It always had.
My grandfather's house sat on the edge of the city, large and imposing, the kind of place that looked impressive from the outside but felt cold once you were inside. I'd grown up there in pieces. Holidays. Mandatory dinners. Meetings that felt more like evaluations than conversations.
When I pulled into the driveway, I immediately spotted two familiar cars.
Lucas and Noah.
I wasn't surprised. If I'd been summoned, they had too.
I parked beside them and took a moment before getting out, resting my forehead lightly against the steering wheel. I hadn't even stepped inside yet, and I already felt tired.
Inside the house, the air smelled faintly of old wood and lemon polish. Voices drifted from the sitting room.
I found Lucas leaning against the fireplace, scrolling through his phone with a scowl etched permanently on his face. He was the oldest of us, broad-shouldered, perpetually tense, like he'd been bracing for impact his entire life. Responsibility clung to him whether he wanted it or not.
Noah sat on the arm of a chair nearby, leg bouncing restlessly. He looked up first and offered me a quick smile, softer than Lucas's sharp edges. Noah was the peacekeeper. The one who tried to smooth things over even when they clearly couldn't be smoothed.
"Morning," he said. "Or whatever time it is."
I dropped my bag onto the chair beside him. "You have any idea why we're here?"
Lucas snorted. "If I did, I'd already be yelling. Knowing that man it won't be something good." Let's just say our relationship with our grandfather isn't really something to write home about.
That earned him a look from Noah. "Let's not start before he even comes out."
I sat down, folding my hands in my lap. "So you don't know either."
"Nope," Noah said. "But when Grandpa sends a texts instead of calling, it's never good."
I nodded. That matched my experience too.
We sat in uneasy silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I tried to distract myself by counting the small cracks in the ceiling, a habit I'd picked up years ago whenever tension filled a room.
The front door opened, and a moment later, Caleb walked in.
He was the youngest of us, but you'd never know it from the way he carried himself. Lean. Sharp-eyed. Always watching. Caleb had learned early on that if you paid attention, you could protect yourself.
"Wow," he said dryly, glancing around. "All three of you. That can't be a coincidence."
Lucas straightened. "You get the mystery text too?"
Caleb nodded. "Ten sharp. No explanation."
"Great," Lucas muttered. "Group anxiety."
Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. This was us. Always circling the same problems, bound together by shared history and unspoken understanding.
Caleb's gaze softened when it landed on me. "You okay?"
I shrugged. "I skipped piano."
He winced. "That bad, huh?"
"Apparently.
Before any of us could say more, the sound of a cane striking the floor announced my grandfather's arrival.
Arthur Hartwell entered the room with measured steps, his presence commanding immediate attention. Age had stooped his shoulders slightly, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. He didn't greet us. He rarely evedid.
"Sit," he said.
We obeyed.
Once we were seated around the long dining table, he didn't waste time. He never did, always straight to the point.
"I've arranged a marriage," he said plainly. "For Ivy."
The words hit the room like a dropped plate.
Noah leaned forward. "Ivy?"
"Yes."
Lucas's jaw tightened. "With who?"
My grandfather met his gaze. "Zane Whitmore."
That was when Lucas slammed his hand on the table.
And the fight began.
"Everyone knows he's a maniac," Lucas shouted, voice cracking with anger. "You're sending her into marriage with that?"
"You don't know him," my grandfather replied coolly.
"No we don't but we know enough" Caleb snapped. "But we know enough."
I stayed silent, my thoughts racing, one truth rising above the rest.
Ivy would never survive this.