chapter 2

Dylan Carter sped through the winding roads leading up to his family's estate, the tires of his sleek sports car hugging the curves as he navigated the sprawling grounds. He could feel tension settling inside him like a coiled spring. His grandfather had called for a family meeting, something that rarely boded well, especially given the frequent whispers surrounding the family's dwindling legacy and bold ambitions.

As he pulled into the driveway, he spotted a cluster of family members lingering around the entrance. His Uncle Harold stood with arms crossed, an air of disapproval radiating off him, while Aunt Margaret chatted animatedly with some of his cousins, casting wary glances in Dylan's direction as he approached.

"Dylan, finally," his grandfather barked as he stepped into the grand foyer, the portrait of their lineage glaring down on them. "You're late."

"Traffic," Dylan replied curtly, trying to brush past the reprimand. The atmosphere felt charged; there was an energy in the air that seemed to pulse with uncertainty. "What's all this about?"

"Come, sit," his grandfather gestured, motioning for the family to gather around. "It's time we discuss the future of Carter Enterprises."

Unsure of what to expect, Dylan settled into his seat, glancing at the anxious expressions of his relatives. His grandfather, a man who had helped pave the way for their family's fortune, cleared his throat, the weight of the moment evident upon his frail shoulders.

"I have decided to revise my will—a necessary choice given our circumstances," he began, his voice thick with authority. "I'm handing over the reins of the company to you, Dylan. Carter Enterprises will be yours to manage and grow."

Gasps echoed through the room, with his uncle's face contorting in disbelief. They had all assumed that their grandfather would pass the legacy down to him in time, but not so soon. Dylan felt a swell of pride mix uneasily with apprehension.

"However," his grandfather continued, steel in his tone, "there is one condition."

Dylan's stomach dropped as he leaned forward, his heart racing. "What kind of condition?"

"You have three weeks to get married," his grandfather announced, "or I will rescind this decision and pass control to Harold."

A wave of shock washed over Dylan, followed by derision. "Married? To whom? You can't be serious!"

"Serious as a heart attack, kid," Uncle Harold interjected with barely concealed glee. "I've thought about my potential involvement if you turn out to be incapable of handling your responsibilities."

"That's rich coming from you," Dylan shot back, his irritation flaring. He felt the blood rush to his ears as all eyes turned to him, judgment etched across their faces.

The room was still, silence stretching like rubber, and Dylan could sense the expectations laid out before him—a marriage emblematic of family loyalty and tradition. He had dated casually, had flings, had even engaged in the occasional week-long romance with willing accomplices, but serious? The idea felt stifling.

"Think of the company, Dylan," his grandfather prompted, folding his arms. "And think of your legacy. If you can't handle this responsibility—" his voice lowered to a whisper, "—there may not be a legacy left for you to inherit."

Dylan felt the weight of the world crash down. A mix of fury and helplessness rumbled inside him. He wanted to stand up, scream, and rebel against this entire charade, but acknowledgment pressed down on his chest: his grandfather had put everything on the line for them, and there was no way to disappoint him.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of sweat break out on his brow as his chest tightened with the weight of expectations threatening to smother him. As discussions about potential brides began swirling around him, his throat felt dry.

Excusing himself, he stepped outside onto the terrace, took a deep breath of the crisp evening air, and pulled out his phone. He needed to vent, connect with someone who could understand—not just his outlandish situation but the turmoil bubbling inside him.

"Adrian," he said, dialing his best friend. A moment later, he heard the familiar, carefree voice on the other end. "Bro! What's up?"

"Adrian, you're not going to believe this." Dylan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "My granddad just announced that I have three weeks to get married, or I lose everything."

"Married? You?" Adrian let out a boisterous laugh. "Man, that's priceless. What's the holdup? Just find some pretty girl, slap a ring on her, and call it a day!"

"I need someone serious, not just another fling," Dylan responded, urgency creeping into his voice. "Someone who can actually handle this chaos, not screw it up worse than it already is."

"Well, too bad, because I'm out of town on business till next week. And I have a killer date lined up," Adrian replied, unfazed. "You might have to deal with this one solo, my friend. Do yourself a favor and ditch the family drama for a night. Hit up that new club downtown—the Trust Fund. Who knows? You might find someone interesting!"

Dylan exhaled sharply at the mention of the club, where the rich and reckless mingled at the lavish venue, looking to drown their worries in drinks and shallow relationships. It was exactly what he needed: an escape, a chance to vie against his burdens.

"Yeah, a night out sounds good," Dylan finally agreed, already pushing his insecurities aside. "Can't let this get to me, can I?"

"Attaboy! Go find a pretty face and let loose. A distraction can do wonders! Just remember to get back to the family circus and give them what they want," Adrian teased, laughter ringing through the phone.

"Yeah, right," Dylan muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Talk later."

Hanging up, Dylan felt a mix of excitement and dread swirl together. He sprinted to his car, now fueled by an impulse to escape the relentless expectations of his family. Thirty minutes later, he pushed through the entrance doors of Trust Fund, the pulsating rhythm of deep bass hitting him like a wave.

Upon entering, he was engulfed by a sea of elegantly dressed patrons, women draped in shimmering gowns and men in tailored suits. The vibrant lights flickered above him as laughter and chatter filled the air. It was a different world, one that promised anonymity in a crowd of faces—all lost souls trying to forget their own baggage.

As he maneuvered through the throngs of people, Dylan's gaze darted around, seeking distraction. Tables lined the walls, adorned with glamorous bottles and cocktails, while others danced with wild abandon on the floor before the stage, where an upbeat DJ spun tracks to get the night electrified.

"Just one night," he reminded himself as he strode to the bar. He ordered a whiskey stone-cold and downed it quickly, the fiery burn offering a momentary reprieve from the chaos of his life.

Turning to look at the crowd, he spotted a group of friends near the dance floor, laughter spilling into the air. He felt himself smile, the weight of impending marriage lifting slightly, if only for a moment. "Tonight," he told himself, "is about freeing my mind."

Little did he know, fate had other plans for him as he stepped deeper into the noise and lights pulsating around him—a night that could change everything.