Damon’s POV

I hated family meetings. They were inefficient, emotionally charged, and almost always meant someone was about to waste my time.

I gripped the steering wheel of the Maybach as I pulled up the winding, tree-lined driveway of my grandfather’s Lake Forest estate. The massive limestone mansion sat like a fortress behind heavy iron gates and private woods. Cold, quiet, isolated. Just the way Arthur Blackwood liked it.

I checked my watch as I cut the engine. 1:15 PM. Grandfather had called an emergency family gathering for 1:00 PM without giving a single damn reason, and every single member of the Blackwood bloodline had jumped to obey.

When I stepped into the grand foyer, the heavy oak doors hadn't even finished closing before a blur of dark hair tackled me around the middle.

“Damon!”

I caught Sienna by the waist before she could knock us both over, letting out a rare, low huff of air. “Careful, squirt. You’re twenty-two, not twelve.”

Sienna pulled back, grinning up at me with bright, energetic eyes. She had just landed back in Chicago yesterday morning.

“How was London?” I asked, unbuttoning my suit jacket.

“Boring. Full of old men in dusty suits,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “And I barely even got to shop because Grandfather summoned everyone back like we were attending a royal court decree. WTF is going on, anyway?”

“No idea,” I said smoothly. “But knowing him, it’s dramatic.”

I walked into the main living room, where Grandfather Arthur was standing by the stone fireplace, holding a crystal glass of scotch. Despite being seventy-eight, the old man still held himself like a military general.

The moment he saw me, he stepped forward and pulled me into a brief, firm hug, clapping a heavy hand against my back.

“You’re late, Damon,” Arthur said, his sharp eyes scanning my face.

“Unexpectedly delayed,” I replied evenly.

I turned toward my older sister, Elena, who was lounging on the velvet sofa with her husband, James. I leaned down and pressed two quick air kisses to her cheeks.

“You look like shit, little brother,” Elena offered casually, taking a sip of her champagne. “Are you sleeping at all, or are you just letting Blackwood Corp consume your entire soul?”

“I’m fine, El,” I said, my voice dry as dust.

“Alright, everyone’s here,” Grandfather Arthur announced, his voice booming through the high-ceilinged room. “Let's head out to the terrace.”

We stepped out onto the sprawling marble terrace overlooking the landscaped gardens. Sitting at the outdoor dining table was my Uncle Gideon. He looked as impeccably groomed as ever in a warm charcoal suit, his silver hair neatly styled.

“Damon,” Gideon smiled warmly, standing up to clap my shoulder and embrace me in a brief, paternal hug. “Good to see you, nephew. You’re working too hard as usual.”

“Someone has to keep the stock price up, Uncle,” I replied, taking a seat across from him.

A white-gloved butler appeared at Arthur’s elbow. “Shall I serve lunch, sir?”

“Not yet, Thomas. Dismissed,” Arthur waved him off.

Once the staff retreated inside, a quiet tension fell over the terrace. I leaned back in my chair, resting my ankles over my knee, and stared at my grandfather.

“Alright, Grandfather,” I said, cutting straight through the pleasantries. “You dragged the entire family here on a Saturday. What’s the play?”

Arthur leaned his hands against the head of the table, his posture stiff. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I called this gathering. I’ve spent the last week reviewing my personal affairs and updating my will.”

Sienna gasped dramatically. “WTF, Grandpa? Please tell me you’re not dying!”

“I am not dying, Sienna, so wipe that ridiculous look off your face,” Arthur grunted. He turned his piercing gaze directly to me. “This is about the future of Blackwood Corp. Damon... you’re twenty-nine years old. You run that company with an iron fist, but you drown yourself in work. You have no balance. You have no personal life.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I run a multi-billion-dollar global conglomerate, Grandfather. I don't have time for 'balance.'”

“You need stability,” Arthur snapped back, hitting his hand against the table. “Real stability. A family. Heritage. A legacy that isn't just numbers on a balance sheet!”

James, who was taking a long sip of sparkling water, suddenly choked, coughing into a napkin. Elena patted his back while rolling her eyes.

I stared at the old man, my chest tightening with immediate suspicion. “What exactly are you saying?”

Arthur looked me dead in the eye, his tone completely flat. “I’m saying you need to get married.”

A heavy beat of silence hung over the terrace. Then, Elena let out a loud, hysterical burst of laughter.

“Oh my god,” Elena wheezed, clutching her stomach. “This is a joke, right? Tell me this is a prank, Grandpa.”

“It is not a joke,” Arthur said, his voice hard as stone. “It is an absolute requirement.”

I sat frozen, an earthquake of frustration erupting beneath my stoic exterior. Married? Is this old man losing his mind?

“Here are my terms, Damon” Arthur continued calmly, completely unbothered by my icy glare. “You have thirty days to enter a legally recognized marriage. And you must stay married for a minimum of one full year.

“A year?” I scoffed, my voice dripping with disbelief. “You expect me to play house for twelve months?”

“I do,” Arthur shot back, his eyes narrowing. “Because I know how your mind works. You would easily marry a random lady tomorrow just to satisfy the paperwork, only to dump her a week later once you get what you want. I won't allow that. You will stay in this marriage for one full year. If you fulfill this condition, my thirty-five percent controlling shares in Blackwood Corp will officially transfer to you on your one-year anniversary.”

My jaw tightened. “And if I refuse this absurd game?”

“If you refuse, or if you fail to get married within thirty days, my controlling shares will bypass you entirely and transfer directly to your Uncle Gideon,” Arthur declared. “Which means you will lose your controlling authority over the board.”

My head snapped toward Gideon.

Uncle Gideon was sipping his red wine, his face a perfectly constructed mask of calm, paternal regret. He gave a subtle, apologetic shrug, but his eyes were completely unreadable.

“Grandpa, come on!” Elena laughed, shaking her head. “You know that’s literally impossible! Damon can’t even hold down a casual relationship for more than a month! How the hell do you expect him to be married in thirty days?”

“I can maintain a relationship,” I fired back at my sister, my voice dangerously low.

“Oh, really?” Elena smirked, raising an eyebrow. “How long did your last thing last? What was her name again? Uh...”

“Bridget,” Sienna volunteered instantly, giggling behind her hand.

“Right! Bridget!” Elena cheered. “How long did that last, Damon? Five days? Six? That has to be a record, even for you.”

“You do have a terrible record, bro,” Sienna added with a playful grin. “It’s like a hard pass for any girl after week two.”

James leaned in, chuckling lightly. “I mean... he could always just marry his secretary. That’d save time.”

The whole table broke out into light chuckles and snickers. They thought it was hilarious. They thought it was a funny family joke.

I sat there, feeling my blood run cold beneath my tailored three-piece suit. They didn't get it. Blackwood Corp was my life. I had built my entire identity on keeping control of that company after my father died. I was not about to let my grandfather’s outdated traditionalist ideals hand my life’s work over to Gideon or anyone else.

“Enough,” Arthur commanded, his voice cutting through the laughter like a blade. The table went silent again.

I slowly uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, fixing my grandfather with an icy, unyielding stare.

“You want a marriage, Grandfather?” I said, my tone smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Fine. I will get married. I will sign the papers, I will play the part, and I will keep your controlling shares right where they belong.”

Arthur didn't flinch. He just raised his glass, taking a slow sip.

“Talk is cheap, Damon,” Arthur said softly. “The clock is ticking. You have thirty days.”