The Heir Clause

2. CHAPTER 1

Orion

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

I had stood in the same spot for minutes, maybe an hour. Time was irrelevant now. My body was taut, my feet cemented to the ground, watching my father hooked up to monitors.

I couldn’t tell if he was breathing, even with my eyes locked on his form. Only the incessant mechanical beeping gave me any sign of life.

Beep.

Beep.

The rhythm had stayed the same for days since we had his wing of the estate converted into a private hospital. Full medical staff, state-of-the-art equipment, doctors at his beck and call.

Nothing could go wrong. I repeated it enough times, desperate to believe it.

I’d never panicked a day in my life. The first pitch I presented to the Ironshore board hadn’t done it. Neither had the five-hour storm I got caught in three years ago off the Amalfi Coast, on a boat that nearly capsized. It took a lot to scare me.

But this…

Standing in this room, watching the pillar of our family lying still under machines… this was something else.

It held me in a place of remorse. A place of deep contemplation regarding the essence of life and living all together. A confrontation with mortality I wasn’t ready for.

One minute he was talking truce terms with me over whiskey. Next, he was being wheeled into an ambulance.

A stroke they said.

That was weeks ago. Still no hope in sight for a recovery.

Beep.

Beep.

My eyes drifted off to the erratic lines on the machines. The cold constant sound that haunted me even in sleep. I was certain I’ll never get used to it. The eeriness, like death and regret all at once.

I stepped forward at last, placing a hand on his forehead. That’s when I heard her voice in the corridor.

“How else can we make him comfortable?”

No sign of panic or tremor in her voice. Just business as usual.

“We’ve already provided him with all the comfort he can get,” Dr. Gérard replied calmly. “We just need to watch for any new symptoms.”

He’d been our family doctor for years. My father would have trusted no one else to see him through this decline.

She asked something else, muffled. I could barely make out a word.

Then she asked next, as clear as glass:

“How long does he have left?”

Like she was placing an order for coffee. Not like a woman who is on the verge of losing her husband.

I wouldn’t say I was surprised at my mother’s composed tone, even at a time like this. She always had her practiced demeanour down like clockwork. She ran on discipline, not emotion, and there was no off switch.

It wasn’t just her. It was all of us. The facade. The image expected of a Kade.

Esmé Ndong-Kade was every bit the representation of what this family stood for. She was the master of the act. The faux perfection, the polished veneer of aristocracy masking a rotting foundation… everything that photographed well in society magazines and made the tabloids rabid.

I tuned out before Dr. Gérard answered, falling instead into old memories: To the father I remembered, the one who played squash on weekends.

The one who loved to ride horses with me at the equestrian club.

I thought of the last arguments we had over company policies and the board's expectations.

The arguments seemed silly now… and so small.

I leaned closer, like I wasn't already close enough.

He looked so fragile lying here. No one would believe this was the same man who made boardrooms shake in fear.

“I didn’t realise you were in here.”

My mother’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I flexed my hands in my pockets and turned to face her.

Her expression was unreadable, as always. Her gold earrings shimmered against the evening light, making me squint.

“I just got here.” I said flatly.

A lie.

I’d been here for over an hour, but she didn’t need to know that. I’d learned to keep conversations with her brief. The longer the sentence, the more probing the follow-up.

I wasn’t in the mood for a question-and-answer session. Especially not here.

“I should head back to the office,” I added, glancing at my watch to avoid looking at her.

“Not so fast, Orion.” Her tone dropped into a low, calculated register. “Amelie told me you had the Fernández meeting today. How did that go?”

The Fernández meeting.

I hadn’t planned on sharing this with her yet, as there was nothing concrete to share, but her gaze was on me, anticipating an answer. It felt like a drill sergeant waiting on a rookie to stumble.

Since I took over the company last month, she’d inserted herself in everything Ironshore related.

She was privy to every meeting, every detail that wasn't hers to know. Nothing escaped her.

My father's assistant Amelia had made herself useful, feeding her information.

And somehow my mother had appointed herself regent of the Kade dynasty now that my father was no longer at the helm.

A reminder to reshuffle the support staff at Ironshore once the Fernández truce was settled.

Most of the subordinates were either placed by my mother, loyal to her cause, or too scared to get on her bad side. I’d need a tougher internal structure within Ironshore if I wanted information reaching her on my terms instead of hers.

I straightened my back, adjusted my cufflinks like the movement could ground me, and cleared my throat.

The look in her eyes would incinerate a lesser man, but I was used to it. I grew up around it.

“It went well,” I said.

Short answers only. Nothing more.

Her eyes narrowed. That trademark disapproval. She hated simple-worded conversations and one-liners. Her preferences involved full paragraphs, punctuation intact, supporting evidence mandatory.

I had no patience to satisfy her appetite for details.

“I’ll need more than that, Mon c?ur,” she said in a curt tone.

Mon c?ur. A pet name weaponized as guilt. It used to work when I was younger. I was a sucker for the pet names she threw around when she wanted something from me.

The corner of my mouth lifted at how she still held up the same tricks all these years, not realising I was twenty-eight now.

In her eyes, I was still that boy, desperate for her approval. The one who clung to her praise like air.

Once upon a time, maybe I had. But I’d learned fast.

Her affection came with terms and conditions, and her teachings were always tough love. Her right hand pulled me in with love, her left punishing, so I never forgot who I was supposed to be. It only made sense that I ended up favoring the left.

I looked at my father, still unmoving, then back at her before I answered.

“We’re still in discussion. I’ll let you know once it’s finalized.”

I moved toward her and placed a kiss on her cheek. Muscle memory. Then made my way toward the door, hoping I could escape before she asked anything else.

I wasn't fast enough.

“What’s the delay?” she questioned, irritation rising in her voice. “Your father said everything was set.”

Her French accent thickened, a simple tell for when she was stressed. This would be a long conversation if I didn’t shut it down now.

There were only a few things that stressed my mother, and all of them usually involved my failures. Today, however, I wasn’t the sole source of her displeasure.

Yes, my father had set the groundwork for the truce. Yes, I had everything I needed to finalize it and bring an end to our lifelong feud with the Fernández and Equinox continental oil network.

But I needed more.

I needed the truce to give me more than a wife.

My father had hoped that marrying Demola Fernández’s only daughter, Léonie was all we required for peace to reign. And as much as I didn’t want a wife, I’d agreed to the plan. Out of obligation.

But this was my opportunity… not just to fulfill his plan, but to exceed it. To become more than the interim CEO of Ironshore.

An opportunity to win the trust of the board and earn their loyalty.

To prove that I can accomplish things even my father couldn’t. To outmatch even him.

I couldn’t fall short.

So I had my lawyers comb through the truce documents. Old money families like ours always came with a lot of influence, and the Fernández, though a powerful Nigerian family with vast West African influence and Parisian aristocratic ties, still had to play by our rules.

My father tried to give them a fair truce. He saw Demola Fernández as a worthy adversary. And while I think they've put up a good fight over the years, he had no sons that could measure up to me.

So my plan was simple. Marry the girl and merge the empires.

Ambitious? Yes.

Selfish and arrogant?

I’ve been called worse. I’ll gladly embrace those labels.

If the terms were right, Demola Fernández would see no reason to object. An astute businessman like him would rather see his empire safe in the hands of a man who understood the stakes, than spoilt heirs, who only knew to live off their father’s wealth.

A laugh hummed deep in my chest as I imagined Debo Fernández’s reaction when he finally reads whatever genius my lawyers come up with.

He'd made it clear—never to my face—that he hated the thought of me marrying his sister.

Though we never ran in the same circles, the piece of shit always found a way to place himself near my interests.

In his mind, we were in some competition of sorts, as first sons from rival empires. Whereas the truth remained that he was beneath me. Always was, always would be.

But there was no need to bore my mother with all the details of the truce or my current ambition. The less she knew, the better for me.

“We have a meeting set for this Friday. It will be finalized.” I said to her, flashing a rehearsed smile.

“It better be. I don’t want your father’s work—”

“I have it all in control.”

I cut into whatever hurtful thing she was going to say that implied failing.

I wouldn’t fail my father. I wouldn’t fail you either.

Those should be the response of a good son. But I wasn’t one. I was damaged and far beyond where salvation could reach.

She sighed and turned to face me fully.

“You should try getting to know her once the documents are signed.”

“Who?” I asked. Even though I knew who she meant.

“Léonie. Your future wife,” she replied, staring at me like I had half a brain and had failed to use it.

“I don’t need to know her. I don’t want her having any ideas that this is more than it's supposed to be. This is politics, not romance. Two families coming together in mutual respect for peace.” I said sternly. Even though ?part of me knew that was half a lie.

I’d contracted my cousin Severin to keep an eye on Léonie Fernández.

He ran a shadow firm called Stratum that specialized in private intelligence.

Stratum had access to all the sophisticated surveillance tech to satisfy my curiosity about who my future wife really is.

Where she goes. Who she talks to. How she moves through the world.

Call it paranoia. Call it strategy. I wasn’t going to tie myself to someone blindly just to maintain peace.

And while anyone else would have taken a more human route, like actually talking. I had no patience for that. I had no patience to sit and initiate conversations or even time to win her trust. Those were luxuries. I preferred data.

If I was being honest, she shouldn’t trust me. And I’ll make sure she knows that from the start. I don’t want her conjuring illusions of hope that would do her no good.

So yes, I had Severin give me a dossier on her every move. It was easier that way.

“Regardless of what this marriage is. She’ll be sharing a bed with you soon. You need to at least talk to her.” Esmé said firmly.

Share a bed? Doubtful.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied, already done with the conversation.

As I reached the door, her voice followed.

“And please make it home for dinner today.”

I looked over my shoulder to find her watching my father now. I found myself wondering what she was thinking as she stood there staring at him.

“I will,” I said, and shut the door quietly behind me. I had no intention of keeping that promise.

I leaned against it, and drew in a slow breath. Antiseptic and aged wood from the hallway filled my lungs. The words from our conversation stayed with me anyway.

I pressed my fingers to my eyes, as if that would help.

My parents' marriage was a political marriage too. A merger. A marriage of influence built on mutual respect and understanding, not love.

It was the norm in our world. Families merging to keep business ties, power, political influence.

Love was a weakness here. I knew that much. I understood it early.

Loyalty. Power. Ambition. Respect. Those were the pillars. They always came first.

I pushed away from the door and turned back, my eyes trained on the narrow glass panel set into it.

My father lay unconscious while my mother sat composed beside him, flipping through a magazine she’d picked up from the side table.

The two of them trapped inside decades of duty disguised as partnership.

Looking at them now, I couldn’t help but wonder which pillar still held them together. Loyalty, perhaps. Or maybe just habit.