Make It Work

DECLAN VANCE

“Where is my son?”

My mother’s shrill voice sliced through the quiet corridor of my penthouse. I froze mid-step. The sleek leather of my shoes squeaked slightly against the polished marble floor as I halted my momentum. I needed to go back the way I came. Right now.

“Uh, he... he...” a hapless staff member stammered somewhere near the foyer.

“I asked for my son. I didn’t ask you to stand there like a drenched duck and waste my precious time. Where the hell is he?”

Her yelling echoed off the high ceilings. That unannounced arrival told me everything I needed to know. She had just flipped my meticulously planned morning upside down. I picked up my pace, striding toward the sanctuary of my study before she could spot me in the open hallway. I pushed the heavy oak doors open, slipped inside, and shut them with a quiet click.

I walked straight to the mahogany liquor cabinet. I grabbed a crystal glass, uncapped a bottle of scotch, and poured a generous measure. I threw my head back and swallowed the burn in one harsh gulp. Setting the empty glass down, I let out a long breath and moved behind my massive desk. I picked up my cell phone, swiped past three missed calls, and started rearranging my entire afternoon schedule. Avoidance was my only strategy.

A few minutes later, the study door swung open. Vivienne Vance marched in. She slammed the heavy wood shut behind her, using far more force than necessary. The framed artwork on the adjacent wall rattled from the impact.

I didn’t look up. I kept my eyes glued to the glowing screen of my phone, my thumb scrolling steadily. I pretended she was nothing but a minor draft in the room. She stood by the door, her heels planted firmly on the Persian rug. I could feel her expectant glare burning into the side of my face. She waited for me to speak. She waited for me to look up, to acknowledge her grand entrance. I gave her nothing.

Eventually, she realized the silent treatment wouldn’t crack me. Left to my own devices, I would gladly let her stand there until she got annoyed enough to turn around and leave.

She let out a sharp, aggravated sigh.

“I am not to be disturbed… mom,” I said, my voice flat, speaking the moment the sound left her lips.

“Shut up, son. I am not here for another one of your ‘let me be’ dramas,” she snapped. She crossed the room in quick, commanding strides and dropped into the plush leather chair opposite my desk.

Knowing I couldn’t physically throw her out without causing a massive headache, I kept my mouth shut. I picked up my silver pen, opened a file folder, and began jotting down notes for my secretary. I acted as if I were the only person in the room.

“Declan...” she warned, her tone dipping into that familiar reprimand.

I kept writing.

“Declan Vance Arthur, look at me right now!”

She slammed both her palms flat onto the polished surface of my desk. The loud smack echoed off the walls. The sheer force of it made my pen skip across the paper.

I stopped. I set the pen down slowly. I took a deep, controlled breath and raised my eyes to meet hers.

“What is it, mom?” I asked, keeping my voice devoid of any inflection. I just wanted this over with.

“You haven’t seen your mother in months. The first time you lay eyes on me, you won’t even ask how I have been faring?” She pushed her lower lip out in a mock pout and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

I stared at her. I couldn’t care less about pleasantries right now. I could just get up and leave the penthouse. But I knew Vivienne Vance. If I walked out, she would return tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. She would invite herself in until my own home felt like her personal territory. Dealing with the root cause of her visit was far less agonizing than running a marathon of avoidance.

“Mom, I have serious business to handle today. Would you mind getting straight to the point?”

She dropped the pout. She uncrossed her arms and let out a heavy sigh, her demeanor shifting from a neglected mother to a sharp businesswoman.

“The properties your grandfather left behind. They will be forfeited by the end of next week if you don’t step up and claim them,” she said.

My shoulders tensed. “What properties?”

“Declan,” she scoffed, shaking her head in sheer disbelief.

“I said, what properties?” I repeated, holding her gaze.

“The estates you couldn’t access. The massive portfolio handed over to you in your grandfather’s will.”

“Okay.” I gave a dismissive nod, broke eye contact, and picked up my phone again.

“You know exactly what these properties are. You know about the stipulations in that will. You know how crucial they are. Quit acting dumb.”

Her voice rose a decibel, carrying a sharp edge. I put the phone face down on the desk.

“Yes, I know about them. So what?”

“The government will seize those properties in exactly two weeks and—”

“Let them have it,” I cut her off. “I need to work.”

“You would just throw all of that away? Just like that?” Her eyes widened.

Those estates were a literal goldmine. They represented a treasure island of prime real estate and liquid assets. That was precisely why they were so highly coveted. And that was precisely why they came with ridiculous strings attached.

“Your grandfather left those to you. You have to claim them. Your company needs this expansion. You can’t just—”

I slammed my fist against the desk.

The dull thud silenced her mid-sentence. I regretted the outburst the second my knuckles hit the wood. I never let my temper show. I squeezed my eyes shut, released a harsh breath, and dragged a hand through my hair. If I had known this specific topic was on her agenda, I would have boarded a flight to Europe and stayed hidden for the rest of the year.

“I am not ready to get married,” I said through gritted teeth. I pressed my fingertips against my temples. I could feel the familiar, throbbing pulse of a migraine brewing right behind my eyes.

“You are twenty-eight years old. How can you not be ready for marriage?” she countered. She lowered her voice, adopting a much calmer, strategic tone. She knew pushing me with volume would only make me build higher walls.

“Declan, you need a wife to unlock those assets. That was his condition.”

“I don’t want his assets.”

“Declan…”

“I built my own company. I don’t need his handouts to succeed.”

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. She knew how to play this game. She decided to speak the only language she knew I never ignored. Business. Power. Legacy.

“You do realize that the second those deeds transfer to your name, you become the undisputed number one in the global chain. It would take your biggest rivals decades to even sniff the kind of power you would hold overnight. You would dominate the global market.”

My jaw clenched. I tightened my hands into fists under the desk.

She hit the nerve. She knew exactly what drove me. She knew the entire reason I walked away from the Vance family wealth. I wanted to build my own empire. I wanted to stand outside the suffocating shadow of my father. I wanted my name to mean something without his massive influence backing it. She knew my aspirations inside out.

I knew my goals too. My grandfather had drafted a manipulative, archaic will that I wanted to burn. I would never have given it a second thought if my mother hadn't barged in today. But my ambition was a hungry beast. The opportunity she dangled in front of me was massive. It stood right in the center of the room, pulling my rational mind in two different directions. Refuse the money and keep my freedom, or take the deal and secure an untouchable legacy.

“Don’t you want to secure this before it becomes too late?” she pressed softly.

My stomach dropped.

Before it becomes too late.

The words echoed in my head. The things I wanted to achieve before my time ran out were uncountable. I had spent years coming to terms with the bitter reality that I would never get to live a normal, stretching life like everyone else around me. The ticking clock in the background of my existence was a constant, suffocating weight. Her casual reminder that I was living and working on borrowed time was far more agonizing than she could ever comprehend.

Yet, I kept my mask firmly in place. I stared at her across the expanse of the desk. I buried the sudden spike of fear. I swallowed the anger. I hid the creeping dread beneath a cold, impenetrable exterior.

I needed the global reach. I needed the ultimate success. I needed to finish what I started before the clock ran out.

“I can’t spend the rest of my life chained to just anybody,” I finally said. My voice was low, signaling my surrender.

A victorious, silly smile spread across her red-painted lips. For a fleeting second, looking at her triumphant expression, I deeply regretted yielding. But I knew this was the only logical path forward. It was my golden ticket.

“You don’t have to spend the rest of your life with anybody, darling. I am your mother. I will pick out a wonderful girl you will actually like,” she offered eagerly, already planning the socialite gatherings in her head.

I shook my head firmly. “You can’t just pluck some random girl out of your social circle. I would divorce her within forty-eight hours.”

“Son…” her smile faltered into a frown.

“I know you read the fine print of that will. Whoever I marry, I have to stay married to her for five consecutive years, or I lose every single asset. It was the only way the old man could guarantee I wouldn’t just take a bride for a day and rip him off.”

“But I can find a well-behaved girl you can tolerate for five years. Just trust me,” she coaxed, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous light.

“I want Valerie Croft.”

I dropped the name into the room like a live grenade. I spoke before the wheels in her head could spin any further.

Almost instantly, the color drained from her face. The triumphant smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock. A dark scowl settled over her features. The perfect little arrangement she had begun constructing in her mind came crashing down to the floor.

She hated Valerie. She had never hidden her disdain for her. It had been years since Valerie and I split, and I foolishly assumed time might have dulled my mother's venom. I was wrong. Vivienne Vance never let go of a grudge. Once you crossed her, you stayed on her blacklist forever.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the desk, holding her stunned gaze.

“I will only marry Valerie Croft. No one else.” I laid down my absolute condition, ignoring the sheer horror radiating from her posture.

“You can’t be serious, Declan.” Her voice was a breathless whisper, stripped of all its previous commanding authority.

“I am deadly serious.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. She just stared at me, realizing the trap she had just walked into. She wanted the properties for the family legacy. I wanted Valerie.

I picked up my silver pen once again, signaling the end of the conversation.

“Make it work, mom. Get me married.”