The Hayes Group had not always been an empire.
It began with Edward Hayes, a man of fierce ambition and sharp instincts, who had clawed his way into wealth through construction and real estate. He was a builder, not just of towers but of legacies, and he wore the Hayes name like armor. For years, the company had flourished under his vision—until the betrayal.
A trusted aide sold secrets to competitors, gutting projects and siphoning clients. The Hayes Group almost collapsed. For a moment, the empire Edward built seemed destined to vanish into the dust of Wall Street scandals.
But it didn't.
It was saved by Edward's grandson.
When Ronan Hayes stepped forward, still in his twenties, he founded R.H. Real Estate & Construction Holdings, reviving the Hayes name and drawing back investors who had fled. Under his leadership, projects rose higher, faster, and bolder than ever. Within three years, the Hayes Group wasn't just restored—it was stronger, more powerful, the kind of corporation whispered about in closed-door meetings.
Still, those whispers weren't only about business.
Ethan Hayes, Ronan's father, never carried the same hunger for power. Unlike Edward or Ronan, Ethan had been content to step away from boardrooms and devote his life to his wife, Opal Hayes. Known in her youth as the beauty of her time, Opal had captivated the social scene, and Ethan, quiet but steadfast, had been proud to win her hand. While Edward built towers and Ronan revived them, Ethan lived for his family—and for Opal, who gave him two children: Ronan, and Talia, their daughter who was the force behind Hayes & Co., a fashion house now entangled with the Hayes Group's influence.
It was a family that lived under light so bright it cast shadows everywhere else.
And in that light stood Ronan Hayes.
At twenty-six, he was every tabloid's fascination. Dashing, tall, with striking features inherited from his mother's beauty and his father's stature, Ronan was a heartthrob the press adored. Women wanted him, socialites dreamed of marrying him, and yet… he was never seen with anyone. Since taking the CEO seat, he had kept himself shrouded in work. Rumors bloomed like wildflowers in the silence. Some said he wasn't interested in women at all, citing the fact that his inner circle was made up mostly of men. Others whispered of scandals...unseen lovers, discreet dismissals.
There was even one story: a young woman, bold enough to flirt with him inside his own office, was promptly fired. No one ever saw her again.
Speculation had a way of growing in the vacuum Ronan created.
But Ronan himself cared little for gossip. His focus was the company—the towers, the empire, the Hayes name he carried on his back.
The CEO sat now in his office on the top floor of Hayes headquarters, a space that seemed more like a throne room than a workplace. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Manhattan glittering below, the city sprawled in electric veins of light. Inside, the décor was all sharp edges and understated luxury: mahogany, steel, and quiet dominance.
A knock interrupted the silence.
"Come in," Ronan said without looking up from the documents on his desk.
The door opened, and Seth, his personal assistant, entered with a tablet in hand. Seth was younger than Ronan, quick with a grin, and far too relaxed for the corporate world—but invaluable all the same.
"You have dinner tonight," Seth announced, approaching the desk.
"I'll decline," Ronan replied smoothly, still signing papers.
"You can't. Your grandfather made it compulsory." Seth set the tablet down like a winning card. "Nine o'clock sharp."
Ronan's pen stilled. His dark brows knit. "Then I suppose I have no choice."
"Not unless you'd like to deal with Edward Hayes's personal wrath," Seth said, half-teasing. He lingered, shifting from foot to foot.
Ronan finally glanced up, his gaze cool. "You're still here."
"Yes," Seth said, straightening. "Because it's eight-thirty. Which means if we don't leave right now, you'll arrive late. And I'd like to avoid watching my boss get disinherited in real time."
Ronan checked his watch and exhaled quietly, the faintest trace of annoyance crossing his face. Standing, he gathered his jacket.
They moved to the private elevator, descending from the empire's crown down into the empty lobby. The vast marble floor echoed with their footsteps, deserted save for security.
"Strange, isn't it?" Seth muttered.
"What is?"
"That this entire building, twenty-two floors, belongs to you, and yet at night it feels like a ghost town. Just you. Just me. And me praying you'll finally leave before sunrise."
Ronan shot him a look. "Are you mocking me?"
"Not at all," Seth said quickly, though his smirk betrayed him. "I was praising your work ethic. Totally, completely serious."
The raised brow Ronan gave him made Seth laugh, and he quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, your car's waiting. BMW tonight. Classy,isn't it?."
When the vehicle pulled up, Ronan slid into the backseat without another word. Seth waved dramatically as the car drove off, shouting, "Enjoy family time, boss! I'll just… reclaim my freedom now!"
The city blurred past, lights reflecting on tinted glass. Ronan leaned back, silent, already bracing himself. Dinner with the Hayes family was never simple.
The Hayes estate loomed at the end of a private road like a mansion pulled from a magazine spread—stone and glass, sprawling gardens, fountains that glittered under moonlight. It was wealth displayed without apology.
Inside, the sounds of family already filled the air.
"…You don't understand, Mother! The stitching is supposed to be visible. That's the whole point of the collection!"
Talia's voice carried from the sitting room, sharp with exasperation. She was in the middle of what sounded like another argument with Opal, who adored fashion but always had an opinion.
"Ronan!" his mother cried the moment she saw him enter. Her face lit up, her beauty softened with age but still radiant. She swept to him, ignoring Talia's protest, and clasped his hands. "My son, how are you? It's been weeks! You don't visit, you don't call, you've abandoned your poor mother."
"I've been busy," Ronan replied, calm but not unkind.
"Busy, always busy," she scolded, touching his face as though to reassure herself he was real. "Do you know how much I miss you? Do you?"
"I know," Ronan said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll come more often."
Opal looked pleased, though still sulking slightly, until Edward's commanding voice cut through the room.
"That's enough, Opal. The boy's here. Sit down."
Ronan's grandfather stood near the dining room, posture as straight as ever, his silver hair gleaming under the chandelier. Edward Hayes was still a force, his presence commanding silence.
Ronan smiled faintly at his mother before moving to greet the others. His father, Ethan, sat already at the table, looking content as ever, his attention drifting easily to his wife. Talia jabbed Ronan in the side as he passed, whispering, "Don't even think about escaping after dinner. We need to talk."
Ronan arched a brow but said nothing.
A small figure then wandered into the dining room. A boy, perhaps six, with solemn eyes. He ignored everyone, climbed into a chair, and folded his hands on the table, waiting.
Ronan's gaze softened. His sister's son. The boy never spoke—doctors had tried, diagnoses varied, but no cure had been found. Yet Ronan cared for him in quiet ways, patting his head gently as he sat down beside him.
Dinner was served. The clink of silverware filled the air as conversation rose and fell—fashion debates, small anecdotes, Ethan doting on Opal's every word. For a moment, it almost felt ordinary.
Until Edward cleared his throat.
The room stilled.
His sharp eyes locked on Ronan. "It's time we addressed what truly matters."
Ronan set down his fork. He already knew.
"You are twenty-six," Edward continued, his voice carrying the weight of generations. "You have rebuilt this family's name. You have carried the Hayes Group to its peak. But an empire cannot rest on one man alone. It must continue. It must be secured."
Silence. Even the boy looked up.
Edward's next words cut through the air. "It is time you marry."
Ronan's jaw clenched. He expected this—but the timing still struck.
Across the table, Opal gasped, "Marry? But Ronan hasn't brought....."
"There are rumors," Edward interrupted, his voice hard. "That our heir is not even interested in women. That the Hayes bloodline will end with him."
"What?" Opal exclaimed, eyes wide as she turned to her son.
Ronan's voice was calm, firm. "That is not true."
Edward gave a short nod. "Of course it is not. Which is why I have chosen a bride for you. She will arrive soon. And you will marry her."
The table went silent. Talia leaned back, smirking faintly, intrigued. Ethan remained quiet, gaze sliding to Opal as if to measure her reaction.
Ronan had prepared himself for many battles with his grandfather. But not this. Not a decision already made, his future sealed without his word.
His expression did not waver, but inside, shock tightened in his chest.
Edward's final words rang like a verdict.
"There will be no discussion. It is decided."