Chapter 2: Not possible

The room became so quiet that Ethan could hear the rain striking the windows behind him.

He blinked once.

Then again.

Surely he had misheard.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Come again?"

The attorney looked visibly uncomfortable.

"Those are the terms established by Mr. Calloway."

Several board members suddenly became very interested in studying the tabletop.

Ethan laughed.

Actually laughed.

"That's funny."

Nobody joined him.

The silence that followed was far more alarming than the statement itself.

The attorney continued.

"The beneficiary's spouse must not have existing children. The beneficiary must produce a biological heir within one year. Said heir must be confirmed through medical documentation and genetic verification. The beneficiary must also remain legally married throughout the duration of the one-year period."

Each sentence landed harder than the last.

When the attorney finally closed the document, the room remained silent.

Ethan stared at him.

"What?"

The attorney swallowed.

"Those are the requirements."

"What?"

No one answered.

Slowly, Ethan rose from his chair.

Dangerously slowly.

"You're telling me that my grandfather left me a hundred-billion-dollar inheritance..." He pointed toward the document lying on the table. "...and I only get it if I get married and have a child?"

"Correct."

The attorney's expression became almost apologetic, as though he fully understood how devastating the next words were about to sound.

"You would remain employed by the company."

Ethan stared at him.

"Employed?"

"Yes."

A brief silence followed before the attorney delivered the final blow.

"As a salaried executive."

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the room exploded.

"Are you out of your damn minds?"

The force of Ethan's voice echoed off the glass walls of the conference room. Several people visibly flinched, but no one dared answer him. The board members avoided eye contact while the attorneys suddenly seemed fascinated by their documents.

Ethan slammed both hands onto the table.

"A salaried executive?"

The words came out louder this time.

More dangerous.

More furious.

"A salaried executive in my company?"

"The company would no longer be yours," the attorney replied carefully.

That sentence nearly pushed him over the edge.

For a brief moment, Ethan genuinely considered grabbing one of the conference room chairs and sending it through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. The urge was strong enough that he actually tightened his grip on the edge of the table.

Instead, he forced himself to breathe.

Ethan forced himself to breathe, drawing in one slow breath after another in a desperate attempt to calm down. It didn't work. The anger remained exactly where it was, burning beneath his skin with the same intensity as before. Thirty days. That was all he had. Not a year, not six months, but just thirty days to accomplish what most people spent years building. His grandfather had essentially handed him an impossible mission and attached the future of an entire empire to its success. Somehow, he was expected to find a wife, convince her to marry him, get her pregnant, and complete everything before the deadline expired. If he failed, he wouldn't just lose an inheritance. He would lose everything.

The reality of the situation settled heavily in his chest. Every penthouse he owned. Every investment account. Every private jet. Every luxury car. Every privilege and advantage that had defined his life for years could disappear because of one absurd clause hidden inside a will.

It felt less like an inheritance and more like a punishment.

A final lesson.

A final attempt by William Calloway to force his grandson into becoming the man he had always wanted him to be.

Even from the grave, the old man was still trying to control him.

The thought only made Ethan angrier.

He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

"We're done."

The lead attorney immediately stood.

"Mr. Calloway—"

"We are done."

The warning in Ethan's voice left no room for argument.

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the conference room.

No one tried to stop him.

No one was foolish enough to try.

By the time he reached the lobby, the storm had intensified. Rain hammered against the glass entrance doors, and thunder rolled somewhere over the city. The moment he stepped outside, his driver rushed toward him carrying an umbrella.

"Sir—"

Ethan ignored him completely.

The rain soaked through his suit almost immediately as he crossed the sidewalk toward the waiting Bentley. Water dripped from his hair and ran down the back of his neck, but he barely noticed. His mind remained trapped inside that conference room, replaying every word of the will.

Thirty days.

The number followed him like a curse.

The drive home passed in complete silence. Normally Ethan would have answered emails, taken calls, or reviewed reports during the trip. Tonight he simply stared out the window while Manhattan blurred past beneath the rain.

When he finally arrived home, the storm was still raging.

His penthouse occupied the entire top floor of one of the most exclusive residential towers in the city. The apartment featured panoramic views of Manhattan, private elevator access, a rooftop terrace, and enough luxury to impress even the wealthiest visitors.

Normally the view calmed him.

Tonight it did absolutely nothing.

The moment he entered, he loosened his tie, tossed his jacket onto a chair, and headed straight for the bar overlooking the skyline. The city lights shimmered through the rain beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows while distant lightning illuminated the clouds.

Ethan poured himself a glass of whiskey.

Drank it in one swallow.

Then immediately poured another.

For the first time since his grandfather's death, he wasn't thinking about the funeral.

He wasn't thinking about grief.

He wasn't even thinking about the inheritance itself.

He was thinking about a deadline.

And the terrifying realization that, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, money alone might not be enough to save him.

He poured himself another glass.

Then another.

By the time he lowered the third glass, the city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows had begun to blur together. Whether it was the rain streaking down the glass or the whiskey working its way through his system, Ethan wasn't entirely sure.

Ironically, marriage wasn't even the real problem. If necessary, he could walk down an aisle tomorrow. There were hundreds of women who would happily become Mrs. Ethan Calloway without asking too many questions. Some wanted the money. Some wanted the status. Others simply wanted the publicity that came with being attached to one of the most recognizable businessmen in the country.

None of them, however, were women he trusted.

No.

Marriage wasn't the issue.

The pregnancy requirement was.

The deadline was.

And the fact that he was supposed to somehow build a family under a stopwatch made the entire situation feel absurd.

Leaning back against the couch, Ethan rubbed a hand across his face and stared at the Manhattan skyline. For the first time in years, he felt trapped. Every solution that came to mind sounded reckless, irresponsible, or downright impossible.

His phone suddenly buzzed on the coffee table.

A text message.

Ethan reached for it and immediately regretted doing so.

Another party invitation.

One of his friends had rented an entire rooftop club for the weekend and apparently expected Ethan to attend. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have accepted without thinking twice. There would be expensive champagne, attractive women, loud music, and enough photographers lurking nearby to guarantee tomorrow's headlines.

Tonight, the invitation felt exhausting.

Without responding, he deleted the message and tossed the phone back onto the table.

The silence returned.

For several minutes he sat there staring at the rain, replaying the events of the afternoon over and over again. The attorneys. The will. The impossible conditions. His grandfather's final attempt to control his life.

Then, slowly, an idea surfaced.

Not a good idea.

Not even a particularly smart idea.

But it was an idea.

A few months earlier, one of his friends had spent an entire evening talking about some elite matchmaking company. Ethan had barely paid attention at the time. The concept had sounded ridiculous. Wealthy professionals paying enormous fees to meet potential partners in private settings seemed unnecessary when most of them already had no shortage of romantic opportunities.

Now, however, the memory returned with surprising clarity.

The service had been exclusive.

Private.

Ridiculously expensive.

Designed specifically for executives, celebrities, entrepreneurs, and other high-profile individuals who wanted relationships without media attention.

At the time, Ethan had laughed at the entire concept.

Now it suddenly seemed useful.

Very useful.

He stood, crossed the living room, and opened his laptop on the kitchen island. The search took less than ten minutes.

BLIND MATCH ELITE.

The website appeared sleek and professional, with the kind of minimalist design that immediately suggested wealthy clients. As he scrolled through the information, several promises caught his attention.

The website promised complete anonymity, identity protection, private introductions, psychological compatibility screenings, personalized matchmaking, and immediate access to qualified candidates. Under normal circumstances, Ethan would have mocked every word on the page. It sounded like the kind of service desperate executives convinced themselves was revolutionary after a few too many glasses of wine. Tonight, however, he found himself reading every line carefully, paying attention to details he normally would have dismissed without a second thought.

When he finally reached the registration page, he hesitated. The entire situation felt ridiculous. If someone had told him a week ago that he would be sitting alone in his penthouse, registering for an elite matchmaking service in the middle of the night, he would have laughed in their face. His grandfather probably would have laughed too. In fact, William Calloway would likely have found the whole thing hilarious.

Then Ethan glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen.

11:47 PM.

The significance of the time hit him immediately. Thirty days had already become twenty-nine. The countdown wasn't waiting for him to make peace with the situation or come up with a better plan.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.

Time wasn't slowing down. It wasn't giving him the luxury of hesitation. Every minute that passed brought him one step closer to losing the company, the inheritance, and the life he had spent years taking for granted. Suddenly, signing up for a matchmaking service didn't seem nearly as ridiculous as the alternative.

Maybe this was exactly what William Calloway had intended. Maybe the old man had spent years watching his grandson waste opportunities, avoid commitment, and treat life like one long party. Maybe this ridiculous inheritance clause had always been designed as a final lesson.

If that was true, Ethan intended to pass the test.

Because one thing he refused to do was lose.

He completed the application.

The membership f*e was absurdly high, but he paid it without hesitation. Under normal circumstances, he might have appreciated the irony of spending thousands of dollars simply to meet a woman. Tonight, he barely noticed the charge.

After reviewing the information one final time, he clicked submit.

The response arrived almost immediately.

A notification appeared on the screen.

Congratulations. Your first private match has been scheduled.

Ethan sat up straighter.

He continued reading.

Date: Tomorrow

Time: 8:00 PM

For several seconds, he simply stared at the screen.

Tomorrow.

That fast.

A slow smile spread across his face for the first time since leaving the conference room.

Perhaps this wasn't impossible after all.

Perhaps fate had finally decided to cooperate.

Or perhaps it was preparing to make his life infinitely more complicated than it already was.

Either way, the countdown had officially begun.

And somewhere in New York City, completely unaware of it, the woman who was about to change Ethan Calloway's life forever was receiving the exact same notification.

Twenty-nine days remaining.