You're Getting Married. Congratulations!

GABE’S POV

A knock echoed at the door, and Jorel strolled in. My brother was the only person on the planet who dared enter my office without knocking first, as if his presence was so significant it required no formalities.

“I got your message,” he said, slumping into the chair across from me and snatching a pen off my desk. “How much did you shell out for this thing?”

“Less than you spend on your escorts,” I replied, barely glancing up from my computer screen.

“I don’t mess with escorts,” he shot back with a mocking chuckle. “I’m in high enough demand to not need to pay for satisfaction, unlike some people.”

I minimized the critical project I was working on and fixed my eyes on him. “I don’t recall giving you permission to even think about what I do or don’t do,” I said, my tone sharp and clear.

“When you raise your eyebrow like that, you look like an old man,” he teased, undeterred.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that Jorel was an idiot—but a useful one, especially now. “At the ripe age of thirty, I hardly consider myself old,” I said coolly. “But there’s this thing called maturity, which you clearly didn’t pick up in college.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been skipping a few classes,” he said, laughing as if his carefree attitude toward life—obsessed with nothing but women—was something to be proud of.

“People make choices,” I said, my voice steady. “If yours is to be a dead-end fool, remembered only for the number of women you’ve slept with, I couldn’t care less.”

“Did you call me here to lecture me on my lifestyle?” Jorel leaned forward slightly, his tone bored, almost dismissive.

“No,” I said, my eyes flicking back to the screen. “I called you here to tell you that you’re getting married. Congratulations!”

I maximized the project window, diving back into the analysis I needed to finish by the end of the day to approve or reject. Jorel’s laughter filled the room, but I didn’t bother looking at his smug face. I knew he’d do what I told him to. Everyone followed my orders, and my brother was no exception.

I scanned the fine print on my screen, ignoring his irritating cackle as it gradually faded. “Why’d you call me here?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I already told you,” I said, not wasting energy on extra words.

“I’m not getting married,” he scoffed. “If you read that on some gossip site, it’s nonsense. Those damn sites are only good for one thing these days—ruining the reputations of good guys like me.” His mocking tone grated on my nerves.

“Yes, you are,” I said calmly. “With Olivia Abertton.”

Jorel burst out laughing again, sounding like a braying donkey. My attention shifted to an email—a lab was trying to sell me a drug I’d already negotiated with another pharmaceutical company. Did they think I was an amateur? Everyone in the industry knew Clifford didn’t deal with non-exclusive products. We were the best in the world, and we didn’t need to compete.

“Can you at least look at me, damn it?” Jorel’s voice rose, almost shouting.

I sighed and lowered the laptop screen. “Can you believe there are still labs trying to pitch me products they’ve already sold to other companies?” I leaned back in my leather chair, mildly irritated by the audacity of some players in my industry.

“I don’t give a damn about your business, Gabe,” Jorel snapped. “What’s this about a marriage?”

“Yours,” I said, my voice even, as if explaining something to a child. “You’re marrying Olivia Abertton.”

“No way in hell!” He laughed again, but I caught a flicker of nervous fear in his eyes—the kind of unease you’d expect from an immature guy like him.

“Yes, you will,” I said firmly.

“Why are you calling the shots?” he asked, his lips barely moving as he forced another laugh. “I’m an adult, remember? You can’t make me.”

“Are you in love with one of your escorts?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They’re not escorts,” he growled.

“They drink your expensive liquor, dine at the finest restaurants you pay for, and sleep on the best sheets in the world’s top hotels. In return, they give you sex. They’re escorts.”

“You’re such a bastard,” he spat.

“And you’re a spoiled playboy with nothing better to do,” I countered. “So, you’ll get married. End of story.”

“Why are you so sure I will?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll cut off your allowance.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, I can,” I said, my voice cold. “You get that money out of my generosity. You’re not my kid. I have no obligation to fund your escapades with those women.”

“I’m your brother, Gabe.”

“And you sold me your share of the company, remember?” I reminded him. “You took the deal.”

“You paid me a fraction of what it was worth, and you know it.”

“I made an offer, and you accepted,” I said, unfazed. “I’m sorry if you didn’t have better lawyers to advise you against it.”

“God, where the hell did you come from? Because I doubt it was Mom’s womb,” he muttered.

“Marry Olivia Abertton, and you’ll keep getting your fat allowance every month,” I said. “And if it’s ever not enough, I can throw in a little extra when you need it.”

“What’s wrong with this girl?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Nothing. She’s not even unattractive.”

“Not unattractive?” He grabbed his phone, probably to look her up.

“She’s a wallflower—plain, odorless, and unremarkable,” I said.

A grin spread across Jorel’s face as he studied his screen. “She’s pretty! So what’s the catch? You want me to do charity? Or is this about some deal with the Abertton family?”

“Far from it,” I said, making it clear. “Like I said, she’s insignificant. But her father? Let’s just say I have some personal matters to settle with him. Nothing to do with you.”

“A wallflower’s been described better than that,” Jorel said, still scrolling on his phone. “She’s studying medicine.”

“Still a wallflower,” I said dismissively.

“Maybe she’s too smart for me.”

“Your only job is to show up at the church, marry her, and live your life.”

“I’m too young to get married, Gabe. I’m twenty-two. And she’s… nineteen. A kid! I bet her dad won’t even allow this nonsense.”

“Her father doesn’t have a say in the matter.”

“If I don’t marry her, I’ll be cut off?” Jorel asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.