A Win-Win Situation (Unexpected Love)

One

ONE

LUCAS

THREE MONTHS AGO

I t’s funny how, just when you think you have everything figured out, life throws a curveball your way, testing your strength and resolve. They can be anything from small pebbles in your path to large hills that seem impossible to get over and it seems lately, there’re some pretty damn big hills in my life. My marketing manager resigned suddenly last week, and now I'm left with all of this paperwork and a hotel opening to plan. A hotel that’s opening in six months, which means I need to hire someone as soon as possible.

To make matters worse, James Harlow, the family lawyer, is here.

"As mentioned last week," he starts, "Mr. Ayoub, your uncle, has made some changes to his will, given his rapidly declining health."

My uncle Antoine, who is like a father to me, was diagnosed with lung cancer three months ago. The doctor told him he had a year left at best, but Antoine is a fighter. He hasn’t let cancer stop him from living his life - not yet, anyway.

"There’s reason to believe that he won’t make it the entire year," Harlow continues, his voice hesitant. My temples start pulsing at his words and I use my fingers to massage the spot. I’m not interested in information I’m already aware of.

I release my fingers from my temples and restlessly tap them on the table before I glance at my watch—a subtle indication for him to hurry up. I really don't have time for this.

"Get to the point," I grit out, keeping my eyes on him.

Harlow shifts uneasily on his feet, his previous nervousness heightened by my tone. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "The new clause that Mr. Ayoub has insisted upon is that you . . ." He hesitates for a moment, carefully planning how to continue. "Well, as you know, he’s stated that you have to be married before the age of forty." I stare back at him, perplexed. This condition had been made clear to me by my uncle years ago. However, with six years left until I reach that problematic milestone, I can’t wrap my head around why Harlow is bringing it up now. His untimely reminder only exacerbates the throbbing in my temples.

Harlow shifts in his seat, keeping his gaze anywhere but on me. "Well, Mr. Ayoub has made some changes. Y-You have to marry before the new hotel opens for you to be eligible to take over the business."

I stare at him incredulously.

"What do you mean?"

He swallows hard. "To take over after your uncle passes, you must marry sooner than expected."

My emotions boil over, and I feel anger building up inside me. It's as if the world is conspiring against me, and I can't catch a break.

To keep my hands occupied, I ball them into fists and look anywhere but at Harlow. Sensing my agitation he scrambles to gather his things and leaves me the new will.

"I will leave a copy for you to look over."

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself, although I can't help but think, What the hell am I going to do?

I loosen my tie. This whole ordeal has made every attempt to take a real breath impossible. The idea of finding a woman to marry within six months is laughable.

Even if I was willing to, how could any rational woman agree to marry me spontaneously—without love or an emotional connection.

This is a joke.

I let out a bitter laugh. This is going to be a shitstorm.

Remember the hills? They just turned into a mountain.

Ever since finding out about my uncle’s cancer diagnosis, I’ve felt this constant knot in my stomach, and it doubles in size every time I visit him at the hotel. H?tel Ayoub d'Or has been his life’s work. Well, that and raising my brother and I.

He took us in after our parents passed, and he slowly began preparing us to take over when he decided to retire. Liam never had much interest in business, so his role is overseeing our international hotels. But from what I’ve seen, he would rather travel and party, which I find unacceptable, especially given our uncle's illness. We haven't spoken in three months, and that’s on him—I'm determined to fulfill my duties to our uncle. Which is why I’m heading to his office. As much as I hate to admit it, I also want to find another way to do it. that doesn’t include getting married.

The door to his office is open, but I still knock. "Hey, Ammo, can we talk?" I ask as I approach my uncle. I’ve never called him by his name. He’s lebanese and in Lebanon, it can be seen as disrespectful to call an elder by their name, and, because I’ve been raised with Lebanese morals, I call him Ammo— uncle. He slowly turns his head toward me and stands up to greet me with his brilliant smile, making the knot in my stomach triple in size.

Ever since he found out about his diagnosis, he’s been working harder than ever, trying to lose himself in his work, despite the evident toll it's taking, both mentally and physically. Even with my ability to see through his facade—the weariness etched into every line of his face— I won’t dare tell him to slow down. The last time I broached the subject, he lashed out, the intensity of his anger causing him to be bedridden for two days.

When the discussion about chemotherapy was brought up by the doctors, he adamantly declined it. Despite their offering of a slender thread of hope, a small chance of survival, he dismissed it. His stance on treatment reflected a prideful defiance—an unwavering refusal to submit to a treatment that might extend his time with us. This decision was marked by a stubbornness that both frustrated and pained everyone around him, although his reasoning for rejecting chemotherapy was rooted in his desire to not be weakened during his last few months of life.

He didn't want to sacrifice the semblance of strength and control he clung to, even if it meant potentially extending his time. Even though it breaks my heart into pieces, I tread lightly, always respecting his choices.

"Hi, son." He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk, indicating that I should take a seat. Without a word, I comply, feeling a bit nervous as I settle into the chair. His office looks as it always does—neat and impeccably organized, with stacks of files and papers lining the shelves. On the walls hang photos of Liam and I over the years. I can't help but recall the memories associated with those photos—our laughter, the adventures, and the times when everything felt perfect. But alongside those warm memories, a sense of emptiness and sadness lingers, creating a heavy knot in my chest that makes me rigid. He sits back down in his chair, leans forward, and steeples his fingers in front of his face, regarding me with a patient expression.

"Harlow came by this morning and . . ." I trail off and his smile instantly vanishes.

"You're here to ask me about the will." His voice is low and measured.

I can’t get married, but I can’t disappoint him either.

"I don’t want to get married yet."

"Why is that?" My uncle’s expression remains neutral.

"You can’t be serious." I scoff. "Firstly, I don’t know of anyone that wants to marry me, or I, them, and secondly, I won’t marry just for the sake of it."

He chuckles. " Enta zaki ya Lucas, and a very handsome fellow, you can easily find a good wife. If not, I will give you a hand."

I stare at him, incredulously. It doesn’t matter if I’m smart . I thought being "asked" to marry was one thing, but having him arrange it is an entirely different story.

When he sees my expression, he begins to laugh, but it quickly devolves into a wheezy, coughing fit, his face turning slightly red as he struggles. As I stand up to help, he raises his hand, signaling for me to stay. After a few moments, he recovers and speaks again.

"I’ve taught you well, Lucas. You’re a man of pride. A man with goals, and a man who knows how to follow his instincts, but you’re incredibly stubborn; a mule has nothing on you," he says with a hoarse voice.

I huff and look away. I’m not stubborn. I’m just . . . ambitious.

"I know you’ll take good care of my empire when I’m gone. You’re doing it already, but I want you to have someone by your side." He raises his shaking hands. "With me gone, who will continue my legacy?"

With me gone, who will continue my legacy?

I know he sees me and Liam as his sons, and as much as the business is his legacy, I know we are too, so the thought of him gone is like a knife to the chest.

I've always believed in upholding our family name, but now, faced with the pressure to marry, it's as if tradition has become a suffocating chain around my neck. It feels like a betrayal of everything I imagined. The dreams of companionship, of building a life together, now feel tainted by the looming shadow of duty. I will continue his legacy, yes, but the idea of being forced into marriage as a means to an end infuriates me. I won’t be a chess piece, manipulated for someone else's agenda. I don’t want to marry just to secure a legacy.

"I’m not a puppet to be manipulated for your own means, and I won’t marry just to secure a legacy," I retort sharply, almost regretting my tone. Almost. "I have my own plans and goals, and I won’t let anyone dictate my life. You said it yourself, I’m already taking care of everything. Is that not enough?"

My uncle's smile fades, and his gaze turns icy. "You may be my son, Lucas, but you are also a crucial part of my business."

I shift uncomfortably, knowing exactly where this conversation is heading. "So, would you let what you've built fall into the hands of some stranger if I don’t marry?" I ask, trying to appeal to his sense of family loyalty.

"You forget I have two sons," he replies coolly. He’s always had a soft spot for Liam. In his eyes, he can’t do much wrong. He’s just "a lost soul" who needs guidance, but I know Liam would never step up to a responsibility this grand, nor could he. Drinking, partying, and fucking the latest supermodel is what he does best. He knows nothing about business, and as much as I love my brother, I would never allow him to ruin this, and my uncle knows that.

"We both know he isn’t fit to lead anything, and he would never agree to marry," I say, feeling a sense of desperation creeping in. This is not the first time my uncle has brought up the subject of marriage. Although, I had hoped that he would change his mind.

"Then it’s up to you to make the right decision." His gaze shifts up, away from me, almost as if he’s asking God for help. He looks back at me, his face more stern than before. "The news of my illness has gotten out and our stakeholders have started to talk. This is their chance to stake a claim and change the line of succession. When I say they, I mean Michel Beumont. He’s like a lion waiting to attack, and my cancer is his greatest opening. Even though the rest of them like you enough, and know I want you to take over, Michel has convinced them that a vote is necessary, that we have to stick to the marriage clause and evaluate you, no matter the situation. That’s why we need them to trust you more. This started as a family business and all of the stakeholders are old fashioned. They respect a family man more and they will vote against you if they don’t trust you. We can’t afford that." His tone is final.

Curious, I press for more details. "Why is that?"

"A family man is going to be more reliable and is often associated with stronger values, like loyalty, dedication, and integrity. Being seen as a loving and committed family man will convey a strong sense of character. They will believe you work not just for the hotels, but also for your family’s future. This will strengthen your long-term commitments and stability in your business relationships."

"I’m the same man with or without a wife. Therefore, my choices will be the same."

"You say that now, Lucas, but reality doesn't bend to your wishes. I won't let your stubbornness jeopardize everything I've built. Marrying and securing your position is not negotiable; otherwise, you might as well walk away from everything entirely." There's a flicker of emotion behind his eyes — whether it's guilt or something more elusive, I can't quite discern. However, it doesn't deter him. "Find her, or I will."

I glare at him, seething with frustration. How can he do this to me? My hands flex at my sides as I try to get a grasp on my emotions. He meets my gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. This is completely insane. Yet, deep down, I recognize the weight of his expectations, and I can't afford to disappoint him. Whether I want it to or not, it’s happening, and while I won't let him dictate my life, especially when it comes to choosing a wife, I must find a way to navigate this, no matter what it takes.

With gritted teeth, I reluctantly nod in agreement.

"You’re making the right choice." A sly smile plays on his lips. "Look on the bright side, son, perhaps you'll find some enjoyment in married life."

Yeah, right.

I don’t like people, and I certainly don’t like people in my private space. This whole situation means that I’ll have to share my apartment. And with the timeline I have, she’ll probably be a random woman because asking my ex-girlfriend is out of the question. She’s been trying to reconcile since we broke up five years ago but I never loved her, and I don’t think she ever loved me.

Inside, a small voice whispers that I don’t deserve to be forced into this, but I push it away. This is my responsibility—my duty to the family and our legacy. And I will do it, no matter the cost.

How hard can it be to find a good and respectable woman to marry?