The Wexford estate was built on order-marble floors, crystal decanters, and rules that were never spoken aloud but understood in every breath. Sebastian had grown up in that silence, trained to carry the weight of legacy like a second skin.

His father, Aaron Wexford, sat behind his desk with the kind of calm that made refusal feel like rebellion.

"The Langfords are expecting an answer," Aaron said, fingers laced on the polished surface. "It's time."

Sebastian stood across from him, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.

He already knew what was coming. His father never spoke without purpose.

"Serena's a fine woman. Graceful. Well-bred. Loyal. The kind of wife who understands the life you're expected to live."

Sebastian's gaze didn't move. Neither did his silence.

Aaron leaned back, voice lowering into something firmer.

"This is more than marriage. It's a merger-two families securing a legacy. Her father and I built this over years. I won't see it undone by hesitation."

Sebastian had no argument prepared. He never did. With Aaron, the room was always too full for his own thoughts.

He had known Serena since they were teenagers-her laugh, her poise, the way she could command a room without raising her voice. He didn't dislike her. That wasn't the problem.

But love?

Love had never been part of this equation. Not for men like him. Not in families like theirs.

"Is that what you want?" Sebastian finally asked. "An alliance?"

Aaron didn't blink.

"I want you to secure your future. With a woman who won't complicate it."

The silence between them deepened.

And Sebastian, as always, nodded.

"Then I'll do what's expected."

Aaron smiled faintly-satisfied. The matter, to him, was settled.

But as Sebastian turned to leave, the cold certainty in his chest told a different story. One he hadn't written. One he wasn't sure he belonged in.

Outside, the rain had started again.

"I'll be arranging a dinner with the Langfords. You and Serena should sit down-get familiar."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, measured.

"That fast?"

Aaron didn't look up.

"It's not fast. It's timely. The Langfords have been cooperative, and Charles agrees it's best to begin with something informal."

"You mean staged."

Aaron finally met his eyes-calm, unreadable.

"Call it what you like. It's necessary. She's prepared. You should be, too."

Sebastian swallowed whatever protest rose in his throat. It wouldn't matter. His father didn't issue suggestions-only timelines.

"When?" Sebastian asked,

"This weekend. Private setting. Just the two of you."

Sebastian gave a short nod, jaw tight.

"Fine."

Aaron studied him for a moment, then returned to his papers.

"It's time you stepped into what's expected. The world doesn't wait for feelings, Sebastian. It respects alignment."

Sebastian turned to leave, the click of the door behind him the only sign he'd been there at all.

But inside, something had started to fracture.

Back at Langford's Mansion....

Charles Langford poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light as he turned toward his daughter. Serena sat on the velvet settee, legs crossed, a tablet resting on her lap. She didn't look up when he spoke.

"You'll be having dinner with Sebastian Wexford. This weekend."

Serena blinked once, then locked the tablet.

"Is that confirmed?"

"It is. Aaron and I spoke. It's time you met him properly."

She stood slowly, smoothing the crease in her skirt.

"I assume this is more than a personal introduction."

"It's positioning, Serena. Their legacy. Ours. Together, it sends the right message. You know what's at stake."

She nodded. She always had.

What Serena lacked in naivety, she made up for in composure.

"Very well," she said. "I'll be ready."

Charles raised his glass in approval.

She didn't toast back.

A private dining room on the edge of the city-minimal staff, no cameras, candlelight for warmth that neither of them brought.

Serena arrived first, early, deliberate. She wore deep burgundy-strong, sophisticated, intentional.

Sebastian walked in five minutes late. No tie. Understated. Polished, but guarded.

"Serena."

"Sebastian."

They shook hands like diplomats. Sat like strangers at a negotiation.

The waiter poured the wine. They didn't touch it.

"So," Serena began, setting her napkin gently across her lap, "I hear we're supposed to get along."

Sebastian's lips curved-not quite a smile.

"Only if we want to inherit the world."

"Do you?" she asked.

He paused.

"Not this way."

Serena tilted her head, studying him the way she might a difficult acquisition.

"You don't have to like it. You just have to be better at it than everyone else."

That earned a faint exhale from him. Not laughter-just recognition.

The courses came and went. The conversation never dipped too personal, never reached too far. But it didn't collapse either. Two heirs, trading insights and intentions behind every glance.

At the end, Sebastian rose to pull out her chair.

"We'll do this again?" he asked, a formality.

"We will," Serena replied, meeting his gaze. "And next time, we won't pretend we're strangers to expectation."

They left separately, both aware that something had begun-not love, not yet-but a shift in the game.

And for now, that was enough.