Chapter 13: The echoes of control

The rhythmic clicking of keyboards echoed in the sleek glass office of Knights & Hayes Corp., interrupted only by the occasional shuffle of papers and the muted buzz of private conversations.

George Hayes stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his corner office, a steaming espresso in one hand and tension coiled in his shoulders. Below, the city moved like a restless tide, impatient, relentless, unbothered. Much like the press.

The media had begun to bite.

The headlines were everywhere:

“The CEO with Two Wives?”

“A Legal Union or a Business Distraction?”

“Inside the Private Affairs of George Hayes”

“George Hayes impregnates a lady and is forced to wed her".

He was losing narrative control and he hated it.

“Status?” George asked curtly, not turning as the PR team settled into the room behind him. His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge underneath, like a scalpel waiting to cut.

Janine, the lead publicist, adjusted her blazer nervously. “We’ve drafted three potential statements. One for deflection, one to confirm only partial truths, and one that places the entire situation under legal review which would silence the media temporarily.”

George turned slowly, expression unreadable. “Silence them, not stall them.”

“We’re trying, sir, and we need to know your side of the story to be able to get the timing” Janine began.

“I don’t want timing. I want control.”

The words were delivered with a deadly precision. Janine faltered. The room went quiet. Everyone knew George didn’t raise his voice to command attention. He wielded silence like a weapon and it cut deeper.

He stepped toward the table, picked up the top sheet with the draft statement, scanned it, and tossed it back with a sigh of disdain. “Weak. This sounds like a plea. Rewrite it. And remove the word misunderstanding. That implies vulnerability. I don’t misunderstand anything.”

Before Janine could respond, George’s phone buzzed on the edge of the table.

Unknown Caller.

No ringtone. No name. Just the steady vibration that seemed to hum louder than the conversation in the room.

He picked it up without emotion. “Hayes.”

There was a brief pause, but thick.

Then a voice that hadn't echoed in his ears for years broke through, cold and slow like steel dragging across concrete.

“So this is what you’ve become.”

George’s body went still. Completely.

His gaze drifted toward the floor, unfocused. His jaw tensed. A single muscle twitched beneath his cheek.

The PR team paused, sensing something change in the air. The confident, ruthless CEO in front of them suddenly looked like a man being pulled into another dimension one colder, darker.

“Father.”

The word wasn’t warm. It wasn’t even familiar. Just factual. Like stating the time.

“I’ve ignored your silence. Your arrogance. Even your shameless distance. But to watch my name dragged through public filth because of your incompetence”

A bitter chuckle sliced through the line.

“Now, that I will not ignore.”

George turned away from the table and toward the window again, shielding his expression from the team.

“It’s being handled,” he said, his voice lower now. Not calm controlled.

“No. If it were being handled, I wouldn’t be on the front page of every damn financial paper being linked to your scandal. Do you think the board sees this as personal? They don’t. They see weakness. From me.”

There was a long pause.

George’s hand clenched the phone tighter.

“I warned you,” his father continued. His voice slowed, more deliberate now. “I told you when you were younger power was never owned. It’s borrowed. And the moment you look like you can’t carry it... it will be taken from you, you such an incompetent.”

George said nothing.

The man who had built an empire out of precision and control... was cracking.

The silence stretched. The PR team exchanged glances, unsure whether to speak or breathe.

Then the voice returned, quieter but somehow heavier. “I’m flying in tonight.”

George’s breath hitched, but he didn’t show it.

“We’re going to fix this,” his father went on. “And if that girl, your new ‘wife’ is part of the mess, she’ll be removed. Permanently. No emotion. No theatrics. We clean this like professionals.”

George’s voice dropped sharp, restrained. “You……. don’t make decisions…… in my house, father.” George stammered.

There was a pause long and thunderous. His father’s silence was never empty. It was always loaded.

Then came the final blow.

“No, son. I make decisions in my legacy.”

The line went dead.

George stared at the phone, the dial tone buzzing like static in his head. The words echoed through him like a sledgehammer to a fragile structure.

Legacy.

The thing he had tried to escape by building his own empire. The thing he had hoped to outrun.

But it had never been gone.

It had simply waited for him to stumble.

“Sir?” Janine asked gently.

George slowly turned. His gaze was distant, but his mask had slipped back into place. Cold. Controlled. Deceptively calm.

“Leave,” he said quietly.

“Should we—”

“I said leave.”

No anger. Just finality. Like closing a casket.

The team filed out quickly, not daring to speak another word.

As the door shut, George moved behind his desk and sat down heavily. He loosened his tie, then leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

The silence in the office felt louder now. It wasn’t strategic anymore.

It was oppressive.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, tired.

He hadn’t expected his father to resurface. Not now. Not like this.

The old man didn’t come unless there was blood in the water.

And Luna...

His jaw clenched. She didn’t know what kind of storm was coming. She didn’t understand who she was up against.

Or maybe… she did.

And still walked into his life anyway.

A flicker of something stirred in George’s chest. Guilt? No. Not guilt.

Fear.

Because for the first time in a long, long while, he wasn’t sure he could protect her or if he wanted to protect her.

And worse he didn’t know if he was supposed to.

He opened his drawer, pulled out a crystal decanter, and poured himself a drink. The amber liquid swirled like fire.

He drank it in one gulp.

Then another.

And as the sun dipped lower on the city skyline, George Hayes sat alone in his office, preparing for the war that would arrive not with headlines or rumors…

…but with the footsteps of a father who believed love was weakness, and blood was a currency.