Home - MGK, X Ambassadors, Bebe Rexha; You're Hired - NEIKED, Ayra Starr
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Chapter Thirteen
TAP, TAP, TAP...
That was the sound of Jeffrey's long, lean fingers drumming on the table...
The long dining table at the Black estate gleamed under the warm glow of the chandelier, its polished mahogany surface reflecting the silverware lined with military precision. Jeffrey sat at the head of the table, though not by choice, his grandfather had insisted. That alone was enough to signal that this wasn't just dinner. It was another one of those talks.
His mother, elegant as ever in a silk blouse, was the first to speak, her voice calm but deliberate. "Jeffrey, you're twenty-eight. At your age, your father was already married and laying down the foundation for the empire you're meant to inherit. Do you not see how this looks?"
Jeffrey leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, but his expression gave away little. "With all due respect, Mother, I believe expanding Black Industries into new markets speaks louder than a ring on my finger."
His father, Richard Black, who had been silent until then, cleared his throat. His words came out like a boardroom ultimatum. "Expansion without stability is reckless. Our investors are already asking questions. A bachelor heir sends the wrong signal."
Jeffrey almost laughed at that. "Investors care about numbers, not wedding vows. Or have we shifted to matchmaking as a corporate strategy now?"
But before his father could snap back, the old man at the other end of the table spoke. His grandfather, Henry Black, the patriarch, the man who built their empire with sheer will, hadn't aged softly. His voice was gravel but still commanding, every syllable meant to remind them who had the final word.
"You will not dismiss this, Jeffrey," Henry said, fixing him with eyes sharp enough to cut through steel. "A man who cannot manage a household cannot be trusted to manage an empire. It is not about love. It is about legacy. About continuity."
The weight of those words pressed against Jeffrey's chest, heavier than the cut-crystal glass in front of him. He knew this was coming, he'd heard it before, but tonight, there was finality in his grandfather's tone.
"If you do not settle down soon," Henry continued, "the board and I will have no choice but to reconsider your succession. We will not hand the company over to someone who treats duty like an inconvenience."
Silence. The kind that filled the air like smoke after a fire. Jeffrey clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to snap. He'd worked for years, sacrificed nights, forged partnerships, grown the company's reach. And yet, none of that seemed to matter. To them, he was still incomplete because he was unmarried.
Just as the tension thickened, the doors swung open and Damon strolled in like a man walking into a comedy club instead of a powder keg. He plopped into the chair beside Jeffrey, tossing his jacket over the backrest.
"Well, well, did I miss the 'marry or perish' speech again?" Damon grinned, reaching for a glass of wine like he owned the place. "Jeff, you should really record one of these family dinners. That way, the next time they nag, you can just play it back on loop."
His mother shot Damon a glare sharp enough to curdle milk. "This is serious, Damon."
"Oh, I know, Mother," Damon said cheerfully, raising his glass in mock salute. "But you all make it sound like he's one bad Tinder date away from losing the empire."
Jeffrey smirked despite himself. Damon's timing was both infuriating and necessary.
"Maybe," Damon went on, "we can organize a royal-style ball. Line up a hundred women, and Jeffrey can just pick one like a prince choosing his Cinderella. Saves everyone the trouble, don't you think?"
That earned a sharp exhale of laughter from Jeffrey, though his grandfather wasn't amused. "This is no laughing matter."
"Grandfather," Damon replied lightly, "with all due respect, if we don't laugh, we'll cry. And no one wants to see Jeffrey cry. He's ugly when he does."
The room cracked, just a little. Damon was always the light. Even their father's lips twitched, though he quickly hid it behind a sip of wine.
Jeffrey leaned back, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Damon's humor didn't erase the weight on his shoulders, but it softened it for a moment. For that, he was grateful.
Still, as the laughter faded, the reality lingered. His grandfather's words weren't empty. The succession was at stake, and if Jeffrey didn't act soon, the empire he'd been building his whole life might slip from his grasp, not because he wasn't capable, but because of an expectation he had no say in.
Later, when the dinner finally ended and the others left the hall, Jeffrey remained seated. Damon lingered beside him, nudging his shoulder playfully.
"Don't let them get to you, Jeff. You'll figure it out. You always do."
Jeffrey sighed, staring at the glass in front of him. "This time feels different, Damon. They're not bluffing."
"Then maybe," Damon said with a grin, "it's time you prove them wrong in your own way. Who knows, maybe you'll surprise us all."
Jeffrey looked at his brother, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Or maybe I'll surprise myself."
The thought lingered, fragile but persistent.
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