Nothing would be the answer—if it were an actual question. I had nothing against marriage. I simply hadn't found the right woman yet, and I wasn't willing to settle for less. My mother believed she was doing me a favor by forcing the topic, but all it did was make me dig my heels in harder against her plans.
I glanced at my father, who suddenly found the ceiling, the walls, and his glass of water far more interesting than me. I wanted to know what he thought. Deep down, I knew he would side with her to keep the peace—but there was always a chance. A small one. And I had to take it.
"Dad," I said, keeping my voice even. "You're awfully quiet."
He shifted in his chair, just slightly, as if my voice had startled him. His gaze flicked toward me, then immediately away.
"Well," he began, clearing his throat, "your mother is just trying to look out for you."
"I'm sure she is," I said. "But I'd like to hear your opinion. Do you think I need a wife?"
"Your father and I are in agreement," my mother said smoothly, cutting him off before he could respond.
The words landed with finality, sealing whatever small opening I'd hoped for. My father opened his mouth, clearly intending to add something else—then stopped. I saw the exact moment he reconsidered. One glance at her. One silent warning. And he retreated.
I stared at them in mild wonder. How my mother, in all her short glory, managed to conquer my giant of a father was beyond me.
"I don't mean to nag, but you're not getting any younger," she said. "You're already thirty, for Christ's sake."
I arched a brow. "My birthday was less than a month ago."
"I know. Which is why we need to get ahead of this." She tapped her manicured finger once against the table. "You attend galas alone. You travel alone. You're consistently seen with no one. It invites speculation."
"Speculation about what?" I asked. "That I'm a workaholic?"
Her eyes sharpened. "That you can't commit."
I let out a quiet laugh and shook my head. "You're lecturing me about commitment? You've had the same haircut since I was ten."
Her mouth twitched, but she stayed firm. "Sarcasm doesn't change facts."
My father shifted again, staring into his water glass like he might find a way to drown quietly.
I rubbed my thumb over the rim of my coffee mug and focused on keeping my voice steady. If I raised it, it would only confirm her unspoken belief—that I was emotionally volatile and therefore unfit for leadership. That was always the subtext whenever anything personal came up.
"The company needs stability," she continued. "The board needs stability. Investors need stability."
There it was.
Not Callahan needs stability. Not Callahan deserves happiness.
The company.
The board.
The investors.
"I'm stable," I said.
"You're predictable," she corrected. "That isn't the same thing."
I leaned back, dragging my gaze between them. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you lose the company."
For a moment, I was certain I'd misheard her.
Those words didn't belong in this room—didn't belong coming from her—didn't make sense after everything I'd sacrificed to get us here. Her voice remained calm, measured, as though she'd commented on the weather instead of detonating something inside my chest.
