Albert exhaled slowly, folding his hands atop the desk. "No."
Rowan’s frown deepened as he leaned forward, demanding, "Then what is your reason?"
Albert noticed Rowan’s bandaged hand.
"Fighting again, I presu?" he asked, his tone a mix of concern and disapproval.
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "No. And don’t change the subject!"
Albert pinched the bridge of his nose. This son really needed a wife to keep him in line.
"You agreed to marry Harold Hale’s granddaughter," Albert said, his tone firm and factual.
"Wait—wait." Rowan held up a hand.
"That was in the past," he state. "You called off the arrangent—she already had soone, rember?"
Albert leaned back and exhaled. "Not anymore," he said, conceding Rowan’s point.
"She broke the engagent—quite the scandal, considering the wedding was supposed to be tomorrow." He shook his head at the unfortunate turn of events.
"Phew!" Rowan lifted his brows in disbelief.
"That’s misfortune for her but maybe a blessing too. Better a broken promise than a lifeti with a man who doesn’t deserve her. Unless," he paused, eyes narrowing, "she’s the one who didn’t deserve him."
Albert raised a stern finger toward Rowan. "Mind your tongue. Harold Hale’s granddaughter is far from worthless."
Rowan lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Well then, lucky ," he said lightly, his tone showing a hint of annoyance.
"But... why ?" he asked, trying to dodge the marriage. "Theodore is unmarried too," he said, referring to his brother.
Slap!
Monica appeared from behind and struck the back of Rowan’s head.
"Theodore married once." Monica emphasized.
"Don’t try to dodge marriage." She knew her son well enough to read his thoughts.
Monica placed the coffee for her husband and sank elegantly onto the sofa.
"Besides, she’s twenty-three, and Theodore is thirty-eight—that’s far too great a difference."
Rowan rubbed the spot where his mother had hit him. "I’m thirty—still far older," he muttered in protest.
"Seven years’ difference is preferable to fifteen," she said, her tone steady and factual.
Rowan fell silent, unable to find words to contradict his mother.
"Agnes ca to us, hoping to reinstate the marriage arrangent."
"After all, Harold’s will made it clear, he wanted you and his granddaughter to be joined in matrimony," Monica add calmly, her tone firm with quiet authority.
Monica’s gaze flicked downward. That’s when she noticed the bandage wrapped around Rowan’s hand—fresh, tight, and spotted with dried blood.
"What happened?" she asked. She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "You really can’t control yourself, can you? Always getting into fights."
"Hold up. My hand is not the real topic right now." He crossed his arms and squared his shoulders.
"I’m not agreeing to get married—that’s final."
"You must!" both Albert and Monica said at once.
"No!" Rowan shot to his feet. "I don’t even know who she is. I don’t even know her na!"
He started toward the door, ready to leave the study, when Monica shouted, "Lyra Ashford! That’s her na. Now you can marry her, right?"
Rowan froze at the doorway and turned back around. "Say that again?"
He shoved his hands into his pockets, pulled out a business card, and checked the na as his mother repeated it.
"You said it, right? Lyra Ashford?"
"Yes, I can spell her na too if you want," Monica replied, shooting her son a sharp look.
"W—wait, one more question!" He held up a finger. "What does she do?"
"She’s a doctor in the governnt sector," Albert answered.
Rowan sank into the chair, his face dazed, making Albert and Monica glance at each other.
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