They say empires are built on blood, sweat, and strategy. But no one ever mentions the cost of being born into one.
I sat stiffly in my father's leather armchair, the polished oak of the Cater study swallowing me in shadows and mahogany walls. My jaw was clenched so tightly I could feel the pulse of rage tapping in my ears like war drums. Across from me, Blake Aldridge sat with all the serenity of a man waiting for his wine to breathe. His dark navy suit clung to his frame like it had been stitched directly onto his skin—expensive and smug, just like him.
Beside him was his grandfather, Charles Aldridge. The notorious kingmaker of the Aldridge dynasty. His cane rested beside the high-backed armchair he clearly considered a throne, and his sharp blue eyes scanned the room with the satisfaction of a man executing a long-planned checkmate.
"Let's not drag this out," my father said, his voice tired yet firm as he clasped his hands behind his desk. "Celine, the Cater and Aldridge companies will merge under one umbrella, and the union will be sealed through a marriage. Yours, to Blake."
My breath left me like I'd been punched.
"You're not serious," I said, standing too quickly. The chair groaned against the floor. "You're selling me off like a damn—"
"Mind your tone," he snapped, pointing a finger at me. "This isn't personal. It's strategic."
"Strategic?" I spat, glancing between all three men. "You mean manipulative. Controlling. Outdated."
I turned to Charles Aldridge. "And you're just thrilled about this, aren't you? Adding a Cater to your trophy case?"
Charles smiled, cold and unbothered. "I'm thrilled that two powerful legacies will finally be united. It's good business, Miss Cater. We're giving you the keys to an empire."
"I already have one!" I shot back. "I've been running Cater Innovations' tech division for three years—successfully. Quarter after quarter."
"And yet," my father said, adjusting his cufflinks, "you're still a woman. And an only child. Do you honestly think the board would respect your leadership once I step down, without a strong male presence beside you? This marriage solidifies your power. It protects the company."
"No. It protects your legacy from your own daughter," I said coldly.
For a split second, the mask cracked. I saw the flicker of pain in his eyes. But he didn't back down. "You don't have to like it, Celine. You just have to honor it."
Blake Aldridge hadn't said a single word.
That made it worse.
He sat there, eyes unreadable, jawline so perfectly carved it looked fictional, with that annoyingly poised calm—like he wasn't being betrothed against his will too. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he agreed to this because he thought marrying me would be the final step in winning the quiet war our companies had been waging for over a decade.
"Say something," I demanded, turning to him. "Do you actually want this?"
He tilted his head slightly, and for the first time, his voice filled the room—smooth, measured, arrogant.
"I want what's best for both families."
I laughed. "What a perfectly trained answer."
"Emotion doesn't build empires, Miss Cater," he replied, his eyes finally locking on mine. They were steel-gray and cool. Annoyingly beautiful, like the rest of him.
"You can drop the 'Miss Cater.' You're supposed to marry me, not interview me."
"That would imply I had a choice," he murmured.
My cheeks burned, part rage, part humiliation.
Charles cleared his throat, clearly tired of our spat. "Children, this is happening whether you pout or posture. The marriage is set for six months from now. That should give you time to adjust and plan a suitable public narrative."
"You mean a press release with a fake love story?" I asked bitterly.
My father ran a hand down his face, the years of stress weighing on his shoulders. "Celine, I need you to understand—this isn't just about me. This is about every employee who depends on Cater. Every shareholder. If this deal falls through, Aldridge will pull out of the joint tech pipeline, and our value will collapse. We're too exposed."
I took a shaky breath. "Then let me fix it. Let me lead. Alone. I'm capable—"
"You're capable, but you're not enough. Not in the eyes of the people who matter," he said. "You're brilliant, Celine. But you're still a woman in a man's world. This gives you leverage."
"I don't want a groom. I want respect."
There was silence. Thick, choking, unkind silence.
Then Charles stood slowly, adjusting his lapel with that awful glint in his eye. "We'll leave you two to... acclimate. Come along, Blake."
Blake rose with that infuriating grace, gave a small nod to my father, and turned to follow his grandfather. As he passed me, he paused briefly—close enough that I could smell expensive cologne and male entitlement.
"You don't have to like me," he said quietly. "But you'd be smart not to fight me."
I leaned in, voice sharp as glass. "Watch me."
He smirked—just a twitch of a corner—and disappeared down the hall with Charles.
I stood there, my spine trembling with adrenaline and fury. My father remained behind his desk, looking ten years older than he had that morning.
"Celine," he said gently, "you're strong. You're fierce. But there are forces bigger than both of us. If I thought you could weather them alone, I would let you. But the world isn't ready for a woman like you. Not yet."
I shook my head slowly. "Then maybe I don't want to be part of a world like that."
The study blurred for a moment, and I blinked against the sudden burn in my eyes. My chest ached—not just from anger, but from something much older, much sadder.
Suddenly, I was ten years old again, sitting at this very desk while my mother, beautiful and defiant, stood where I did now. I remember her voice—low, fierce, filled with fire.
"She's not a pawn, Richard," she had said, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Celine isn't your legacy. She's her own."
"She is my daughter," he'd replied. "She carries the name."
"And what she does with it should be her choice," my mother said, eyes burning into his.
It was one of the last arguments I ever saw them have before her illness took her. And now, standing here, I realized just how much of her I carried in my bones. In the fight pulsing through my blood.
"She'd be ashamed of this," I whispered.
My father looked away.
So did I.
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