Chapter 7-BLOOD TIES

“Who does she think she is to keep us waiting almost an hour?” Christine’s voice cracked through the conference room where her family members all sat. “She sets the date and time and still manages to keep us waiting!”

“I think she would show up mother, you need to calm down” Louis muttered, his jaw tight. His gaze shifted to the empty head chair, the one that used to belong to their father. Now it sat waiting-for her.

Grant leaned back in his seat, arms folded, expression unreadable. But the slight twitch in his jaw betrayed him. He hadn’t wanted to come. He hadn’t wanted to be trapped in this room with his family-waiting for the ghost of his past to walk in and prove how alive she truly was.

He looked at every face along the long table. There were his uncles and aunties and close family lawyers, all expectant- hoping Scarlett was bringing good news. But how good would the news really be for the company if she had a child for Grant but was not willing to involve herself anymore?

“Frankly,” Uncle Harold broke the silence, clearing his throat, “if Scarlett is willing to acknowledge her child  as Grant’s, that alone could stabilize the family’s position. Shareholders care about heirs, not emotions.”

Aunt Victoria clicked her tongue. “Don’t be naïve, Harold. That girl doesn’t do anything halfway. If she comes, she comes with conditions. The question is, will we meet them? Or will she use that child to hold us hostage?”

Grant’s jaw tightened. He hated the way they spoke about Scarlett, as though she were a bargaining chip instead of a woman, instead of-

He cut the thought short.

“She wouldn’t dare undermine the legacy?,” another uncle said gruffly, though doubt lingered in his tone. “She knows what this family name represents.”

Grant almost laughed. Clearly, his family were still delusional about Scarlett, she was no longer the woman from the past and they didn’t want to believe that.

The door swung open.

And just like that, silence engulfed the room.

Scarlett walked inside, heels clicking against the granite floor like a drumbeat. She didn’t just walk into the room, she claimed it.

Christine’s lips curled “Finally “

Scarlett’s gaze sliced through her former mother in law as she took seat at the head of the table “Traffic “

She smiled faintly, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Shall we begin?”

Grant sat stiffly opposite her. She could feel his gaze drilling into her forehead, heavy and relentless, but she refused to look his way. Her chin lifted, her nose in the air. He was studying her-every shift of her expression, every polished edge of her presence-trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he had once discarded. Let him. She had changed. And the very fact that he noticed only fueled the quiet pride blooming in her chest.

The meeting began with polite formalities, legal talk, and cautious pleasantries, but the undercurrent was sharp as broken glass. Everyone around the long table-uncles, aunts, lawyers, the ever-simmering Christine-was waiting for the truth they were too afraid to voice outright.

They spoke of past Ashbourne ventures, of minor disputes that had occurred while she was still married into the family. A lawsuit over property rights. A questionable merger with a European partner. Her name had appeared on the contracts back then, and now the lawyers asked if she had ever been aware of certain decisions.

Scarlett answered smoothly, every word clean, polished, untouchable. She knew what they were doing. They weren’t here for clarifications-they were circling, probing, searching for cracks.

Christine leaned forward, her tone cool but sharp. “You were once part of this family, Scarlett. With that came certain responsibilities. We simply need to confirm that you no longer hold any information that could compromise the Ashbourne name.”

Scarlett tilted her head, her faint smile unwavering. “If you’re asking whether I intend to drag skeletons out of your closets, don’t worry. I don’t need your ghosts. I’ve built enough of my own empire without them.”

Some of the uncles shifted uncomfortably. A few aunts exchanged quick looks. Scarlett’s poise unsettled them, more than they wanted to admit.

But then one of the older women-Grant’s Aunt Eleanor-spoke up, her voice deceptively light. “Of course, we understand, dear. But while we’re on the subject of family responsibilities…” she paused, folding her hands with false innocence, “…we’ve heard whispers. Do you, by chance, have children?”

The question fell like a blade disguised as a feather.

Scarlett’s fingers tightened slightly on the table, though her expression did not falter. For the briefest second, she felt Grant’s stare intensify, his body going rigid across from her. Christine sat perfectly still, as though the answer might shatter her.

Scarlett leaned back in her chair, her smile sharpening into something colder, controlled. “Yes,” she said at last. Her voice was steady, almost serene. “I do.”

She continued, staring directly into Grant’s eyes “And since you all seem to crave certainty more than dignity, let me spare you the speculation. He is Grant’s son. I was pregnant when you all decided you didn’t need me anymore.”

Grant’s chest seized. The words hit harder than any punch he'd ever thrown. His heart thundered in his ears, but he forced himself to stay still, even as every fiber in him strained to speak, to demand, to beg. “My son?-“

Scarlett didn’t give him the chance. She leaned forward slightly, her voice low but merciless. “But hear me well: you will never see him. You will never know him. You will never place your chains on him the way you tried with me. My son is mine-and mine alone.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, filled with shock, fury, and something Grant could only name as loss.

Scarlett rose smoothly to her feet, sliding her chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. “That will be all, I believe.” Her faint smile returned, polished and untouchable. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

And with that, she turned and walked out, her heels striking the floor like a gavel delivering its final judgment.

Behind her, the family sat frozen in disbelief, as though they had just looked into Medusa’s eyes.

Only Grant moved. His lips parted, the words breaking from him in a ragged whisper no one could mistake, no one could unhear.

“My son.”