AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"William," he begins, his tone laced with a mixture of exasperation and expectation. "I still don't understand why you won't consider Madeline Lonelle. The alliance could redefine our presence in the European art scene."
Father stands with an imposing stature, his height accentuated by the slim cut of his pinstripe suit that speaks of tradition and power. His hair, though thinning at the crown, seems to matter little to his commanding presence.
Beneath furrowed brows, his eyes retain their sharp, clear gaze—windows to a shrewd and calculating mind. A thin mustache sits meticulously above his lip, each whisker trimmed to precision, not a hair daring to stray from its appointed place.
In his appearance, as in his life, every detail is controlled, a testament to the discipline with which he governs the family and the gallery alike.
I meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, my hands pausing on the silk of my tie. "Because, Father, I intend to marry for love, not leverage," I say firmly, my voice steady despite the tension.
He scoffs. "Love? You're a romantic in a world that no longer values such fancies. Look around, William. Marriages crumble every day. What we need is a union that fortifies our legacy, not a love that may fade."
I slip into my jacket, the tailored fabric a shield against his antiquated views.
"And yet, without love, what's the point of any of it?" I challenge. "To propose to Madeline would be a performance, a lie. That's not who I am. It's not who I will be."
Father's eyes harden, and for a moment, the air between us is as sharp as a blade. "If your mother were here—"
"She'd be appalled," the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. "She believed in love, in truth. And I am my mother's son."
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, a tangible presence in the room.
I can feel the weight of my father’s unvoiced expectations pressing down on me, an ever-present demand for obedience and conformity.
With a firm grip on the handle of my umbrella, I walk past him, the rapid beat of my heart echoing the steps that carry me away from his cold scrutiny.
I am determined to honor myself, to uphold the promise I made to my mother. She, with her ever-present smile and laughter that used to fill the halls of our home, was the heart of our family. Even as cancer drained the life from her, she remained the beacon of warmth against the chill of my father’s ambition.
It’s been two years since she passed, and without her gentle influence, Father's demeanor has turned even icier, his expectations for me, the sole heir to his empire, ever more oppressive.
I remember her words, whispered in the quiet of her final days, urging me to remain true to who I am and to forgive my father’s stern ways.
“He loves you,” she had said, “in his own way. It's his manner of coping with the grief.”
It’s a thought that offers little comfort when I feel the crushing weight of the legacy I’m expected to continue.
My father’s attempts to shape and control my life are his way of dealing with his pain, but they are suffocating me, threatening to quench the fire she kindled within my soul.
As another birthday approaches—the milestone of thirty-five—her absence is felt more acutely than ever.
Despite my achievements, my father’s gaze still reduces me to that wayward boy from years ago, his reprimands echoing through the grand corridors of our family estate.
It’s a battle, constantly proving my worth, struggling to maintain a semblance of the relationship she so dearly wished for us.
With every step I take, I strive to balance the act of honoring her memory and keeping the peace, all while the ghost of my youthful defiance flickers in the back of my mind, urging me not to lose myself in the vast shadow of the Willoughby legacy.
My heart is yearning for adventure.
London greets me with its signature drizzle, a million droplets reflecting the complexity of my thoughts.
I weave through the crowd, the press of bodies and the din of voices a stark contrast to the solitude of my mind. I can't help but wonder, will I ever escape the shadow of my father's expectations?
I pass an elderly couple, huddled under an umbrella, walking arm in arm.
The sight makes my heart pang.
I want to have someone in my life when I’m old and gray. Someone to share my umbrella.
Businesses come and go, but that kind of love? The kind that transcends through time, withstanding loss of beauty and vitality… that’s the kind of love I’m looking for.
