TRISTAN“Your grandfather, pardon me for saying this is a royal bastard.”Julian’s voice carried too much amusement for my liking as he lounged in the leather armchair across from my desk, one ankle slung lazily over his knee, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers.“You do not need permission to call him what he is,” I replied dryly, setting aside the document I had been scanning. Contracts, endless contracts. Even in death, the old man’s claws were sunk deep into this company. “He was a bastard. He died a bastard. And somehow, even from the grave, he manages to remain one.”Julian’s grin widened. “Which brings us to the elephant in the will.”I did not bother asking which part. We both knew.“The marriage clause,” I said, my tone flat.“Yes. Six months to produce a bride or risk, what was it? oh yes, risk losing control of Obsidian.” Julian swirled his glass. He was enjoying this far too much.“Tell me, Tristan, how do you plan to humor that little demand? Speed-dating? Matchm
Última actualización : 2026-01-22 Leer más