Chapter 3 The Threat of Legacy

THE GREY'S ESTATE

The study smelled of leather, tobacco, and old money. Dark shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, crammed with books no one had opened in years, trophies of a man who built his empire on power plays and ruthless choices. Harrison Grey sat behind his mahogany desk like a king on a throne, his sharp eyes fixed on Alexander the way a predator measured prey.

"You will marry Avery Thompson," Harrison said, his voice low but edged with finality. "The future of Grey Conglomerate depends on this alliance."

Alexander's jaw clenched. He'd heard his father speak in commands before, but never with such brutal certainty. "I already told you," he shot back, heat rising in his chest, "I'm not interested in a merger disguised as marriage. I'm with Luna."

Harrison leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Luna will never be part of this family. She has no standing, no name, no influence. She offers you nothing but weakness. And I won't have weakness attached to Grey Conglomerate."

Alexander's temper snapped. "Weakness? Loving someone who actually gives a damn about me is weakness?"

His father's mouth curved into something between a sneer and a smile. "You think this is about love? You're a Grey. Your life isn't yours, Alexander. It belongs to this legacy. To what I built with my hands while you enjoyed penthouses and private jets. You owe me. You owe the family."

"I owe you nothing," Alexander spat, though deep down the words tasted bitter. He did owe the family, the name, the inheritance, the power. And both men knew it.

Harrison's voice hardened. "If you defy me, the board will know by tomorrow morning. I'll strip you of your inheritance, every share, every right as heir, and I'll hand it all to Ethan. He's hungry. He'll take the throne you're too blind to appreciate."

The threat landed like a blade twisting in Alexander's gut. Ethan. His younger brother. Ethan, who had always been the second son, the backup. The idea of his father handing the empire to him felt like betrayal in its purest form.

"You wouldn't," Alexander said, but his voice lacked the conviction he wanted it to carry.

Harrison leaned forward, eyes like steel. "Try me. Keep seeing that girl, and you'll find out exactly how far I'll go."

Silence thickened the room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Alexander's chest burned, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to shout, to overturn the desk, to tear down every reminder of the empire his father worshiped. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out, his heart pounding with rage and a fear he hated admitting even to himself.

LE BERNARDIN RESTAURANT

The restaurant was the kind of place reserved for billionaires and diplomats, all glass walls, candlelight, and hushed conversations. The maître d' had personally led Avery Thompson to a private dining room tucked away in the corner, separated from the main hall by frosted glass panels and velvet curtains.

She had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes. Her posture was perfect, her silk dress pooling like water around her, and her eyes fixed on the empty chair across from her. A flute of champagne rested untouched beside her plate. If anyone else had kept her waiting, she might have considered it an insult, but this was Alexander Grey, the heir to the Grey Conglomerate, notorious for his arrogance and disregard for courtesy.

Avery didn't fidget, didn't scowl, didn't even sigh. She sat with the patience of a woman who had grown up in boardrooms and banquets, a woman who understood power games and what it meant to hold her ground without raising her voice.

The doors finally opened.

Alexander Grey walked in with the same commanding presence that had entire markets shifting when his name appeared in headlines. Tall, sharp-suited, dark hair slightly mussed as though he had run a hand through it on the way over. He removed his jacket, draping it carelessly over the back of his chair, then sat without apology.

"You've been waiting," he said, his voice deep, smooth, and laced with indifference.

"I have," Avery replied calmly, her eyes meeting his without flinching. "Punctuality speaks of respect, Mr. Grey. I assumed that mattered in your world."

His lips twitched, almost a smirk, but not quite. "In my world, power speaks louder than minutes on a clock."

"Power without discipline is chaos," Avery countered softly, lifting her glass of water. "And chaos destroys empires."

Their eyes locked, and for the first time, Alexander seemed to pause. Not because she had scolded him, plenty of people tried but because she hadn't raised her voice, hadn't cracked under his deliberate provocation. She was composed, unshaken.

"You came prepared," he said finally, leaning back in his chair.

"I came as myself," Avery corrected. "If that feels like preparation, perhaps it says more about you than me."

The waiter arrived with menus, but neither of them looked down. The tension between them was too sharp, the air thick with unspoken challenge. Finally, Alexander broke eye contact, scanning the list half-heartedly before ordering a steak, rare. Avery chose salmon with quiet precision, then handed her menu back without hesitation.

When they were alone again, Alexander rested his elbows on the table, his expression sharpening.

"You know why we're here," he said.

Avery folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Yes. To appease our families. To see if the heirs of Grey Conglomerate and Thompson Pharmaceuticals can tolerate sharing a table, let alone a life."

He arched a brow at her bluntness. "And can you?"

"That depends." She tilted her head, studying him as though he were a case file she needed to analyze. "Are you planning to sabotage this before it begins, or are you willing to at least hear me out?"

Alexander gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're braver than I expected."

"I'm not brave," she said evenly. "I'm realistic. My father made it clear that this union strengthens both families. But I'm not here to be a pawn. I'm here to see the man I'm supposed to be tied to, and decide if he's worth even pretending for."

The candor in her words caught him off guard. Most women who sat across from Alexander tried to impress him, to flatter him, to mold themselves into whatever they thought he wanted. Avery didn't bother.

"You don't want this marriage either," he said finally, narrowing his eyes.

"No," Avery admitted, her calmness unshaken. "But I accept that legacy isn't a matter of want. It's a matter of duty. And unlike you, Mr. Grey, I don't indulge in lateness or rebellion when the stakes are empires."

Alexander leaned forward, his gaze darkening. "You think you know me?"

"I know enough," she replied. "Your reputation precedes you. Ruthless in business, untouchable in public, arrogant in private."

"And yet here you are, sitting across from me." His voice dropped lower, edged with something dangerous. "Which means you're either fearless or foolish."

"Or perhaps," Avery said, her lips curving slightly, "I'm the only one in this room who understands that this isn't about you or me. It's about the names we carry."

The waiter returned with their meals, breaking the moment, though the weight of their words lingered. Plates were set, wine poured, and once again they were left in silence, save for the faint music drifting from the main hall.

Alexander cut into his steak with deliberate slowness. "So, tell me, Avery Thompson. Do you plan to play the obedient heiress? Sit quietly, smile on cue, sign where your father tells you?"

She placed a small bite of salmon on her fork, lifted it gracefully, and met his gaze before answering. "No. I plan to be seen. I plan to lead. And if that terrifies you, perhaps you should tell your father to find a weaker bride."

Alexander's knife stilled. A slow smile spread across his face, sharp and dangerous.

"You're not what I expected," he admitted.

"Good," Avery said simply, taking her bite. "I'd hate to bore you."

The conversation stretched long into the evening, a battle of words masked as polite dinner talk. Alexander pushed, provoked, tested her boundaries. Avery answered every strike with quiet strength, never matching his arrogance, but never bending either.

By the time dessert was offered, neither of them had touched much of their food. The real feast had been in their exchange, the challenge, the sparks of defiance, the reluctant respect beginning to thread its way between them.

When Alexander finally rose, he slipped his jacket back on, his expression unreadable. "This isn't over, Avery Thompson," he said, his tone both warning and promise.

Avery stood as well, smoothing her dress. "I wouldn't want it to be, Alexander Grey."

Their eyes met one last time, and in that glance the lines were drawn between duty and desire, between legacy and rebellion.

And both knew this was only the beginning.