“Of course,” I said, the words tasting like surrender.
He swirled the scotch but didn’t drink. Just watched the amber liquid catch the light as if it might reveal my worth in its reflection. “You’ll shadow Calhoun until Memorial Day. Then you’ll take over day-to-day oversight of the clubhouse by summer.”
I nodded once. There was no room for refusal. Only roles to inherit. A legacy to preserve. My life had never been mine to shape—just a well-maintained script passed down from one Astor to the next.
“And the gala?” I asked. I already knew the answer, but I gave him the stage anyway.
“You’ll run it,” he said. “It’s time you stop observing and start executing. Brookhaven Ridge looks to us to set the tone. This year’s fundraiser is pivotal—especially with the estate redevelopment plans moving forward. No missteps.”
His voice could cut glass. Precise. Unflinching. Like everything he said was law, and the penalty for deviation was erasure.
“Understood,” I murmured.
“You’ll work with the women’s committee. Secure the venue, the entertainment, the auction items. Your mother’s overseeing decor. I’ve already arranged a sponsor package from the Astor Foundation.”
Of course, he had. The man didn’t plan events. He orchestrated performances.
“And the guest list?”
He allowed himself a flicker of amusement—barely a twitch of the mouth. “Leave that to your mother. She knows who matters.”
Right. Who could be seen. Who could be trusted not toembarrassthe Astor name by existing too loudly. The galawasn’t about charity. It was about control. Power disguised as philanthropy.
He finally sat down, crossing one leg over the other. His shoes, polished to a mirror shine, caught the chandelier’s reflection like they were part of the furniture.
“You’re thirty-five, Theo. Time to start thinking about succession, not rebellion.”
I bit back a smile that wasn’t kind. “You say that like I ever rebelled.”
He looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. “You haven’t. And don’t.” There was a heavy pause between his words. A silence that stretched like a tension wire between us. “You understand how this works,” he continued. “We don’t choose our lives. We inherit them. Our legacy is built on discipline, not indulgence. On endurance, not desire.”
I didn’t answer. Just looked at him, stone-faced, while the weight of every unspoken truth I’d buried inside me pressed down like a second spine. I’d heard the lesson a thousand times. In boarding school. In private lounges. In the way conversations stopped when someone stepped outside the lines.
Marry well. Host with grace. Smile with sincerity.
But never,ever, want anything that couldn’t be leveraged into power.
He stood again—dismissal without dismissal. “You’ll be at the club on Monday at eight a.m. sharp. Wear the navy suit. Black is too severe for summer management.”
I turned to leave.
“Theo.”
I paused, hand on the brass doorknob.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “You’ve done what’s expected.”
It should’ve meant something. Should’ve filled me with a warmth beneath my ribs. But it didn’t. Because from him,pride never sounded like love. Only achievement. Duty. Control dressed up as legacy.
I left without replying.
When evening fell, I was halfway across town, stepping into the one place he’d never dare to follow. The Hollow was a loud, low-lit dive bar where bad decisions bled out into the parking lot thanks to the door hanging off its hinges.
It reeked of spilled whiskey, sweat, and something darker.Freedom,maybe. Or the illusion of it.
My father would have dropped dead on the spot if he knew I was within a mile of this place. Which, I suppose, was half the appeal.
I stood outside for too long. Like a man caught between instinct and obligation. Like a coward, if I’m honest. The music thumped through the walls, the bass a second heartbeat under my skin. I didn’t belong here. Iknewthat. Everything in me had been tailored to another world—pressed shirts and polite smiles, curated charm and practiced silence.
