I stormed out of the lawyer's office, my head spinning. The weight of my father's ludicrous stipulation pushed down on me like a ton of bricks. Marry by thirty or lose everything? It had to be a joke.
The familiar sound of my Lamborghini's engine did little to settle my worries as I rushed through the streets of New York. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon, matching the frantic whirl of my thoughts.
"To hell with it," I murmured, pumping the accelerator harder. The automobile responded swiftly, lurching forward with a thrilling snarl. If my father wanted to play games from beyond the dead, I'd show him exactly what I thought of his rules.
My first stop was the most exclusive jeweler in the city. As I rushed through the doors, the staff's eyes widened with recognition.
"Mr. Blackwood," the manager greeted me warily. "How can we assist you today?"
I flashed him a wild grin. "I want the most costly watch you have. Actually, make it two."
As he raced to meet my request, I caught sight of my reflection in one of the glass displays. My usually flawlessly coiffed hair was unkempt, and there was a wild look in my eyes that I barely knew. Good. Let the world realize that Dylan Blackwood wasn't a puppet to be governed by his dead father's whims.
Twenty minutes and a cool million dollars later, I walked out with two clocks I didn't need. The weight of them in my pocket did nothing to fill the growing vacuum inside me.
Next, I hit every high-end store on Fifth Avenue. Suits, shoes, accessories - I bought them everything without a second glance at the price tags. Each swipe of my credit card felt like a small act of defiance against my father's memory.
As the sun began to drop, I found myself at my favorite bar, sat on a stool with a glass of scotch in hand. The burn of the booze was a pleasant distraction from the conflict in my mind.
"Rough day, Mr. Blackwood?" the bartender inquired, noticing the plethora of shopping bags at my feet.
I gave out a sour laugh. "You have no idea, Joe. Keep 'em coming."
As the night carried on and the scotch flowed freely, my phone buzzed repeatedly. Notifications from concerned board members, missed calls from my assistant, and even a worried text from Jake. I disregarded them all.
It wasn't until the bar was practically empty that I felt a presence beside me. I turned, expecting to find another gold-digger trying their luck, but instead, I was faced by the stern stare of Evelyn, my father's lifelong secretary.
"Dylan," she replied, her voice a mix of concern and sadness. "This isn't the way."
I scoffed, raising my glass in a faux toast. "And what way would that be, Evelyn? The path of the obedient son, dancing to my father's tune long after he's gone?"
She sighed, settling onto the stool next to me. "Your father had his reasons-"
"His reasons?" I cut her off, rage boiling. "His reasons were to manipulate me, just like he always has. Well, not anymore. I'm done being the loyal heir."
Evelyn's eyes softened. "Is that what you believe this is about? Control?" She reached inside her bag and pulled out an envelope. "He left this for you. Said to give it to you if you reacted... well, like this."
I stared at the envelope, my father's familiar calligraphy spelling out my name. Part of me wanted to take it and tear it to shreds. Another half, the part I attempted to ignore, was desperate to know what it said.
With shaky hands, I took the packet. "I don't want to read it."
"Then don't," Evelyn stated simply. "But keep it. When you're ready, you'll know."
She rose up, placed a soft hand on my shoulder. "Your father adored you, Dylan. More than you know. Don't allow your anger blind you to that."
As she went away, I was left alone with the envelope and my thoughts. The weight of it in my hands felt far heavier than it should have.
I don't know how long I sat there, staring at my father's last words to me. The bar had long ago closed, with Joe giving me sympathetic looks as he cleaned up around me.
Finally, when the first rays of light began to peek through the windows, I made my decision. I rose up, staggering slightly from the drink and tiredness, and shoved the unopened envelope into my pocket.
"Thanks, Joe," I murmured, dropping a few hundred-dollar dollars on the bar. "Sorry for the trouble."
The crisp morning air greeted me like a slap to the face as I stepped outside. The city was just beginning to wake up, the streets were still relatively quiet. I took a big breath, attempting to clear my brain.
As I headed towards where I'd parked my car, a flyer caught my eye. It was for a charity auction, happening that very evening. The old me would have disregarded it, but something made me pause and take a closer look.
"Screw it," I mumbled to myself. "If I'm going to rebel, I might as well do some good while I'm at it."
I pulled out my phone, ignoring the flood of missed notifications, and dialed my assistant's number.
"Sarah? Yeah, it's me. I realize it's early, but I need you to clear my schedule for today. And get me on the guest list for the Chapman Foundation auction tonight. Oh, and have the jet ready. I guess it's time for a small spontaneous vacation following the auction."
As I hung up, a plan began to shape in my head. I'd show up at this auction, throw ridiculous sums of money around for a good cause, and then jet off to some exotic location. Let the board and everyone else stew for a bit. They wanted Dylan Blackwood, the irresponsible playboy? That's exactly what they'd receive.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I stepped into my car. As I turned the key in the ignition, my phone buzzed with a new message. Thinking it was Sarah confirming my request, I peered at the screen.
My blood ran cold.
It was from an unknown number, but the message was clear:
"Enjoy your tantrum, Mr. Blackwood. Your father's legacy is bigger than you know. Tick tock."
I glanced at the TV, a cold running down my spine. Who could have sent this? And what did they mean by my father's legacy?
As I sat there, the engine idle, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something vital. Something that might be lurking in the still-unopened envelope was burning a hole in my pocket.
The lighthearted revolt I'd anticipated now felt empty. There were forces at play here that I didn't comprehend, and for the first time since hearing my father's will, I felt a spark of actual terror.
What had my father actually been up to? And what had I unwittingly entered into?