Chapter 5 LEGACY

(GEORGE)

He had mourned her for almost a decade, the only woman he had loved, Millian. "It started the moment my eyes met her on the first day of senior school." He murmured.

She was petite, had supple dark skin, brown eyes, and long eyelashes, and the mole that dotted above her pouting lips and her black silky hair were the first things that got his attention, with butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"She is so gorgeous," he blurted.

Her arms were folded around her chest, and she had her silky blouse showing off her slim figure; she was the true definition of perfection.

He couldn't help but fall in love with her right then and there-love at first sight, as they say....

He didn't speak to her at first because he was shy. Then, eventually, he dared to approach her after a certain math class.

"Hello, I'm George Grange, which he said in a low, wistful voice.

"I'm Millian, by the way," she responded.

And from then on, they saw each other after school and never missed a single day of talking to each other.

Then, on a regular Friday afternoon. During lunch, he asked her to be his girlfriend, and instantly she accepted.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too, he replied with a wide grin on his face.

And then the ship sailed from there on... They were young, but they both understood how deep and intense love could be.

''We were never perfect. We fought over silly things, we experienced long stretches of silence that only teenagers can create, but we still found time to hang out together at break and lunch, saw each other after school, and never missed a single day of talking to each other.

" I love her so much; I still do," while trying to fight off the tears that were threatening.

"We both imagined a home filled with kids, one filled with love......

"God, I still love her ". He sighed as he took a breath to fight off the tightness in his chest while still sipping from the cup of his favorite cinnamon coffee. While still blowing out a shaky breath...

"I'm such an asshole; I didn't bother to fight for our love. "

Then came the China business trip that changed the entire trajectory of their relationship.

Charles sat at the edge of the table, adjusting his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. Edwards stood near him, arms crossed, while Amelia and George, still in their tailored suits from the just-concluded panel, took their seats across from one another.

Then Charles, Amelia's father, cleared his throat, sliding a thick white document from his folder and laying it flat on the table. "There's a clause you both need to be aware of. It was signed by me and your father at the point of establishing our very first office at Belawood, he said in that careful tone used when dropping bombs.

Charles continued, "It was a strategic decision that aligned with the future we envisioned for this company. A way to keep the legacy."

Amelia leaned forward, her brows furrowed. George remained still, but his jaw ticked ever so slightly. He blinked, unsure if he heard correctly.

"What clause?" George asked curiously.

"This," Charles continued, "is the Matrimonial Alliance Clause. It was inserted at the formation of Chedwards Group, in Bellawood, where I and Edward ensured that both families would remain aligned not only by business but by blood."

Amelia pushed back her chair slightly, as if needing space to breathe. "Dad, you're joking, right?"

"No," he continued. "It is called the MATRIMONIAL ALLIANCES CLAUSE, specially designed for heirs of co-founders. It was a common practice in those days at Bellawood, where Edwards and I founded Chedwards Groups.

Belawood had laws, local statutes, as they called them, that permitted co-founders to mandate marriage between heirs, as it helps consolidate ownership and serves as a means of expanding empires.

We went on with it as we both felt it was a good decision for the future of our thriving business. If the clause is not honored, all existing shares under your names are to be recalled and redistributed to the public shareholders. Effective immediately." "Everything you currently control. All board seats,"

We had to say this now because the wedding is to take place on Amelia's attainment of 25 years of age, and she will be 25 next year

"Excuse me," Amelia said softly, barely above a whisper. "I need air." She walked out without looking back.

George remained seated, jaw clenched, hands fisted on the table as if holding himself back from flipping it over.

His heart sank with the realization that he had already been betrayed by his father. Why would they do such a thing to him?"

Then he started connecting the dots: how they had always wanted him to get closer to Amelia, but he just didn't like her...

George couldn't just stand Amelia when they were kids, and now, as an adult, he is being forced to spend the rest of his life with her.

She was that loud, nosy kid and always behaved like the smartest kid in every room she entered.

He grew up with Amelia forced into his world; his parents, founding partners, and childhood friends had monthly dinners, weekend retreats, and every godforsaken public holiday planned together.

She would correct him in front of their mothers. Always had the right pronunciation, had the best grades, and always knew the capital of some random country no one cared about. She was infuriating. He hated how effortlessly she wore it.

.

They threatened lawsuits; they both spent several hours conversing with their lawyers, and Amelia looked for several loopholes, but she found none.

Although the law that permitted founding partners to insert a matrimonial alliances clause in their founding charters had long been abolished. It had a retrospective effect, so it was binding!

The clause was irrevocable only on the grounds of infidelity in such a marriage.

They were just two people, bound by a legacy of control, and running away wasn't an option.

A clause so binding that if either of them refuses to honor it, the defaulting party loses everything. The legacy, the affluence-it all reverts to the shareholders.

And now, here they are. Bound by ink, legacy, and a ridiculous clause written by two old men who are long gone. Who believed love and business could be the same thing?

The night he got back from his China trip, he went straight to Millian's house with his airport fit and dry lips, like he hadn't slept in days. And the moment he stepped into her room, Millian sensed something was wrong.

"Millian," he said the second she opened the door. He covered his mouth with one hand, trying to fight back the tears

"I didn't plan to say anything that night. I just wanted to grab her hand and leave. But when I saw her standing there in that oversized sweater, barefoot, like the world hadn't been cruel to her yet, the words just started pouring out. Not smooth. Not strong. Just... real. I narrated all the details to her, the entire clause, how we were told to start planning for our wedding... Everything."

He continued, "They called it a 'matrimonial alliance clause.'"

"They said it would protect the legacy. Said it would keep outsiders from touching what they built. We've tried contacting lawyers, but there is nothing they can do about it."

Millian didn't say a word. She just stared at him, dumbfounded

Then suddenly, she fell hard on her knees, the weight of everything crashing down at once. Her sobs weren't graceful. They were ugly, raw, the kind that scratched at her throat and left her gasping. Mucus pooled at the corners of her nose, stringing between her lips as she tried to speak but couldn't.

Then came the words "Get out of my house, George... Get out!" She folded into herself, body shaking, tears soaking the floor.

'Millian, let's leave. Let's make our terms. Forget the companies. Forget the clause. Forget them; I can start making plans for us to move to Africa.'

'George...' she whispered, "I can't leave my mother. I won't be the daughter who vanished in the night. She's innocent in all of this. She has only me.' 'Please... go."

From that day forward, she became a ghost to him.

She stopped answering his calls; she blocked him on all social media platforms. He left messages: long ones, short ones, and desperate ones. She never replied.

He came by her house every day. He waited. Came again. Sat by the door. Nothing.

Eventually, the lights stopped coming on.

Then, he was informed by neighbors that she had packed up in the middle of the night and didn't say goodbye to anyone.

George never saw her again.