Xavier’s view

The a buzz sounded again but this time it wasn’t the telecom on the table, it’s his mobile phone in his pocket. sharp and insistent against the tense silence in Xavier’s office.

His eyes didn’t leave Arabella not even as her face crumbled with guilt, not even as her hands trembled around the vacuum. But when the name on the caller ID flashed across the screen, something subtle shifted in him.

Mama.

He clenched his jaw.

Of all the moments.

He swiped the green icon and turned away from Arabella without another word. “Hello, Mama,” he said quietly, already moving toward the glass door, the tension in his shoulders momentarily lifting, like a reflex. He looked at the two ladies in his room and told them to clean up before he returned.

“Xavier,” came the soft but firm voice on the other end. “My boy. You never answer on the first ring anymore. You think you’re too grown to remember your mama?”

He exhaled, stepping into the hallway where the marble felt colder beneath his feet.

“Don’t start,” he murmured.

“I’ll start when I please. Don’t think I won’t show up at that glass tower you built with your pride and scare the soul back into you.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a small smirk threatening to touch his lips, but never quite making it. “I’m working.”

“You’re always working,” she snapped. “You didn’t call me back last night. Or the night before. I had to hear from Angela, of all people, that you missed your cousin’s engagement. Again.”

Xavier leaned against the wall beside the boardroom, pinching the bridge of his nose harder now. “You know I don’t do family parties.”

“You don’t do anything anymore, except hide in that office like a vampire. It’s been three years, Xavier. How long do you intend to punish the world?”

His jaw tightened again. The words cut deep—not because they were cruel, but because they were true.

“I’m not hiding,” he said, quieter now. “I’m working. I have responsibilities.”

“You have a mother,” she countered, voice breaking slightly at the edges. “You have a home, Xavier. You’ve been in New York for four months and haven’t stepped foot in the house. Do you know your brother stopped asking when you’re coming back? He just assumes you won’t.”

His throat felt tight. “I didn’t ask for this company, Mama. I’m doing what I was told.”

“No,” she snapped, “you’re doing what your father told you. And he’s not here anymore.”

Silence.

Painful, weighted silence.

The kind that wrapped itself around old wounds and reopened them with surgical precision.

“I’ll come this weekend,” he said finally, voice rougher now.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“You always say ‘this weekend,’ and then some meeting or scandal or ego pulls you back in.”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Then what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to mean it. I want my son to come home and sit at my table like a human being, not a machine in a tailored suit.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. The hall felt too wide. Too quiet.

“I’ll be there,” he said again, more firmly this time. “Friday. I’ll drive up after work.”

She didn’t speak immediately. He could almost see her blinking away tears.

“Bring flowers,” she whispered. “For your sister’s grave.”

His chest ached. “I always do.”

“I miss you, Xavier,” she said, and this time, there was no command in her tone—just the ache of a mother watching her son disappear into ambition and grief.

“I miss you too.”

A pause.

“Don’t make me call again,” she warned, trying for humor.

He cracked a real, faint smile. “You’d just show up here anyway.”

“Damn right.”

He chuckled softly under his breath.

“I love you,” she added gently.

He hesitated. Then, quietly: “I love you too, Mama.”

And with that, the call ended.

Xavier stayed there for a few seconds longer, the wall behind his back holding him up as the weight of memory settled around him like ash.

The echo of Arabella’s voice from earlier clung to the inside of his mind. The girl with wide eyes and too much sincerity. She looked at him like she expected to be crushed. And that bothered him more than it should’ve.

He exhaled sharply, collecting himself, before returning to the office with every bit of his usual controlled coldness.

But when he pushed the door open again, it was empty.

Only a faint trace of citrus cleaner lingered in the air.

She was gone.

Later That Evening — Hudson Estate, Westchester County**

The big iron gate creaked as it closed behind Xavier’s sleek black SUV, the sound swallowed by the vast, manicured estate that had once felt like home.

He wasn’t supposed to be here until Friday.

But the phone call with his mother had left him rattled.

And something deep in his chest told him this something was going to happen.

The golden porch light was on when he pulled up, casting a warm halo over the ivy-wrapped columns. As he stepped out, the smell of lavender and firewood hit him—familiar, nostalgic.

But instead of finding his mother at the door, he found someone else.

“Xavier,” said a thin man in a navy suit, standing in the entryway with a thick folder clutched under his arm.

“Lucas?” Xavier frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Lucas Harrington, the family lawyer for over two decades, looked freshly arrived himself—coat still damp from the spring rain, spectacles sliding down his nose.

“I didn’t expect you tonight,” Lucas said. “But… maybe it’s time.”

Xavier glanced inside. The hallway lights were dim. His mother’s favorite jazz record was playing faintly in the background.

“Time for what?”

Lucas gave him a weary look. “Come inside. You might want to sit.”

That sentence never led to anything good.

Xavier stepped into guest meeting room, his eyes scanning for his mother.

“She’s in the kitchen ,” Lucas said, already moving toward the study.

Xavier followed, every step laced with a familiar dread. The study hadn’t changed. Same mahogany shelves. Same scent of aged paper and sandalwood. Same oil portrait of his father above the fireplace, eyes forever watching.

Lucas sat and gestured to the chair across from him. Xavier didn’t move.

“I’m standing.”

“Suit yourself.” Lucas opened the folder and slid a packet across the table. “This is your father’s final addition to the will. It wasn’t legally binding until three years after his passing. That milestone… was last week.”

Xavier’s fingers curled into fists.

“You brought me here for a clause?”

“A clause,” Lucas said carefully, “that affects your ownership of Knight Enterprises.”

Xavier’s eyes sharpened. “What?”

Lucas hesitated. Then read aloud, “If, after three years of my passing, my eldest son Xavier Blackwood Knight is not married and has no legal heir, all Knight holdings—shares, assets, partnerships—will be severed from X Enterprises and transferred to Ethan Alexander Knight.”

The words dropped like a grenade.

Xavier’s jaw tensed, blood draining from his face. “What kind of backward, manipulative clause is that?”

“Your father was… traditional,” Lucas said, not meeting his eyes. “He wanted legacy. Bloodline. He feared the company becoming cold and rootless.”

Xavier scoffed, pacing now. “So his brilliant plan was to blackmail me from the grave?”

“You’ve known the company was built on legacy. Family. You took the reins knowing this might come up.”

“That’s not business,” Xavier snapped. “That’s a forced marriage proposal with a time bomb attached!”

A soft voice cut through the tension. “Xavier.”

He turned.

His mother stood in the doorway, hands clasped together, her face tight with emotion.

“Mama,” he growled. “Did you know about this?”

“I did,” she said gently. “But I didn’t think it would ever come to this.”

“Of course it did,” he bit out. “He always thought I was too cold. That I wouldn’t settle down. He never trusted me to build the future without his damn strings.”

“He loved you,” she said softly. “But he also loved this family. This name.”

“He left me with an empire and a trap,” Xavier said, dragging a hand through his hair. “And now what? Marry someone just to keep the board happy? Pop out a kid like I’m some pawn in a legacy machine?”

“You have choices,” Lucas offered. “You can decline. Let the clause play out—”

Xavier turned on him. “So Ethan gets everything? That arrogant little parasite?”

Lucas swallowed. “It’s what your father outlined.”

“I built this,” Xavier growled. “I kept X Enterprises alive after he died. Ethan’s been living off modeling gigs and socialite scraps. And now you’re telling me I lose everything because I haven’t thrown a damn wedding?”

His mother moved forward slowly. “You don’t have to fall in love, Xavier. That’s not what the clause says.”

Xavier stared at her, heart hammering. “You want me to marry for strategy?”

“I want you to survive,” she whispered. “I want you to stay in control. And I want your father’s name to mean something.”

Silence hung thick in the room.

Xavier stepped back, pacing. His fists clenched. His mind raced. His pride warred with everything else—logic, grief, memory.

“Do you know how insane this is?” he asked.

His mother didn’t answer.

Lucas quietly began to close the folder. “I’ll give you time.”

“Don’t,” Xavier snapped. “I don’t need time. I need a solution.”

He turned to his mother again, voice sharp and low.

“Does it count,” he asked slowly, “if I marry someone… just on paper?”

She hesitated. “Technically, yes. As long as it’s a legal marriage. No expiration date. And… the heir clause remains in place.”

His stomach twisted. “So I need to marry. And produce an heir.”

“Within three years,” Lucas clarified.

Xavier closed his eyes.

The weight of the name. The expectations. The bloodline.

And suddenly, without meaning to, his mind flashed to a pair of wide, trembling eyes. Messy curls. A girl with a vacuum and an apology on her lips.

He shook the image out of his head. Ridiculous.

“I’ll fix it,” he muttered.

“Xavier,” his mother said cautiously, “what are you thinking?”

His voice was cold steel. “Whatever it takes to keep what’s mine.” He said storming off.