C4 Mark's POV

The car stopped in front of the 8,000-square-foot edifice that is our London home. The stone fountains spew water, and the expansive, lush grass is watered by sprinklers. I get out of the car, and Matthew steps out from the other side as we both walk into the house.

"Where's my mother?" I ask Mrs. Elliott, the head maid.

"In your father's study," she replies with a curt nod before going back to her duties. Before I get there, Martha is already walking towards me with her arms wide open. Her emerald green dress sweeps the marble floors, her auburn hair in its perpetual chignon, her smile wide and her cheekbones as high as ever. She moves to embrace me, and I see a flash of blood-red nails before she puts her hands on my back and squeezes.

"Darling!" She pecks me and then pulls away to look at my face. My body stiffens the moment she opens her arms wide for a hug.

"You sent for me."

"Yes, I did," she says, squeezing my arm as if noticing I wasn't in the mood. I only came because I didn't want her telling my father I'm being distant and that I don't treat her like my mother. She turns and sashays to my father's study. I have no choice but to follow her. The mini chandelier shines, and some gems hanging from it click gently in the gust of air that comes from her opening the door. The click-clack of her heels is silenced as she steps into the carpeted room. The cream-colored walls are lined with intricate gold patterns and bookshelves. A beautiful turquoise lamp is on the mahogany desk, and her laptop is set up. A soft jazzy tune plays from the overhead speakers, and that's how I know she was working in here before I came. I noticed she can't focus on work without music in the background. She sits on one of the two single-seater sofas in the room, and I take the other one.

"So why did you call me here? I had an important meeting," I ask, tired of waiting.

"Can't I just want to see my only child?"

"Well, it's good to see you too. But I'm sure you didn't make me leave the office with what is happening just because you miss me."

"Ah yes, and by 'what is happening,' I'm sure you mean the COLE project that you so graciously handed over to our little friends, hmm?"

"What happens in my company is my business, not yours," I reply coldly.

"In case you don't know, it's a family business, darling. Your father hasn’t handed it over to you yet."

"Is that why you called me here?"

"All I'm asking for is to have a relationship with you, Mark. I know your mother was everything, but I'm here now."

"Here we go again," I mutter under my breath, enough for her to hear me.

"Don't you use that tone—" she starts, but I cut her off.

"Listen here, Martha. The only reason I always come when you call is because I respect you and I respect my father. If he is happy with you, that's fine by me. But don't expect any love from me. I don't know how many times you want me to tell you. I can never, and I will never, be close to you. I'll fucking give you the respect and regard you need because you are my father's wife, and that's it. I do not want to keep going back and forth about this again." Taking a deep breath and getting up, I say, "And if that will be all, I'd like to be on my way."

She remains silent for a while before she speaks. "You lost that project because you are incompetent."

"I know you've never really liked me because your son passed away and will have nothing to inherit from my father, that I get to take it all. Then why pretend when you're around my father, huh? He doesn't come around; he doesn't check in on me. Are you alright in your head?!" I snap.

"That is no way to talk to your mother," my father yells from the doorway. Then realization hits me. This was what she wanted. How lovely, Martha.

"Is this how I raised you? To disrespect your mother?" he yells.

"You call that disrespect—" but he doesn't even let me finish.

"I don't even want to know what you guys are fighting about today, but I asked her to call you. Take a seat," he says, taking his seat.

"There's no need," I say, remaining standing. "Since the deal fell through and it was the biggest deal we would have signed this year, I've found another way to get it back."

"And what's that?" I ask, completely uninterested.

"You are to marry Brielle Taylor, the daughter of Daniel Taylor. This marriage is of convenience, and it would be beneficial to us. The union will give us power—"

Cutting him off, I say, "What power? Power that we already have? I'm not fucking marrying any spoiled brat."

"What did I say about cursing in my damn house?" Martha cautions.

"Well, fuck me, where are my manners?" I turn back to my father. "I will not marry that woman. I'll get the deal back, and I will not have to end my life with that woman."

"You have no choice. As we speak, the deal is being finalized. If you still insist on not marrying her, I'm cutting you off from the business. You can hand in your resignation letter, and I'll hand over my company to someone else," he finishes.

"I am a 27-year-old man, and you cannot force me into an arranged marriage, not in this day and time and certainly not to that brat Brielle Taylor. To hell with her and her father's ill-gotten wealth and deal they're offering! I do not want it! I do not need it! And that is final!"

I storm out of the room, making sure to bang the door hard. Walking out of their house towards my car, Matthew runs behind me, but I completely ignore him and drive off without him. He calls almost immediately.

"Bryan's club, tonight," is all he says before hanging up.