Chapter 3

Early the next morning, my phone rang, dragging me out of sleep.

It was Tom.

"Mr. Grant, Sophie got the LOI. She's so excited she's nearly in tears and says she can come over today to sign. And Jennings Corp is losing it," Tom said.

I sat up and rubbed my temples. "What's going on?"

"Harold called headquarters seven times overnight, all blocked. He only had my number. At six, he sent eleven messages, ending with a four-minute voice note: 'Tom, did we misunderstand? Jennings spent months on this project. Why switch now?'"

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and pulled back the curtains.

Up on the sixty-seventh floor.

The whole city spread out beneath me, the morning light turning the distant river into a ribbon of shattered gold.

Not a soul knew about this penthouse except Tom.

Everyone in The Grove thought I lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a run-down neighborhood on the west side, squeezing onto the subway every morning, just another middle manager at some "pretty good" company.

Even my mom, Susan, thought that was all I was.

She had no idea her son owned a company called Grandwell, with assets that'd topped 33 billion dollars. She definitely didn't know that the project Harold had been running around for over half a year to land, the one he was so desperate for, was.

"Tom, have Sophie come to headquarters at ten the day after tomorrow to sign the contract. Have legal go over the contract terms again, and make sure all coordination follows the formal process," I said.

"Understood. What should I do about Harold?" Tom asked.

"Ignore him."

"Alright. One more thing, Mr. Grant." Tom paused. "Tanya's company, Tanya Media, just scored a big deal last month. It's a variety show co-produced with our Bluewave Studios. Do you want to get involved, or?"

"Treat it like any other partnership. I keep business and personal matters separate."

"Got it."

After hanging up, I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face.

The guy in the mirror had dark circles under his eyes, his jaw clenched tight.

I stared at my reflection for a few seconds.

Twenty-eight years old, worth 33 billion dollars, with thirty thousand employees under me, and I'd never lost a negotiation.

But last night, standing on that engagement party stage, when she slammed the ring down in front of everyone, I couldn't even get the words "Wait" out.

It wasn't that I couldn't.

I didn't want to anymore.

Lucas, get a grip.

It wasn't the ring she was smashing.

She was smashing everything you'd built up over fifteen years.

*****

The Grove wasn't big, over thirty families, two rows of red-brick buildings, and a sycamore-lined avenue running down the middle.

Gossip spread faster than the wind.

By that afternoon, everyone in The Grove knew, the engagement party between the Grant and Jennings families had fallen through.

As for why, everyone had their own story.

May Sterling said Tanya dumped Lucas over money. Arthur Zane claimed Lucas had someone else. The most believable version came from Emily Zane, who was there. "Tanya heard her guy friend crashed, panicked, and threw the ring down."

"What about Lucas?" someone asked.

"Lucas?" Emily tsk'd. "He didn't try to stop her. Whenever Tanya got upset, Lucas would always chase after her and try to make things right. But this time, he took the mic, called it a night, and left without so much as a glance."

"Oh wow, Susan must be worried sick."

And sure enough, Susan was a nervous wreck.

When I got back to The Grove, she was sitting on the living room couch, four different blood pressure meds spread out on the coffee table, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

"Lucas," Susan said.

She jumped up the moment she saw me.

"Lucas, be honest with me. What's really going on between you and Tanya? Lydia was here, crying for a whole hour. She said Tanya locked herself in her room last night and wouldn't even open the door," Susan said.

I dropped my keys by the door and changed into my slippers.

"Mom, there's really nothing to talk about. If she doesn't want it, then that's it," I said.

"What do you mean, 'if she doesn't want it, then that's it'? You two grew up together, and what about our families' reputation?" Susan asked.

"She's the one who trashed our reputation, Mom. Not me."

Susan was momentarily choked up.

She opened her mouth, but it took her a while to get out, "Can't you let her have her way? You've always let her have her way since you were kids..."

"I've been letting her have her way for fifteen years," I said.

I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.

"Mom, you probably won't want to hear this, but thinking you'll get married someday and actually wanting to get married are two totally different things. I've known for ages she never wanted to marry me," I said.

The glass knocked against the stove, and a few drops of water splashed out.

Susan stood in the kitchen doorway, her lips trembling, unable to say a word.

I didn't bother explaining any further. Sometimes, the more you talk, the more it sounds like you're whining.

Back in my tiny bedroom, barely a hundred square feet, I shut the door behind me. My phone screen lit up with a flood of notifications.

Forty-seven unread messages.

Group chats from The Grove, classmates fishing for drama, and a few distant relatives texting: [Heard about your engagement party...]

I didn't bother replying to any of them. Just swiped them all away.

But there was one message I couldn't look away from. I stared at it for a long time.