Marry Now Or Prepare My Funeral

The sound of his phone rang sharp and sudden, slicing through the stillness of Damon Cross’s office.

He didn’t look up from the contract he was reviewing—until he saw the name flash on his screen.

“Cedarvale Medical Center.”

His pen dropped.

And he picked up the call urgently.

A second later, he was already on his feet, grabbing his coat.

He rushed to his car, picked up his keys, and drove off.

Damon’s car sped through the sleek iron gates of Cedarvale Medical Center—the luxury private hospital tucked in the heart of East Bridge’s elite district. It wasn’t just any hospital; it was one of the few where the Cross family held major shares. A quiet power move they never flaunted—but everyone in their circle knew.

By the time Damon reached the hospital, his usual cold exterior had cracked. Just slightly. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed, as he stormed through the white hallways with the kind of energy that made nurses get out of the way without being told.

He rushed past the nurses and patients like a man on a mission—like a husband rushing to his wife’s labor room.

He hated hospitals. The beeping machines. The smell of antiseptic. The helplessness.

“Mr. Cross?” a doctor finally approached.

Damon’s eyes snapped to him. “Yes. Damon Cross. Where is my grandfather? What happened?”

The doctor exhaled and led him into his office to explain. “He fainted due to a seizure triggered by swelling in his brain. We ran a scan—it’s a tumor. But the good news is, it’s still early. It’s operable. But we have to act fast.”

Damon’s breath caught.

“How long?” he asked.

“If we don’t operate soon… maybe six months. After that, anything can happen.”

Silence.

Six months.

The idea of losing the one person who raised him—who believed in him before anyone else—was a blow Damon hadn’t braced for. He rubbed a hand down his face.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor said, gesturing toward the ward. “Private room. Room 312.”

—

Damon sat by his grandfather’s bedside, staring at the pale old man who once seemed invincible.

CrossLux was his grandfather’s legacy. The company, the name, the empire—it was built brick by brick, with sweat and stubborn pride. His grandfather had come from a poor, humble background, but he fought his way up and built CrossLux on his own.

“Don’t you dare leave me now, old man,” Damon muttered under his breath, gripping the wrinkled hand in his. “Not you. Not when I still need you. Not when I never even said—just don’t you dare, old man. You know I don’t have anyone except you. If you die, I won’t forgive you.”

A cough.

Damon’s head jerked up.

His grandfather blinked slowly. “You little raccoon. Did you cry?”

Damon actually laughed—soft and hoarse. “No. How could I cry? Me? The cold and almighty Damon? I didn’t cry. My face just looks like this because I ran here. From the office.”

“Hmm. That explains the hair.” The old man shifted on the bed, winced, and then looked up at his grandson. “You’re still too skinny. Women don’t like skeletons in suits, you know.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. You’re the only one who sees me as skinny, and that’s because you’re old and don’t know the new trend. This is the trend now. I’m a very handsome man, in case you didn’t know, old man.”

The grandfather murmured, “Handsome without a woman.”

The doctor entered a few minutes later, explaining everything in calm, clinical terms. Then he handed over a clipboard. “If you’d like us to prep him for surgery, we’ll need consent.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Damon said and turned to his grandfather, ready to help him sign.

But the old man pushed the clipboard away.

“No.”

“No?” Damon blinked. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no surgery. Not until you give me what I want.”

“What, a beach house in Maui?” Damon snorted. “Done.”

The man shook his head.

“Oooh, the village you asked me to accompany you to? Done. Grandfather, let’s go there whenever you’re ready,” Damon said, smiling.

“No. A wife.”

Damon choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” his grandfather said with the serene smugness of a man holding his grandson’s entire emotional life hostage. “You’re thirty. Over thirty, in fact. All you care about is CrossLux, meetings, business over business, making more money out of money, your fancy suits, and your overpriced espresso. But you’re alone. Still alone. Do you want me to die with no great-grandchild?”

“Grandfather, I don’t do—”

“I don’t care what you do. But if you want me on that surgery table, I want a wedding.”

Damon leaned forward. “I’m not even dating anyone.”

“Then you better start speed-dating. Or propose to your secretary. I don’t care how you do it—just give me a bride. And a lot of great-grandchildren.”

Damon exhaled slowly. “I run an international company, not a matchmaking service.”

“And yet somehow, you can negotiate ten-million-dollar deals, but you can’t find a decent woman to bring home? Just tell me, are you scared to approach a woman? If yes, I will fix one for you. This old man still has good eyes when it comes to selecting women.”

Damon scowled. “Nooo, what good will you choose for me with those over-wrinkled eyes? Grandfather, you need to understand—love is a scam. Love ties an ambitious man down.”

“No, I disagree with you. Behind many successful men is a woman—caring and helping them in their decisions. I also got married to your pretty grandmother. That’s how we had your father, and he got married and had you. If not for the fire incident that took them away those years ago…” His voice faded, eyes teary now.

Damon stood. “Old Mr. Cross, so in one word—you won’t get your surgery done unless I get married?”

Old Mr. Cross sat up, resting his back against the headboard. “Yes, young Mr. Cross. No love, no marriage equals no surgery and no more Grandpa,” he said with a shrug. “Now choose. Marry someone—or start preparing my funeral. I want lilies.”

Damon replied, “You’re ridiculous. You’re fantastic. No wonder you became one of the biggest businessmen in your time. You know what to bargain with. I think you would’ve made it as a lawyer, too—no one wins against you in an agreement.”

Grandfather replied, “I’m dying. I get to be ridiculous.”

Damon: “Alright, my old man. Let me go home and prepare you some soup. At least, since I don’t have a wife yet, I should be able to do that. But don’t worry, I’ll put your words into consideration. I’ll marry for you,” he said as he left the room.

—

Later, outside the hospital, Damon sat in his car, staring at the steering wheel like it could offer him answers.

Marriage?

Him?

He scoffed.

Women loved his money, his status, his power—but none of that ever felt real. None of them ever got close enough. And he liked it that way.

But now…?

His grandfather was the only person he had left. The only family he had.

He couldn’t lose him.

Not yet.

Damon looked up at the moon and muttered, “Fine. You want a bride? You’ll get a bride.”

A cold smile touched his lips.

“But you didn’t say I had to love her.”