Chapter 4 The Long Game

Caroline stepped into the office, her sneakers clicking softly on the dark hardwood. Harrison didn't look at her; he simply placed a high-end hairdryer on a side table and pointed to a hidden outlet near the baseboard.

"Dry yourself," he said, his voice dropping into that bored, command-driven tone.

It was an absurd, undignified scene. The hairdryer was a professional-grade tool, heavy and loud. Because the cord was short, Caroline was forced to stand in a slight crouch, holding the hem of her batik skirt out like a fan. She turned her back to Harrison, bending her head low so the hot air could blast the damp, purple-stained fabric.

She felt exposed. Even though her dress was a modest midi-length, the act of hitching it up to dry the inner thigh felt intimate in a way that made her skin crawl. She kept her head down, her ponytail falling over her shoulder, focusing entirely on the rhythmic hum of the machine.

Across the room, Harrison had already dismissed her existence. He pulled a leather-bound volume from a shelf that reached toward the ceiling. He sat at his mahogany desk, the green shaded lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular face. He looked like a statue of a statesman, perfectly still, perfectly composed.

He didn't look up, but his mind was far from the text in front of him. Is this really what I'm getting? he wondered. The girl was a mess. She was clumsy, she was wearing flat shoes because she clearly couldn't handle a heel, and she had just stained herself with dessert like a toddler. His grandfather was a perfectionist, a man who calculated every move three decades in advance. Why would he settle for a "substitute" who seemed so entirely unpolished?

"Finally," Caroline whispered, the sound lost in the whir of the dryer. The fabric was finally stiff and dry. "Thank goodness. Look, it's gone."

She turned around, glowing with a small, genuine victory.

"Turn it off," Harrison snapped, the sound of the dryer clearly grating on his nerves.

"Oh!" Startled by his sharpness, Caroline jerked the dryer. In her haste, she accidentally pointed the nozzle directly at her own face. A blast of 120-degree air hit her square in the eyes. She let out a soft, surprised squeak, her face scrunching into a "cute" expression of pure shock before she scrambled to find the "off" switch.

Silence fell over the room, ringing in her ears.

"Were you born a mess?" Harrison asked, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a fire.

Caroline's face heated up, and it wasn't from the hairdryer. "Was I born-?" She stopped herself, her jaw tightening. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't a mess, that she was a person who lived a real life where things spilled and people laughed. But looking at his cold, blue eyes, she realized the effort would be wasted.

"Why did you stop?" Harrison challenged, leaning back in his chair. "Go on. Insult me. I'm not as fragile as my grandfather."

Caroline shook her head, clutching the hairdryer like a shield. "There's no point. I've learned to be careful around anyone named Marcus."

The unfinished retort seemed to irritate him more than an actual insult would have. He closed his book with a heavy thud. "I almost let myself believe that someone of your standing could actually manage a clever insult. Fortunately, it was just a false belief."

"Someone of my standing?" Caroline's voice shook. "Oh, forgive me, Your Heavenly Lord. I forgot that the air is thinner up here on the fifth floor."

"You were born with a sharp tongue," Harrison observed, though his expression remained unmoved. "Since we will be forced into several public appearances, I suggest you reduce your... unusual behavior."

"Unusual?" Caroline looked down at her dress. "I'm just uncomfortable. I'm not used to being painted like a doll or wearing clothes that cost more than my car."

Harrison stood up, his gaze raking over her from her ponytail to her flat shoes. "I bet you're wearing those because you can't walk in high heels."

"Yes," Caroline said defiantly. "Because I like to actually get places, not just teeter toward them."

"I knew it," Harrison said, a flicker of smug victory crossing his face. His phone buzzed on the desk. He checked the screen, his expression shifting back to business. "My parents have finished dinner. They are heading to the lobby. We are to meet them there."

He walked toward the door, but his pace was slower this time. He stopped by the glass window, looking out over the foggy Havenport harbor. "Actually, I brought you here to discuss several points we missed in the first meeting. But seeing as you're currently preoccupied with fanning your skirt, I suppose I'll have to request a third meeting."

They entered the elevator in silence. The car was lined with mirrors, forcing Caroline to see them in a single frame. The contrast was devastating. Harrison was tall, his shoulders broad and straight, his suit fitting him like armor. He looked like an imported, high-end product, sleek, expensive, and cold. Beside him, Caroline felt like a local knick-knack, small, handmade, and hopelessly out of place in this chrome-and-glass world.

"Didn't you hear me?" Harrison's voice broke through her daydream.

"What? Sorry," Caroline snapped out of it.

Harrison glared at her. In the reflection of the elevator door, she saw his eyes flare with a genuine, concentrated annoyance. In the span of an hour, he had been ignored by her twice. In Harrison's world, people didn't ignore him. They hovered on his every word.

"Bad luck," Harrison muttered as the doors slid open. "I have a feeling you are the harbinger of very bad luck."

The drive home was a descent into a different kind of silence. The Hale family's black Alphard moved through the misty streets of Havenport like a funeral carriage. There was no music, no laughter. Even the hum of the engine felt heavy.

Jake sat behind the wheel, his knuckles white against the leather. He drove with a fierce, controlled anger, his eyes fixed on the road as if he were looking for something to hit. In the back, their parents sat huddled together, their whispers barely audible over the heater.

"What did you talk to Jennifer about?" her mother's voice was a thin thread of anxiety.

"I just wanted to know if she was okay," Mr. Hale replied, his voice sounding older than Caroline had ever heard it. "I wanted to know if she could... accept Caroline."

Mr. Hale closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the private moment he had shared with Harrison's mother after dinner. He had known Jennifer when she was a girl, the agile, laughing daughter of his employer. Now, she was a statue of grief, an expressionless woman who looked like she was mourning a life she was still living.

"How are you doing, Miss?" Hale had asked her, falling into the old habit of his assistant days.

"You're going to be my in-law, Hale," Jennifer had replied with a sad, ghostly smile. "Stop calling me 'Miss.' I've warned you."

"How are you really?"

"As you can see," she said, gesturing to the gold-leafed room. "I am fine. I am a Marcus."

"You've changed, Jennifer. I hope you're actually okay."

Jennifer had finally looked at him then, her gaze piercing. "Why did you give your daughter to my father? Why did you agree to this?"

"I had no choice," Hale whispered. "When Williams Marcus wants something, who in Havenport can stop him?"

Jennifer fell silent, her fingers beginning to rub against each other. a nervous habit she'd had since she was a child. "I can't promise she'll be okay, Hale. To be honest, I am disappointed in you. You turned out to be the final piece in my father's long-term plan."

"Caroline is strong," Hale defended, though his heart wasn't in it. "She will adapt. I just need you to support her."

"Support her?" Jennifer's laugh was a hollow, brittle sound. "Hale, look at me. Look at how I 'adapted.' Your daughter is innocent. She doesn't understand the the trap she's walking into. I'm worried about you. Are you sure you're ready for the truth of what you've done?"

Hale felt a cold sweat break across his brow. "I thought... I thought giving her to Williams was the end of my debt. The final sacrifice."

"You're still my father's best assistant," Jennifer said, her eyes fixed on a point far beyond the room. "But your memory needs to be corrected. I am not the start of this situation. You are."

Hale frowned. "I don't understand."

"Think back, Hale. To twenty-five years ago. Do you remember my father's half-sibling? The illegitimate one?"

"Yes," Hale said, his brow furrowing. "Clara. I remember her. I thought she disappeared with her son."

"She didn't disappear. She was hidden. My father's illegitimate half-sister was ignored until she produced a son, a brilliant young man with more potential than a dozen legal heirs." Jennifer leaned in, her voice a sharp whisper. "Haven't you realized? You are that son, Hale. You are the illegitimate Marcus."

The words hit Hale like a physical blow to the chest. He felt the air leave his lungs. "No... that's impossible. I was an orphan. My father was a clerk..."

"A clerk my father paid to vanish," Jennifer corrected. "My father knew who you were the moment you walked into his office twenty-five years ago. He watched you. He groomed you. He gave you a business to run because he wanted to see if the Marcus blood was strong in you. And when you had daughters... he realized he could bring the illegitimate line back into the fold without the scandal of a public acknowledgement."

Hale's head spun. The 25-year conflict with the board members... the sudden resolution... the way Williams had always favored him despite the board's protests. It wasn't about loyalty. It was about succession.

"Harrison is my son," Jennifer continued, her voice trembling. "But he is the legal heir. By marrying your daughter to him, my father is unifying the bloodlines. He is making the illegitimate, legitimate. Everything, your career, your marriage, your children, it was all a strategy to produce the 'perfect' Marcus successor. Harrison and Caroline aren't just a marriage; they are a merger."

Hale stumbled out of the car when they arrived home, his legs feeling like lead. Jake caught him, steadying him as they walked into the house.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Caroline asked, rushing forward.

He didn't answer. He refused the family doctor, insisting he only needed to lie down. But as the night wore on, his fever spiked. He lay in bed, delirious, the truth of his own identity burning through him.

"Mom..." he muttered, his eyes rolling back. "If only... if only Jane had taken it. She was built for this. She has the steel. But Caroline... our kind-hearted little girl... she can't face them. She doesn't know she's walking into her own grandfather's mouth..."

Caroline stood by the door, watching her father shiver.