CHAPTER 1
CALLUM
I lock eyes with Mr. Mitchell, searching for even the faintest flicker of humor in his steel-gray gaze. Nothing. At seventy, with his perfectly knotted tie and that immovable posture behind his mahogany desk, the McGregor family lawyer looks carved out of stone.
“You’re joking. Right?”
“I would never joke about your father’s final wishes, Mr. McGregor. I’m a lawyer, not a comedian.”
I rake a hand through my hair, the motion sharp with frustration. Outside the office window, the rolling green Highlands stretch endlessly, a view that usually grounds me. Today, it feels like every blade of grass is laughing in my face.
“It’s 2025, not the Middle Ages. You can’t tie an inheritance to marital status. That’s got to be illegal.”
Mr. Mitchell adjusts his glasses on his aquiline nose, studying me like I’m a particularly slow law student.
“I assure you, everything is perfectly legal, Mr. McGregor. I drafted the will myself, and I can guarantee it is airtight. Your father was very clear on this point.”
I push to my feet and start pacing. The portraits of generations of Mitchell lawyers lining the walls seem to track my every move, all wearing the same silent disapproval.
“Besides, my grandmother runs the company. It’s not like she’s retiring tomorrow. She’s in perfect health.”
“Mrs. McGregor has already signed all necessary documents to transfer her shares and fully step down on your thirty-third birthday. Exactly one year from now.”
A chill snakes down my spine.
“She did that? Without telling me?”
“She simply complied with your father’s will. In summary: you are married by that date and inherit the company… or the shares pass to your cousin, Lachlan McGregor.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
“Lachlan? The same Lachlan who tried to convince our board that our premium whisky should be sold in raspberry-flavored cans?”
“It is not my role to judge the business decisions within your company, Mr. McGregor,” he says dryly, “but yes, that does sound like something your cousin would propose.”
I drop into the leather chair across from him, a headache already pounding at my temples.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. Your father was deeply attached to family tradition. He believed a McGregor does not rule alone. His marriage to your mother was, in his own words, ‘the foundation of every success the company has known.’”
I roll my eyes before I can stop myself.
“And how exactly am I supposed to find a wife in a year?”
“Your father believed that was sufficient time for you to find…” He glances at his notes. “Ah yes. ‘A partner worthy of the McGregor name and capable of sharing its responsibilities.’”
I press my fingers to my temples. The migraine is already blooming.
“And if I contest this ridiculous will?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“You would lose. I ensured this document is court-proof.”
“One year to find a wife. That’s insane.”
Mr. Mitchell closes the file with quiet finality.
