Chapter Seven: The Heir Clause

Ethan Blackwell's POV

The door clicked shut behind Sophia Hart.

For several seconds, I stared at it. She had said no.

The thought replayed in my head with irritating persistence. No. Such a simple word. Two letters. One syllable. Yet somehow, it felt more shocking than any boardroom defeat I had ever experienced. I leaned back in my chair and loosened my tie.

Across from me, Dante Romano watched with poorly concealed amusement.

"Well," he said, rocking his chair backward, "that was painful to watch."

"Shut up." His grin widened.

"You know, for a billionaire genius, you're surprisingly terrible at proposing marriage."

"I wasn't proposing."

Dante laughed. "Exactly my point."

I shot him a look. He ignored it.

"You approached the whole thing like you were negotiating a merger."

"It is a contract."

"No," he said, leaning forward. "It's a woman."

I rubbed my temples. The conversation was already exhausting.

"Women generally prefer flowers, compliments, and some indication that you actually like them."

"I didn't ask for dating advice."

"You desperately need dating advice."

I considered throwing something at him.

Instead, I opened the top drawer of my desk and removed a thick file. The amusement vanished from Dante's face the moment he saw it. The Blackwell inheritance documents. The source of every problem in my life.

I dropped the file onto the desk. The papers looked harmless. They weren't.

My grandfather had made sure of that.

Even from the grave, he still controlled my future.

Dante's expression softened. "You're thinking about the will again."

"I don't have much choice." I opened the file.

The familiar words stared back at me. The conditions hadn't changed. They never would. To inherit sixty-five percent of Blackwell Enterprises, I had to be legally married before my thirtieth birthday. Not engaged. Not dating. Married.

A legitimate marriage recognized by law.

Failure to meet that condition meant control of the company would pass elsewhere. Specifically to Penelope. My stepmother.

The thought alone made my jaw tighten.

Penelope Blackwell. The woman who had somehow appeared in my father's life two weeks after my mother's funeral. Two weeks. My mother had barely been buried before Penelope moved into the house.

I was sixteen years old. Old enough to understand exactly what had happened.

Old enough to hate her for it. And old enough to watch my father pretend everything was normal.

My fingers tightened around the papers.

Even now, years later, the memory still had the power to infuriate me.

My mother had died in a car accident. One moment she had existed. The next she was gone. Everything after that had been chaos. Pain. Loss. Silence.

The realization that people could disappear without warning. And then Penelope arrived. Perfect. Polished. Smiling. As if she belonged there. As if my mother had never existed.

No. I couldn't let her win. Not after everything. Not after spending years building Blackwell Enterprises into what it was today.

Dante broke the silence. "You know why your grandfather did this."

I looked up. "Do I?"

"He wanted stability." "He wanted control." "Maybe."

Dante shrugged. "Or maybe he believed marriage would make you less insufferable."

I wasn't in the mood for jokes.

Dante sighed. "Look, whether you agree with him or not, the reality is simple."

His expression became serious. "You have three months."

I already knew that. Eleven weeks and four days. Not that I was counting. The company lawyer certainly was. The estate lawyer even more so. Both men had made it abundantly clear that they would monitor every step.

If I failed to comply with the conditions, the transfer of power would happen immediately. No extensions. No negotiations. No exceptions.

For the first time in years, there was a situation I couldn't solve with money. And I hated it.

"What if she says no again?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

Dante raised an eyebrow. "You're worried."

I glared at him. "Answer the question."

He leaned back. "If Sophia says no, you're in trouble."

That wasn't helpful. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

For once, there wasn't a trace of humor in his voice.

Dante folded his arms. "Think about it."

I didn't need to.

I already had. Sophia was the obvious choice. She had worked for me for three years. Everyone in the company knew her. Trusted her. Respected her. They had seen us together countless times. At meetings. Business dinners. Corporate events. And most recently, the Christmas gala.

A public appearance that now looked remarkably useful. If I announced we had been secretly dating, most people would believe it. The story made sense. At least on paper.

The problem was Sophia herself. I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Images of her drifted through my mind.

The way she quietly handled impossible workloads. The midnight emails she always answered. The projects she completed without complaint. The loyalty. Patience. Resilience. Any other employee would have quit years ago. Sophia stayed.

Even when I gave her every reason not to.

The realization made something uncomfortable stir inside my chest. I ignored it.

Dante stood. "You're overthinking."

"I don't overthink."

"You absolutely do."

I rolled my eyes. He laughed.

Then his expression grew serious once more. "If Sophia refuses again, start preparing your retirement speech."

I frowned. "What?"

"The board loves her." It was true. "Employees love her." Also true. "Investors trust her." Unfortunately it's true.

Dante smirked. "If Penelope gets control, she'll throw you out the front door before the ink dries."

I sank further into my chair. The image was disturbingly easy to picture. Penelope had been waiting years for this opportunity.

Years.

All she needed was for me to fail. And for the first time in my life, failure felt dangerously possible.

Dante moved toward the door. "Go after Sophia."

I didn't answer. He paused.

"I'm serious." Then he left.

Silence settled over the office. I stared out at the city skyline. Millions of lights stretched endlessly into the darkness. The empire I had spent years building. The company I had sacrificed everything for.

And now my future depended on one woman.

A woman who couldn't stand me. The irony wasn't lost on me. I checked the time.

It's almost eleven o'clock. The city outside continued moving. Cars. People. Lives. None of them are aware that the future of Blackwell Enterprises hangs by a thread. My phone vibrated. Unknown number. I ignored it.

A few seconds later, it rang again. I frowned. Then again. Something made me pick it up.

"Yes?"

Silence. Then a voice. Soft. Uncertain. Shaking.

"S-Sir?" Sophia.

I sat up immediately. "Go ahead."

Another pause. I could practically hear her gathering courage. "Your offer."

My pulse slowed. Interesting.

"What about it?"

This time, her answer came quickly. As if she was afraid she'd lose her nerve. "I'll do it."

Silence filled the office. For a moment, I simply stared out the window. Relief loosened something inside my chest. Relief. Victory. Maybe both.

"But I need half the money upfront," she continued. Practical. Direct. Exactly what I expected from Sophia Hart.

"Done."

Her sharp intake of breath told me she hadn't expected such an easy answer.

"Meet me at my office tomorrow morning at nine."

Another pause. Then a quiet: "Okay."

I ended the call before she could change her mind. For several seconds, I remained perfectly still. Then I rose from my chair and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city glittered beneath me.

Eleven weeks. That was all it would take.

In eleven weeks, Sophia Hart would become my wife. The company would remain mine. And Penelope Blackwell would finally lose.

For the first time all day, I allowed myself a small smile.