Prologue
"Did you see the way he didn't even glance at them?"
Storming into his office, Winston Deveraux slammed the double doors wide open.
He didn't care if anyone heard him.
"He's not ready."
"Winston? A-Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Pacing heavily in his office, Winston shook his head. He stopped near the large floor-to-ceiling windows, his mood as dark as the sky beyond them. Lightning lit up the office in sharp flashes.
Outside, guests dressed in their finest continued to leave the manor. Women of status and wealth stepped into their waiting vehicles and were driven off the property. Not one stayed, or more so, was invited to stay and mingle with the guest of honor.
The Deveraux Gala had run short.
So had Mr. Deveraux's patience with his son.
A soft voice addressed Winston as the double doors closed behind him.
"This will crush him. You know how hard—"
"Genevieve, look at him. Not a look, a wink, not a twinkle of interest."
Gently smoothing out her beautifully pressed gown, Genevieve slowly approached her husband.
Dragging a hand over his tired face, Winston collapsed into a chair.
"Good Lord, where did I go wrong with this boy?"
Chuckling softly, Genevieve's lips curled into a smirk.
"Hmmm, well, you know, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, my love."
No response came.
"Besides, if I remember correctly, you were quite the workaholic, a tad bit of a brute, and a smooth talker at that age."
Genevieve received nothing more than a hmph from her agonized husband.
For a few moments, the only sounds were the crackling fire in the cherry wood hearth and the pitter-patter of rain on the roof.
"I created this. I made him exactly what he was trained to be."
"Winston..."
"No, I did." His tone was quieter now, steadier. "Women are throwing themselves at him, and he doesn't even look up from those bloody numbers long enough to see them. And for whatever reason, none of these money-hungry whore—"
"Winston!" his wife snapped.
While she had to agree that their son seemed to attract the wrong type of woman, there wasn't any need to use such language.
"You should be grateful he has no interest in those types of women anyway."
Rolling his eyes, Winston shifted his gaze toward a row of men's portraits stretched across the wall, each bearing the same cold, unyielding expression.
The last two men caught his attention, holding it longer than the rest.
One was stone cold. Not a smile, not a twinkle in the eye, nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The next was almost the same, but behind his straight face, there was a shadow of a smile trying to be seen. His eyebrows weren't angrily furrowed, but they weren't relaxed either. Almost confused. Caught between duty and expectation.
Soon, his son's portrait would be hung next.
What would his look like?
What would it betray about his life?
"My father did it this way. Built everything we have this way. And his father before him. And it worked."
His gaze moved to the beautiful woman standing before him. They had been much younger then, but even now, she was still the most beautiful thing in the room to him.
"So it needs to work for him too. I've always given him a standard he's been expected to meet. I was too late. I created this monster of a man. I pushed him too hard. Expected perfection. Now he doesn't have a heart."
Genevieve scoffed. "He has a heart."
"And relationships aside, there's no promise of heirs yet. Good Lord, I'm not getting any younger."
"This name doesn't continue itself, Gen. If he can't settle down with someone, lead a family, and produce an heir, how am I supposed to trust he can grow the enterprise?"
"I mean, I think he's trying, dear, but he just doesn't seem to like his choices."
Sighing, he continued, "I was so busy traveling, working, building this empire," he said, motioning around the office and toward the business awards lining the walls, "that I may have forgotten to teach him about the importance of building a solid legacy."
His mouth tightened.
"Granted, my father didn't do much for me in that department either."
"You turned out okay," Genevieve replied.
Winston's jaw tightened slightly.
"Okay isn't enough."
His eyes lifted to hers.
"It never was."
"But I want something better than okay for him, Gen. I want him to make something great for himself."
"Sweetheart, he will be." Sitting down in her husband's lap, she faced him. "You did."
Winston didn't respond. He instinctively wrapped his arms around his wife's waist, resting his head against her shoulder and inhaling her calming scent.
He adored everything about his wife. The way she walked. The way she talked. The way she carried herself with quiet confidence. The way she mothered their two children, even as they reached adulthood.
Her eyes were filled with hurt and confusion. Not for herself, but for her children. One in particular.
If there was anything Genevieve believed in most, it was her children.
"I don't want him to have everything and still have nothing."
He lifted his head slightly, his voice steady again.
"This company is not a birthright. It's a responsibility. And responsibility isn't handed to you gently."
Genevieve's expression softened, but she said nothing.
"I didn't raise him to be soft or to be taken advantage of, but I also didn't raise him to be this reckless little playboy with no interest in building his personal affairs. Everything goes hand in hand. You can't have one and not the other. It doesn't work. And if it does, it doesn't work well. You look weak and pathetic. Can't even run your own home."
"Look what you've built, Winston. You've continued to build the Deveraux empire into something unrecognizable from what your great-grandparents had. Even from what your father had. You've brought it so far and turned it into something stunningly fierce. Power runs through the enterprise, relentlessly reminding others that we can cripple them with one move. You've done that."
Winston's eyes softened at his love. She had a way of making him listen, even when he didn't quite see things her way.
"You were just like him," she whispered. "What's the difference?"
Taking his fingers, he gently turned his wife's chin toward him.
"I had you," he said quietly. "Every decision I made, I had you, Gen. I had you to ground me, support me, and love me."
Winston paused.
"He doesn't have that."
He stood, the softness fading as he stepped away.
"And for some reason, he can't find it with someone good."
"He walks into a room and owns it. People listen. They respect him."
His gaze shifted toward the portraits again.
"But no one actually knows him. And he doesn't let them."
"Starting out, you didn't either," Genevieve reminded him.
Her husband’s eyes flicked back to hers.
"I mean, we didn't..."
"Didn't have a choice," his wife finished.
Winston furrowed his eyebrows.
"Yes, but eventually it didn't matter. I chose you."
She smiled softly.
"And I chose you."
"I learned because I had to."
Genevieve could see the shift in him now. The decision settling in.
"Winston, just because it was arranged for us doesn't mean it will work out the same way."
"It might not. That doesn't change what he needs."
"Winston..."
"He's had plenty of time, Genevieve. In probably less than twenty years, I'll be dead, and I'll pass my legacy onto who? A son who won't have anyone to continue it?"
Motioning to the photos on the wall, he stared at the rows of Deveraux men hanging in solitude.
"We've worked too hard for everything to die with him."
Silence settled between them.
"And forcing him is going to get that result?"
Winston didn't answer immediately.
After a few moments, he hurried over to his desk, grabbed the stack of papers, and tossed them into the trash.
Then, simply, he replied, "He has a year."
"Winston—"
"One year."
His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"He has a year to prove he can build something real. Not a deal. Not an impression. Something real."
"And what happens after a year?"
“If he can walk away from her after a year, he fails.”
His expression hardened.
"And I won't make it easy for him."
He turned slightly, his expression unreadable.
"I'm not handing him this company on potential. He'll earn it. The same way I did."
His gaze darkened.
"If he can't, he's not ready."
"Are you sure this is the path you want to choose? Your father—"
"That's exactly why I'm choosing it."
After a pause, he continued.
"And if he doesn't, Seraphina gets it all."
Genevieve raised her eyebrows, knowing that was an entirely different conversation involving an entirely different individual, but she decided to stay silent.
"He'll thank me for it one day."
The words landed, firm and controlled.
Genevieve bowed her head slightly, understanding now, even if she wasn't sure she agreed.
Winston had spent half of his life bending to his father's will, which included their marriage. The other half, he spent trying to become the farthest version of himself from that man.
And yet, somehow, he still saw pieces of him in everything he built.
He glanced toward his desk.
Nestled between stacks of paperwork sat an old silver frame coated in a thin layer of dust.
Two families smiled back at him.
The Deverauxs.
The Wolvertons.
Side by side stood two young boys and two little girls, oblivious to the years ahead. Back then, they had been friends. Allies.
Somewhere along the way, friendship had become competition.
Competition had become rivalry.
But perhaps there was still a way to mend what had been broken.
Winston's gaze settled on the two children standing at the center of the photograph.
Perhaps the answer had been in front of him all along.
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