Reid
The Callahan family estate had always been a symbol of power and legacy—a constant reminder of the expectations placed on me since birth.
Walking into my father's office, I was met with the familiar scent of expensive cigars and aged bourbon. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, not for reading but for display. A statement of wealth, influence, and control.
My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, sifting through paperwork, his expression unreadable.
"Reid," he greeted without looking up. "I assume you're here to discuss the merger?"
I lowered myself into the chair across from him, my fingers tapping against the armrest. "The engagement announcement did its job. The media's eating it up, and Prescott Enterprises' stock has stabilized for now."
He nodded, finally setting down his papers to look at me. His sharp, calculating gaze was the same as it had always been—measuring, assessing.
"Good. Then we move forward with finalizing the contracts."
I exhaled slowly, my jaw tightening. "I have a few concerns about Prescott Enterprises' financial stability. Their debts run deeper than we initially projected."
Father steepled his fingers. "That's exactly why this merger is necessary. Daniel Prescott is running out of options. His daughter's engagement to you reassures investors, but without the official merger, his company will collapse within months."
I already knew that. The numbers painted a grim picture, and if it weren't for our backing, the Prescott empire would crumble.
"You're still confident in this deal?" I asked, watching him closely.
His gaze didn't waver. "It's not about confidence, Reid. It's about control. The Prescotts need us, not the other way around. Once we absorb their assets, we dictate the terms. And you—" he leaned forward slightly, "—will be at the helm of it all."
My grip on the armrest tightened. "You mean I'll be at the helm of their mess."
He smirked. "Call it what you like. But by the end of this, the Callahan name will be stronger than ever."
I leaned back, exhaling sharply. This was nothing new. My father never made deals out of goodwill—only strategy. He didn't care about Fallon or her father's struggles. This was business, and in his world, business had no room for sentiment.
"You still plan to go through with the marriage?" he asked, studying me.
I met his gaze head-on. "The contract is signed."
"That's not what I asked."
I clenched my jaw. "Does it matter?"
His smirk deepened. "It does if you're getting too comfortable with her."
I scoffed. "This is a business arrangement. Nothing more."
"Good. Keep it that way." He took a sip of his bourbon. "Women have a way of complicating things, son. Make sure you remember which side of the table you're sitting on."
I stood, my patience wearing thin. "The deal is under control."
"Let's hope so."
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me at the door.
"And Reid?"
I glanced over my shoulder.
"Fallon may think she's in control of her choices, but in the end, people like us always dictate the outcome."
I didn't respond.
I just walked out, knowing damn well that no matter how much I wanted to believe I had full control, something about Fallon Prescott had already started slipping through the cracks.