The Heir's Midnight Deal

CHAPTER 3: Maris...Voss

The Voss estate was located at the edge of the city, a sprawling building that oozed from miles away with old money. It wasn't the largest property in Meridian City, but it was the oldest, and in their world, age carried more weight than size. The gates were iron, the driveway lined with oaks planted when the city was still just a dream.

Mace pulled the car to a stop in front of the gigantic mansion. He opened the door, and Callan stepped out, turning to offer his hand to Seren who took it. Her grip was firm, yet slightly detached.

They climbed the stone steps together, and the front door swung open before they even reached it. Callan breathed hard and glanced at Seren. To his surprise and relief, she was as cool as a cucumber.

Twelve people were already in the formal dining room. They were board members, family associates, and the family attorney. They were the vultures of the dynasty, people who had spent their lives watching for signs of weakness in the bloodline.

At the head of the table sat Maris Voss.

She was a slight woman with the stillness of a predator. Her hair was white, her jewelry minimal and not too extravangant, and her posture was as stiff as iron. When she looked up, her eyes were the color of a winter storm. She studied Seren for three heavy, silent seconds.

"Grandmother," Callan said with a slight nod, "This is Seren."

Maris didn't rise, exerting her dominance. "You have Edith Crestwood's eyes."

Seren didn't flinch nor did she look to Callan for permission or cue to speak. "She was my grandmother's sister," she said evenly. "I’m told the resemblance is common among the women."

"I went to school with Edith. She had the same habit of standing still in a room and making everyone else feel like they were moving too quickly." Maris tilted her head. "Sit down, child. You’re late, but the soup is still warm and somewhat delicious."

Dinner was more of a game of deep, layered meanings, where every word spoken was a mask for their real intent.

Callan watched Seren navigate the minefield with a grace that baffled him. She didn't perform like he'd advised. She didn't offer fake smiles or overcompensate with chatter. When a board member tried to talk down to her about journalism, she corrected his view with the weary confidence of an expert.

When one of Maris’s associates probed her family’s standing, she deflected off the topic calmly, giving them just enough to satisfy them while keeping the door firmly shut.

She wasn't trying to be impressive. She was simply being herself and it was devastatingly effective. Callan's nervousness was gone and he was glad Viv had actually broken up with him.

At ten past midnight, after the dessert plates were cleared,  and his granny rose to her feet. The room fell into an immediate, heavy silence.

"Callan," she commanded. "Walk with me."

The library was the only room in the estate that felt slightly human. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling books, the scent of woodsmoke, and a fireplace that actually burned. Maris sat in the chair by the fire, it was her favorite.

"Sit, child" she said. "You're not on trial."

"She didn't know tonight was a test," Callan said, choosing his words with care.

"And she agreed anyway." She said, a smile behind her wrinkled eyes

"Yes, granny."

Callan told her everything. He told her about Vivienne, the sudden breakup, the desperate gamble with fifty minutes on the clock, and the deal for November rent.

When he finished, Maris was silent. Then, she suddenly burst into a sharp, genuine laughter that Callan hadn't heard since he was born. "She charged you rent?" She exploded.

"First thing she said actually," he replied, unable to resist the smile on his face.

"Good," Maris murmured. "The Lacroix girl would have been a decorative disaster. She would have cost you things you couldn't put a number on. You know what Dorian Chase was doing. He’s been positioning for eighteen months. This was his move to end your succession. He expected to walk away tonight having removed you from the line."

"He underestimated the timeline." He said.

"He underestimated you, boy" Maris corrected, her voice dropping. "Do not make the same mistake about him."

"I won't, granny." He assured her.

She stared into the flames with a perplexed look on her face. "This...Seren girl. She’s complicated."

"Everything worth anything is." He agreed.

Maris rose, and stared down at him. "You brought the right person. Not because of her name, though it didn't hurt, but because she didn't ask me for approval once. That is a rare commodity in this particular house of opportunists."

She reached the door and paused. "The keys to the Voss accounts and board access will be transferred to you at nine a.m. Welcome back, my dear. Now, find out why she's using a different name. If she's running from something that could reach this family, I want to know before it arrives."

Callan sat in the silence for a long time before pulling out his phone. He messaged Felix: It worked. Keys at nine!

Felix responded instantly: YES. Also, Dorian Chase just posted a photo from the south courtyard. He was there and he was watching.

Callan's heart clenched for a moment before he replied to the text: I know. And now he knows it didn't work.

That's going to make him move faster, Felix warned.

Good, Callan thought. I'd rather fight something moving than something hiding.

He put the phone away and walked back to the dining room. He found Seren by the window, her shoes off, gazing out at the dark expanse of the estate. She looked entirely different without the armor she’d worn at dinner, looser, quieter, like a stranger at the end of a long night.

He made a sound, and she turned. "Well?" she asked, her eyes glittering.

"She accepted and the succession stands."

Seren nodded impassiveley, bending down to retrieve her shoes. "Then we're done. I'll get a cab."

"Mace will take you back." He said.

"I don't need—"

"Seren." She looked at him, her eyes searching. "You did something tonight that required massive trust and composure with no notice. Please, let me put you in a car at least."

She paused for a long moment and finally said, "November rent. I want it by Friday."

"Thursday," Callan countered. "And I have a proposal. Not tonight, but tomorrow, after you’ve slept. I want to offer you something that goes beyond November."

She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. "What kind of proposal?"

"The kind where we both get what we need. The kind where we know exactly what this is and what it isn't."

She stared at him for a moment too long. "Thursday, then" she said finally. "First my rent, and I'll hear the proposal after."

She walked past him toward the door. Callan remained in the empty dining room, the crystal chandelier overhead casting long shadows against the walls. He sighed as he thought about how close he had come to total ruin.

Then, he straightened his jacket with a smile. He had a dynasty to reclaim, an enemy who was no longer hiding, and a new person in his life he had to figure out.

He had a partner and whether she realized it yet or not, he was going to make sure she stayed one.