“You owe her a wedding.”
I freeze.
“A real one,” Ben continues. “Not some legal loophole. Not a contract signing. She deserves tochoosethis in front of people who love her.” He pauses. “And I deserve to give my sister away.”
His eyes find mine. “If you’ll let me.”
My vision blurs. I nod, because I don’t trust my voice.
Evan’s grinning. Callum’s laughing. Silas looks at me like I just gave him everything he didn’t know he needed.
CHAPTER 22
Silas
Two Months Later
The executor’s office smells like old wood and older money.
I sit across from him, hands folded on the leather portfolio in my lap. He’s reviewing the documents I brought. Financial records proving cohabitation and unified decision-making. Shared accounts. Evidence that this arrangement is real.
It’s proof that we’ve complied before our thirtieth birthdays.
He sets the final page down and removes his reading glasses. “Well. This is certainly... comprehensive.”
“We fulfilled the clause.”
“You did.” He leans back in his chair. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Locke. When your father passed and this clause reactivated, I had my doubts. The original intent was to prevent fractured inheritance. But three men and one woman?” He shakes his head. “I thought you were looking for a loophole.”
I don’t respond because that was certainly true in the beginning.
“I was wrong.” He taps the union contract, since we can’t legally get married. “You’ve built something stable here. The kind of partnership that actually honors what your great-grandfather wanted.”
“I want the clause removed.”
His eyebrows lift. “Removed?”
“For future generations.” I lean forward. “We’re keeping the fortune. But I won’t pass this burden to my children. Or my brothers’ children. Or anyone who comes after.”
He studies me. “You fulfilled it. You could leave it in place. It worked for you.”
“It worked because we got lucky.” My fingers tighten on the portfolio. “Because Tania said yes. Because she chose this. But what if the next generation doesn’t get that choice? What if they’re forced into something they don’t want?”
“Your great-grandfather believed?—”
“My great-grandfather controlled people through obligation.” The words come out harder than I intend. “I won’t do that. Not to my kids. Not to anyone.”
Silence.
He picks up his pen. “What do you want instead?”
“A new will. A new trust.” I pull the outline from my portfolio and slide it across the desk. “Tania is included as a full partner. Equal authority. Equal inheritance rights. Any future children—male or female—inherit equally. No conditions. No coercion. No clause.”
He reads it. Slowly.
When he looks up, his expression has shifted. “You’re rewriting your family’s legacy.”
“No.” I meet his eyes. “I’m choosing it.”
