Chapter 7

(Owen’s POV)

The sharp buzz of my alarm clock echoed through my penthouse suite, pulling me out of my restless sleep. I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face before sitting up. Another day, another mountain of responsibilities. I swung my legs off the bed and stood, my movements precise and efficient, honed by years of running a business empire.

After a quick shower, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of my impeccably tailored suit. My reflection stared back at me, sharp and composed, but my mind was anything but steady. 

I let out a soft sigh, my fingers lingering on the cufflinks…a gift from my late mother when I first wore a suit. They were understated yet elegant, just like her. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, willing myself to focus. 

I grabbed my tablet and headed for the kitchen, where my housekeeper had laid out my usual breakfast, black coffee and a protein smoothie. I took a sip of the smoothie, my eyes scanning the news headlines on the tablet, but my focus kept slipping.

My father’s words from the previous day echoed in my mind.

"This marriage is my last wish" The words felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I sighed, setting the tablet down and pinching the bridge of my nose. 

"Marriage!" I muttered under my breath, the word tasting bitter. 

I shook my head, grabbing my coffee as I walked to the elevator. The doors closed, and the silence of the confined space only amplified my thoughts.

“Owen. I need you to do this…for me and for the family" I clenched my jaw while thinking about those words.

‘Marrying someone I don’t love… it feels like too much.’

Yet, even as the thought crossed my mind, another emotion crept in…a deep, ingrained sense of duty. It was the same feeling that had driven me to take over the family business at a young age, to be the rock my brothers could lean on even if they didn’t always realize it.

By the time I arrived at my office in the towering Skylar Enterprises building, my expression was back to its usual impassive mask. 

Sitting at my desk, I leaned back in my chair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city skyline. A part of me understood my father’s desperation. I just couldn’t shake the resentment of being forced into something so... absurd.

My thoughts drifted to Aurora, the girl my father had chosen. I didn’t know much about her…only that she was ordinary by our world’s standards.

‘Why her? What makes her so special that Dad believes she can fix us?’

The intercom buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

“Mr. Skylar, your 10 a.m. meeting is starting” My assistant’s voice came through.

“On my way” I replied, straightening my tie and grabbing my laptop.

As the day went on, I fell into my usual rhythm…meetings, calls, decisions. My mind was sharp, my demeanor composed, yet the nagging thought of the impending marriage refused to leave.

During a rare lull in my schedule, I found myself staring at my father’s photo on the wall of my office. The older man’s expression in the picture was one of pride and determination.

“This is our lives…My life” I muttered.

But even as I spoke, I felt the weight of my father’s illness press down on me. How could I refuse? How could any of us?

By the time the day ended, I was exhausted…not from work, but from the constant churn of thoughts in my mind. As I returned to my penthouse, the city was bathed in the warm glow of evening lights. I poured myself a glass of scotch and stood by the window, gazing out at the bustling streets below.

The idea of this marriage still felt like a knife to my sense of control, a reminder that even someone as composed and authoritative as me couldn’t always dictate the terms of my life.

Yet, beneath the frustration, there was a faint but undeniable thread of affection…an unsaid love for my family, for my father. That love was why I had agreed. It was why I would stand at the altar for a girl I didn’t know and make vows I wasn’t sure I believed in.

‘For my father… For my family’ I took a slow sip of my scotch, the warmth spreading through my chest.

‘This isn’t about me’ I thought. ‘It’s never been about me. And maybe that’s okay.’

For now, I would do what was expected of me. What I had always done…shoulder the burden for the sake of others. Even if it meant marrying a…stranger.

(Ryan’s POV)

The sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, illuminating the sleek, modern furniture and the subtle chaos of my workspace. Papers, prototypes, and a tablet were scattered across my dining table…testaments to the demands of running my own enterprise.

I emerged from my bedroom, still dressed in my nightshirt and joggers, my hair slightly disheveled. I carried a mug of coffee to the table and sat down, staring at my tablet’s screen as if the emails and notifications would magically disappear if I glared at them long enough.

I sipped my coffee, the bitter taste grounding me momentarily. But the reprieve was brief. My mind wandered back to the conversation with my father the day before.

"This marriage isn’t just for me…it’s for this family”.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. Marriage? Me? To a stranger? The thought gnawed at me, uncomfortable and alien. Despite my outward success, relationships both familial and romantic had always been my Achilles’ heel.

While thinking about all this, I got ready and arrived at my office which is in one of the city’s most sought-after business districts. My sleek sports car drew admiring glances as I pulled into my reserved spot. Inside, my team greeted me with the usual respect, but I could sense their excitement for the day’s meeting with potential investors.

I buried myself in work, pouring over contracts and fine-tuning my pitch. My company was my life…a testament to my independence and ambition. I had built it from the ground up, stepping out of the shadow of my family’s empire.

But even as I worked, my thoughts kept drifting back to the idea of marriage.

‘I can barely keep a friendship alive, let alone a relationship’, I thought bitterly, recalling the few attempts I had made at love. Each had ended in disappointment, my emotional walls too high for anyone to scale.

And now, my father expected me to commit to a girl I didn’t know, someone who was supposed to become a part of my already complicated life.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the polished ceiling of my office. 

“This is insane” I muttered under my breath.

By late afternoon, I found himself on the rooftop terrace of my building, the city sprawling out before me. The cool breeze ruffled my hair as I leaned on the railing, my hands gripping the cold metal.

Despite my material success, there was an emptiness I couldn’t ignore. My relationships with my brothers were distant, my connection with my father strained, and my romantic life nonexistent.

‘I’ve never been good at this. At letting people in. At being a brother, a son… a partner.’

My father’s words echoed in my mind. 

“You’ve built a lot, Ryan, but some things can’t be built with money or power. This family needs more than that” I scoffed, shaking my head. 

“And a marriage is supposed to fix all of that? What a joke”.

Yet, as much as I hated to admit it, I felt a twinge of guilt. My father’s health was failing, and I knew I would regret not doing what my father asked.

With a heavy sigh, I took out my phone, scrolling mindlessly through my emails and social media, trying to distract myself. But then I paused on a family photo…a rare moment when my brothers and I had been together, standing stiffly beside our father.

Even in the photo, we looked disconnected, each of us in our own world.

After a few seconds, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and left the place. 

Late at night, I sat in my dimly lit living room, a glass of bourbon in hand. The luxury of my surroundings felt hollow as I stared out at the city lights.

‘I’ve always done things on my terms. Built my life my way. But this…’ I exhaled deeply, shaking my head.

I took a sip of my drink, the warmth spreading through my chest.

‘For Dad’ I thought. ‘I’ll do it for him. But this doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone break down my walls…Not Aurora, not anyone.’