Wedded to My Covert Sire

POV Audrey

"You'd make an exceptional CEO, Audrey. But it's not that simple."

The words hang in my grandfather’s mahogany-paneled office like a blade suspended over my head.

For one breathless moment, joy floods through me—validation of years bleeding myself dry for Lennox Industries, recognition of every sixteen-hour day, every sacrificed weekend with Oliver. Then the second part registers.

Not that simple.

The joy curdles into something bitter and familiar. Because with my grandfather, nothing ever is.

I sit across from him, quarterly reports spread between us—numbers that prove my brilliance, my dedication, my worth.

Years of proving myself, and still—not that fucking simple.

Apparently with William Lennox, simplicity is a privilege, never a policy.

"The Pacific route transformation was remarkable," Grandfather says, his fingers tracing the profit margins. "Revenue up forty percent in eighteen months. The board was impressed."

The compliment tastes like honeyed praise. I lean forward, matching his calculating gaze. "Then they should be ready to make the right decision. Name me the CEO."

"You could appeal to the board for consideration." His pause stretches between us, heavy with unspoken conditions. "But there are... requirements they would expect met first."

My pulse hammers against my throat. "What requirements? My numbers speak for themselves. The Singapore expansion alone—"

"The board won't even consider an unmarried woman with an illegitimate child for CEO." The words drop between us like stones into still water. "I can’t put your name forward while you remain unwed, Audrey. They see it as instability, a liability in our traditional world."

Illegitimate. The word might as well be ‘bastard’ dripping from his patrician lips.

My hands curl into fists beneath the antique desk—the same desk where I used to sit as a girl, dreaming of the day I'd earn my place in this empire.

"Oliver is not a ‘liability.’ He's my son, and if you think for one second that I'll let you or anyone else—"

"I love Oliver deeply. You know that." His voice softens with genuine warmth. "But the board operates in reality, not sentiment. They'd never take your candidacy seriously. You need the respectability of marriage, the stability it represents to old money."

"No, this is about control." I push back from the desk, fury crackling through my veins. "You've tried this before, Grandfather. Eight ‘suitable men’ you paraded to me like prize bulls at auction. And each one ran for the hills, as you remember."

"Because you deliberately sabotaged those relationships." His eyes narrow with certainty.

I wonder if he really noticed my sudden vulgarity at dinner parties, or if he actually knew about all of my usual calculated rudeness, or about the theatrical episodes designed to repel those boys.

They were pathetic, really. Child's play to destroy.

I’m leaning back in my seat, pretending I don't know what he is talking about. "I mean, if they couldn't manage dinner conversation…"

"Which is why I've found someone different this time." He slides a folder across the desk with deliberate precision. "Someone who won't be so easily deterred."

I reach for the folder, already composing my rejection.

"Shane Reed."

The world tilts, then stops. My lungs forget their basic function. Every carefully constructed wall inside me cracks simultaneously while I fight—fight—to keep my face marble-smooth.

No. Fucking. Way.

Shane Reed. The golden prince of Hilmond Academy. The boy who ruled those hallways while I haunted their edges, invisible and desperately in love with someone who seemed never knew I existed.

He wouldn't recognize me if I stood directly in front of him wearing a name tag. We went to the same prestigious high school for trust fund babies, yes. But that hardly makes us compatible.

Especially along with what happened between us on the prom night.

"He's agreed to dinner already. Tonight." Grandfather's smugness radiates from every word. "He's exactly what the board wants to see—West Coast logistics empire, impeccable pedigree, shared educational background. The perfect match on paper."

On paper. If only he knew what really connected us.

The secret I've guarded like a dragon hoards gold, never breathing a word to anyone—not my grandfather, not my closest friends, not even Oliver himself.

When people asked about Oliver's father, I served them the same practiced story: a brief relationship during my senior year. Someone unsuitable. Someone already gone.

The lies came so easily after a while that sometimes I almost believed them myself.

No one ever suspected that Oliver's father was one of Seattle's most prominent businessmen. That his face smiled down from billboards and magazine covers. That the truth was hiding in plain sight—in my son's gray eyes, his sharp jawline, the stubborn set of his chin and dark curly hair.

My phone buzzes before I can tell him exactly where he can shove his arrangement. Oliver’s nanny text flashes on the screen.

Mrs. Walker: Downstairs with Oliver. Ready for Tuesday dinner!

"I already have plans tonight." I straighten, gathering my dignity like armor. "Oliver and I have dinner every Tuesday. Non-negotiable."

"Audrey!"

But I already turn toward the door, my heels striking the floor like war drums. When I finally left my grandfather's office, I slowly exhaled. I can’t believe that's really happening, but I already know how to deal with it.

Not for the first time.

But the first time dealing with the ex-highschool-crush-heartbreak situation, my traitorous mind reminded me.

In the Bentley, Oliver presses his nose against the window, pointing at the massive billboard towering above Seattle traffic. And of course it’s Shane fucking Reed's face stares down at us as a huge cosmic joke.

All sharp jawline and gray eyes that make my stomach twist with memory of—

Nope. Not going there. Not after all these years.