Chapter 145.

The doorbell rang.

Christian didn’t look up.

His attention remained fixed on the laptop balanced comfortably on his thigh, with one hand moving across the keyboard while the other rested against the arm of the couch.

The bell rang again. This time, he sighed. "Someone get that."

A staff member appeared from the hallway almost immediately.

Christian barely acknowledged him.

"Yes, sir."

The man walked toward the entrance.

Christian’s eyes remained on the screen. A series of numbers shifted across the display.

He frowned. "That doesn’t make sense."

He leaned forward.

His fingers moved faster.

The screen reflected faintly against his face, illuminating the sharp lines of his features in the dim room.

Christian lived in a house that looked less like a traditional home and more like the personal headquarters of someone who had spent far too much money on technology that could solve every inconvenience in existence.

The house was enormous.

The exterior was sleek and modern, built almost entirely around clean architectural lines and enormous panes of glass. At night, the windows reflected the city lights so perfectly that from the outside, it sometimes looked as though the house were floating above the ground.

Inside, everything had been designed with the same philosophy.

Minimal, expensive, and smart.

The entrance lights adjusted themselves automatically whenever someone walked through the hall. The temperature changed depending on who entered the room. The blinds responded to the time of day without anyone touching them.

Even the coffee machine in the kitchen could be commanded from Christian’s phone. He had once programmed the house to recognize the sound of his footsteps.

The living room was the largest room in the house.

A massive sectional sofa occupied the center of it, facing a wall-mounted screen. The screen wasn’t on.

A series of subtle lights illuminated the room from beneath the furniture and along the ceiling.

There were, however, several pieces of technology scattered around the room.

A transparent display hovered above a small console near the window. A robotic vacuum moved silently across the polished floor.

The walls held a few carefully selected pieces of modern art, though Christian had no real interest in art.

He simply liked how they looked against the dark walls. Near the far end of the room stood a glass cabinet filled with gadgets.

The house was sophisticated enough to feel almost futuristic without becoming sterile.

The room smelled faintly of coffee.

Christian preferred it that way.

Everything in his house had a purpose.

He sat comfortably in the middle of all of it, wearing a dark T-shirt and loose black trousers, with his laptop open against his legs.

He looked completely at home.

Until the front door opened.

The staff member stepped aside.

A woman’s voice drifted into the room. "Where is he?"

Christian froze.

His fingers stopped above the keyboard. For a second, he didn’t move. Then he slowly lifted his head.

His mother’s footsteps approached.

Christian closed his eyes. "Oh, for God’s sake." He muttered the words under his breath.

His laptop screen went dark as he shut it.

He placed it carefully on the couch beside him before standing. His expression changed. The easy amusement disappeared from his face.

His shoulders straightened, and the warmth left his eyes.

The woman entered the living room.

She didn’t look around. She simply walked in as though she had every right to be there.

Christian’s mother had always carried herself that way.

Tall, elegant, and immaculately dressed.

Her dark hair was styled perfectly, not a strand out of place. Her coat was tailored, her shoes expensive, and the expression on her face suggested that she had arrived with several complaints already prepared.

Christian stared at her.

He hadn’t seen her in months. He wasn’t particularly interested in changing that. She stopped several feet away.

Christian glanced toward the staff member. "Leave us."

The man nodded and disappeared.

The room fell silent.

His mother folded her arms. "I asked you to come home last time." Her tone was clipped.

Christian’s jaw tightened. "And I told you I wouldn’t come."

"You did."

"So we’re both aware of what happened."

She stared at him. "I don’t appreciate being ignored." She reminded.

Christian let out a short breath. "Then you shouldn’t have asked me to come after I told you no."

"I am your mother."

"And?"

Her eyes hardened.

Christian knew that look.

He had known it since childhood.

It was the look that came before criticism.

Before her judgment, and before another conversation in which she explained everything he was doing wrong.

She took a step forward. Her voice hardened. "You seem to have forgotten how to speak to me."

Her lips tightened. "You’ve become disrespectful."

"You’ve always thought that."

"I didn’t raise you to behave like this."

Christian laughed once. "You didn’t raise me."

The words hung between them.

"You had people for that."

Christian continued. "You had nannies. Tutors. Drivers. Private schools. Personal assistants. You had a schedule for everything."

"Christian."

"You wanted the perfect son." He shook his head. "Sorry." He glanced away. "I’m not that."

His mother stared at him.

Christian looked back at her.

She straightened. "I didn’t come here to discuss your childhood."

"Good." Christian gestured toward the door. "Then we’re done."

"I haven’t finished."

"I have."

He turned slightly.

His mother spoke again.

"I came because you have continued to ignore every attempt I’ve made to bring you to your senses."

Christian eyed her with dismissal.

"You refused to attend the family dinner."

"I was busy."

"You were deliberately being rude."

"Correct." Christian chuckled.

Her eyes narrowed. His mother drew in a slow breath. "You cannot continue behaving like a child."

"I’m not."

"Then act like a man."

"That’s exactly what you always say when you want me to do something I don’t want to do."

His mother didn’t respond.

Christian’s eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"

She remained silent for a moment. Then she turned toward the entrance.

Christian followed her gaze. His brow furrowed.

Someone was standing just beyond the doorway.

A young woman.

Christian stared. She was dressed simply compared with his mother.

She wore an elegant blue coat that fell just below her knees. Her dark hair was pulled loosely behind her shoulders, with a few strands framing her face.

She held a small handbag in one hand.

She looked uncomfortable.

Like someone who had walked into a room without knowing where she was supposed to stand.

Christian looked from her to his mother.nThen back to the woman. His stomach dropped.

His mother simply turned toward the young woman.

"Come in."

The woman hesitated politely. Then she stepped inside.

Christian stared at his mother. "You brought someone."

His mother looked at him. "I did."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Christian’s expression hardened.

His mother ignored him.

"This is Isabel."

The young woman looked at Christian. There was a small, polite smile on her face.

"Hello."

Christian didn’t respond.

His mother continued. "Isabel Dolce."

He had heard it before.

His mother had mentioned it several times over the past few months.

The daughter of a wealthy family.

Well educated, elegant, well mannered, successful, suitable, and perfect for the family marriage.

Christian slowly shook his head. "No."

His mother frowned. "You haven’t even spoken to her."

"I don’t need to."

"You don’t know her."

"I know enough."

Isabel’s smile disappeared slightly. She looked terribly uncomfortable now.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

Christian’s expression changed. He looked less hostile. His anger wasn’t directed at her. It was directed at the situation, and at his mother.

At the fact that someone had apparently decided the two of them would fit together without either of them being asked.

His mother spoke. "You were supposed to meet her last month."

"I wasn’t."

"You were."

"I told you I wasn’t interested."

"Your opinion doesn’t change the arrangement."

"Arrangement?"

"Don’t be dramatic."

"I’m not being dramatic."

He looked at Isabel, then at his mother. "You brought a woman into my house and called her an arrangement."

"Christian."

"What?" He snapped.

"You need to settle down."

His eyebrows rose. "With her?"

His mother didn’t answer.

Christian stared at her. Then he looked at Isabel again. "I’m not doing this."

His mother crossed her arms. "You don’t even know what you’re refusing."

"I know exactly what I’m refusing."

"What if you like her?"

Christian looked at his mother in disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"You think marriage works like choosing a phone?"

Her expression hardened. "This isn’t a joke."

He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with Isabel standing silently in the middle of it.

His mother continued. "You spend your days hiding behind computers. You cannot spend your life alone."

He gave her a challenging look. "Watch me."

His mother’s expression went cold. "Enough."

"Gladly."

He turned toward the hallway.

"Christian."

He kept walking.

"You will not walk away from me."

He stopped. His shoulders rose and fell once. Slowly, he turned around. He glanced at Isabel.

She looked like she wished the floor would open beneath her.

Christian’s anger softened. She hadn’t asked for this either. That much was obvious.

His mother spoke again. "Isabel is a wonderful young woman."

Isabel shifted slightly.

His mother continued. "She comes from a respectable wealthy family. She’s educated. She’s intelligent. She’s polite."

Christian looked at Isabel.

She gave him a small, apologetic smile. That surprised him.

His mother went on. "Our families have known each other for years."

Christian rubbed his jaw. "And you decided that means we should marry."

"I decided that you need someone like her."

Christian looked at Isabel again.

He didn’t know anything about her.

Not really.

But there was something about the way she stood there that made him realize she probably hadn’t volunteered for this either.

His mother looked between them. "You should spend time together."

Christian closed his eyes briefly. "Mother."

"What?"

He opened his eyes. "I’m not marrying someone because you think she’s suitable."

"You haven’t given it a chance." His mother frowned. "Get to know her."

Christain said nothing. He simply picked up his laptop from the couch.

His mother watched him. "Where are you going?"

"Back to work."

"We aren’t finished."

"We are."

He tucked the laptop beneath his arm.

His mother stepped into his path. "Christian."

He stopped.

She lowered her voice. "Your grand-father would not approve of this behavior."

Christian’s face went still. His grip tightened around the laptop. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was hurt.

And Christian hated being hurt more than he hated being angry.

His mother looked away first. "I didn’t mean—"

"Yes, you did."

He walked past her.

He made it halfway to the door. Then he stopped. His hand rested briefly against the wall.

He looked down. He could leave. He wanted to. He almost did. But then he glanced back.

Isabel was still standing there. Quiet, and uncomfortable. She hadn’t said a word since introducing herself.

He shifted his laptop beneath his arm. Then he spoke. It was the first thing he had said directly to her.

And it was also the only thing he would say to her that evening. "Forgive my manners, but this can’t work."

Isabel’s eyes lifted to his.

Christian held her gaze. "I know you also don’t want this."

Her expression changed to relief. It was small, and almost imperceptible. But he saw it.

His mother looked between them.

"Christian—"

He turned away.

He walked toward the door.

His mother remained standing in the middle of the room. "Christian."

He didn’t stop this time.