I stared at Harrison, my father's long-time lawyer and friend, convinced he was playing some sort of sick joke. The remnants of my birthday party still littered my penthouse—empty champagne flutes, deflating balloons, and the lingering scent of expensive perfume—but the festive mood had evaporated the moment Harrison had pulled out that envelope.
"You can't be serious," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Harrison's face remained impassive, his gray eyes steady behind wire-rimmed glasses. "I'm afraid I am, Dylan. Your father was very clear about this."
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the length of my living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of New York City, lights twinkling like stars in the night sky. It was a view I'd always loved, but now it felt like the city was mocking me.
"Read it again," I demanded, stopping to pour myself a generous measure of scotch.
Harrison cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "'To my son, Dylan Blackwood, I leave the entirety of my estate, including all shares in Blackwood Industries, with the following condition: Dylan must be married by his 30th birthday. Should he fail to meet this condition, the entire estate will be liquidated and donated to charity, with Dylan receiving only a modest monthly allowance.'"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I downed the scotch in one gulp, welcoming the burn. "This is insane. There has to be some sort of loophole, right? I mean, it's not even legal to put conditions like that on a will, is it?"
Harrison shook his head. "I'm afraid it is legal, Dylan. Your father had some of the best lawyers in the country draft this will. It's ironclad."
I slumped onto the leather sofa, my mind reeling. "But why? Why would he do this to me?"
"Your father..." Harrison paused, choosing his words carefully. "He was concerned about the path you were on. He wanted to ensure you'd have stability, a family."
I laughed bitterly. "By forcing me into a loveless marriage? That's rich, coming from a man who was married to his work more than he ever was to my mother."
"Dylan," Harrison's tone softened. "I know this is a shock, but—"
"A shock?" I stood up abruptly, my anger rising. "This is my life we're talking about! My future! And he's trying to control it from beyond the grave!"
"He was trying to protect you, in his own way."
I scoffed. "Protect me? I'm 29 years old, for God's sake! I run a multi-billion dollar company. I don't need protection, especially not like this."
Harrison remained silent, letting me vent. I paced again, my mind racing through the implications. Marriage. By my 30th birthday, That gave me... less than a year. The thought made my chest tighten.
"What happens to the company if I don't get married?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"As per the will, it would be part of the estate liquidation. The proceeds will go to charity."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "But... that would put thousands of people out of work. The company, everything my father built, everything I've worked for... it would all be gone."
Harrison nodded gravely. "Your father was betting on that being a strong motivator."
"Motivator?" I spat the word out. "More like blackmail."
I walked to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The city stretched out before me, oblivious to the bomb that had just been dropped on my life. How many of those twinkling lights represented Blackwood Industries employees, going about their evening, unaware that their livelihoods hung in the balance of my marital status?
"There has to be another way," I muttered, more to myself than to Harrison.
"I'm afraid not, Dylan. The terms are clear."
I turned back to face him. "And if I contest the will?"
Harrison shook his head. "It would be a long, expensive legal battle with no guarantee of success. And it would become public. The press would have a field day."
I could see the headlines now: "Billionaire Playboy Fights Daddy's Will." The thought made me nauseous.
"So those are my options? Get married or lose everything?"
"Essentially, yes."
I laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the spacious room. "Well, I guess I had better start interviewing potential Mrs. Blackwoods, huh?"
Harrison didn't laugh. Instead, he stood up, gathering his papers. "I know this is a lot to process, Dylan. Take some time to think it over. We can discuss the details more tomorrow."
I nodded numbly, barely registering as Harrison saw himself out. The soft click of the door closing behind him felt like a death knell to my carefree life.
I wandered to the bar, pouring another scotch with a shaky hand. My mind was a whirlwind of faces—women I'd dated, women I'd considered dating, women I'd actively avoided dating. None of them seemed like marriage material. Hell, I wasn't even sure I knew what marriage equipment looked like.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. Probably more birthday wishes. I ignored it, instead walking out onto the balcony. The night air was cool against my skin, carrying the faint sounds of the city below.
I thought about my father, about our complicated relationship. He'd always pushed me to be better, to achieve more. But this? This felt like a step too far.
The buzz of my phone grew more insistent. With a sigh, I went back inside to check it. Multiple missed calls and messages, all from Jake. My thumb hovered over the call back button, but I hesitated. Jake was my best friend, but how could I even begin to explain this situation?
Just then, a new message popped up: "Dude, answer your damn phone! It's about Mia."
Mia. Jake's sister. My childhood friend. The girl who'd had a crush on me for years before leaving for Europe. I hadn't thought about her in ages.
Curiosity piqued, I hit the call button. Jake answered at the first ring.
"Finally! Where the hell have you been?" Jake's voice was tense, worried.
"Sorry, I was... dealing with some stuff. What's going on with Mia?"
There was a pause, then Jake's voice came back, lower this time. "She's in trouble, man. Big trouble. I think... I think she might be in danger."
My heart rate picked up. "What kind of danger? Where is she?"
"I don't know exactly. She called me from the airport, said something about being followed, then the line went dead. I've been trying to reach her for the past hour."
My mind raced. Mia in danger? It didn't make sense. "Have you called the police?"
"Not yet. I wanted to see if you'd heard from her first. You two were always close."
I ran a hand over my face, the weight of the evening pressing down on me. "I haven't talked to Mia in years, Jake. But if she's in trouble..."
"I know it's a lot to ask, especially on your birthday, but could you maybe—"
A loud crash from somewhere in my penthouse cut Jake off mid-sentence. I spun around, my heart pounding. "Jake, I have to go. Something's—"
The lights went out, plunging the penthouse into darkness. In the dim glow of the city lights outside, I saw a figure moving in the shadows.
"Dylan?" Jake's voice sounded tiny from the phone in my hand. "Dylan, what's going on?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, something hard connected with the back of my head. Pain exploded through my skull, and the world tilted sideways.
As consciousness slipped away, two thoughts battled for dominance in my fading mind: Who was attacking me? And what the hell had happened to Mia?