Chapter 3

Jordan's Pov

As I stepped out of the skyscraper, heading towards my car, I was interrupted by a call from my father. He rarely called unless it was something important.

“Hello," I waited to hear his voice from the other end.

“Hello, how are you doing?” He asked, his voice strained before a violent cough followed. He was drinking again.

I could never understand his drinking habits; it was obviously shortening his already old life. For some reason, whenever I asked, he'd say some shit about having no will to live. With the extent of his influence and wealth, it was hard to believe that was the case. But I couldn't care less. 

  

“You sound off. Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Well, there are some things we have to discuss; I'll need you home, but you can be rest assured that it's nothing to do with my health,” he replied. He knew me too well, I wasn't going to ask about his drinking habits; I had my own share in it. 

“Alright,” I replied curtly before hanging up and turning on the car engine. 

The phone rang again. This time it was Gianna—the girl I was supposed to meet up with.

“Hello, how are you doing, sexy?” She said purred from the other end.

I hissed in irritation. I hated it when I was addressed that way by someone considered insignificant. I only had one reason for keeping her around: pleasure. Seems she failed to understand that.

“Don't call me that again, except you have a death wish.“ 

“I'm sorry,” she replied, her voice tense. “I was just wondering,” she stuttered. “If we're still seeing each other,“ she replied, obviously taken aback by my tone.

“Change of plans, I can't make it,” I replied, irritation clear in my tone. 

“Why?” she asked reluctantly. 

“Something came up,” I hung up before she even had the chance to respond. 

I owed no one any explanation.

******

The lights flickered on as I entered the room at my father's estate. It was exactly as I remembered. Memories from when I was younger came flooding back; it was hard to believe this was the same house I and my brother grew up in. 

My eyes scanned the room; nothing had changed; our family photo was still hung on the wall. Father, Mother, I, and my older brother Jeremiah. 

Mom and Jeremiah had died in a car accident some years ago. Jeremiah's body was nowhere to be found. As for mom, the doctors had said her condition was critical; but she still had a chance, or so they thought. She died days later.

Although I didn't believe it was natural. I had visited her days before, and she was getting better; there was no way she could have died just like that. There was something behind it, and I was going to find out. 

Father never had a good relationship with Mom; they had gotten together through an arranged marriage. That clearly wasn't a good idea. Father was a drunk who vented his anger on Mom every little chance he had. He had constantly hit her relentlessly. It was hard to believe he was this same businessman that came out in the public. 

I spotted him seated on the large couch, gulping down the alcohol on the table in front of him. 

He looked no different from dead, a stark contrast to the man he once was.

When he noticed me, his eyes widened with a mix of recognition and concern. I didn’t waste time with pleasantries; I had no desire to drag this out. He was aging quickly; the sudden call meant only one thing—one thing I had no zero interest in. 

“How are you?” he began.

“Get to the point,“ I interrupted. “We both know you didn't call me here for a father-son chat,” I replied.

  

Ever since Mom died, he's been more of a drunk than before.

His gaze grew serious. “I’ll need you to present me with a bride in a week,” he coughed, “to fully take your position as heir to the business.” 

His words hung in the air, heavy with implications. I had anticipated it; being the only possible heir since Jeremiah was gone, it was bound to happen. 

That was how it worked in the family for generations: the heir would have to secure a bride before the business was fully handed over. I hated it. Without another word, I turned and walked out of the room. 

To clear my head, I decided to hit the club. I texted Bruce my closest thing to a friend; it was our weekly routine. The club would be the only distraction from this forsaken reality. 

Bruce and I met two years ago on my trip to California to seal a deal; just like me, he had his father's company to run, but luckily he didn't need to be married.

We settled at the VIP lounge, Bruce on the other end of the couch with a blonde woman on his lap. Bruce and I always came clubbing every weekend to get laid for a bit. It was something we did for fun, but today particularly was to drown myself in pleasure and forget all my father had told me.

“Why didn't you ask that new P.A.?“ Bruce asked, taking a sip of vodka. He gestured to the blonde to go. 

I scoffed “That's crazy,” I said, dismissing the idea. “She doesn't look like that type; I doubt she'd agree to that,” I said, sipping the glass of vodka in my hands.

*You sure?“ Bruce said, raising a brow. “Always, the night's still young; grab a chick, get laid,“ he winked, gesturing to another woman to come over. 

I chuckled. I could do that. 

I spotted a blonde dancing some feet away; her eyes met mine, and immediately walked towards me. A good distraction from reality wouldn't harm a fly.

I smirked at her as she sat on my crotch and began grinding against me. I turned her over in a swift movement, crashing her lips into mine.

My touch is rough and demanding. I wasn't the type to be gentle. After what felt like seconds, I pulled away; I could feel someone watching me.

My eyes scanned the room for a second before locking in with her dark hazel ones.

What was she doing in a place like this?