briefly toward Francesca.
Penelope followed that glance.
Francesca sat straighter.
Smiling.
Desmond's voice lowered slightly.
"The wedding is set for two weeks from now."
Penelope's pulse quickened.
"But," he added, his gaze finally locking onto her, "circumstances have changed."
The room felt unbearably quiet.
Francesca's smile faltered for the briefest second.
Desmond continued.
"The intended bride… will not be fulfilling her obligation."
Janette's fingers tightened against the tablecloth.
Penelope's breath caught.
Desmond did not look away from her.
"Therefore," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "you will be taking her place."
The world seemed to tilt.
Francesca's chair scraped slightly against the floor.
Penelope stared at her father, certain she had misheard.
"I…" Her voice was barely audible. "Me?"
"Yes."
Francesca let out a sharp sound that was almost disbelief.
"You agreed to this!" she snapped suddenly.
Janette turned sharply toward her. "Lower your voice."
Penelope's heart pounded violently in her chest.
"But… why?" she whispered.
Desmond's expression hardened.
"Because this marriage secures everything. Our company. Our reputation. Our future."
Her fingers trembled slightly in her lap.
"And if I refuse?" she asked softly.
Silence.
Desmond's eyes turned cold.
"You will not."
The certainty in his tone left no room for argument.
Francesca stood abruptly, anger flashing across her features. "This wasn't the plan."
Janette rose as well. "Enough."
Penelope remained seated.
Still.
Quiet.
The weight of a future she had never imagined settling heavily upon her shoulders.
Two weeks.
She did not even know the name of the man she was meant to marry.
And somewhere across the city, Khaos Hawthorne was already calculating the consequences of a wedding neither of them had chosen.
The collision course had begun.