Not going down without a fight

Morgan's point of view 

The door to my office clicked shut behind us, the sound louder than usual, or maybe it just felt that way because of the weight of the conversation we just had. 

I walked in after my father, my steps heavy with anger and frustration, while he, as always, moved with that same composed, unshakable confidence. It was maddening.

As soon as we were inside, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Dad,” I called sharply, stopping a few feet away from him.  

He didn’t turn right away, just kept walking to the window, where he stood with his back to me, hands clasped behind him as though nothing I said could rattle him.  

“I can’t marry Marrissa,” I said firmly, forcing the words out before my emotions got the better of me. “She doesn’t fit my status, my reputation. She is….she is not the kind of woman who belongs by my side.”  

Still no response.  

“And besides,” I continued, trying to steady my tone, “I already have someone in mind.”  

That was a lie. A pathetic, last-ditch effort to make him change his mind.  

He turned his head slightly at that, one brow lifting just enough to let me know he was not buying it.  

“Well, I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said, his voice as calm as it was resolute. “But my word is final.”  

I clenched my fists, the muscles in my jaw tightening. His unflinching tone only fueled the fire burning inside me.  

“What if,” I said, grasping at straws now, “what if, after the baby is born, we find out it isn’t mine? Have you thought about that? That would be even more disgraceful than not marrying her.”  

That made him pause. He turned fully toward me now, his expression unreadable, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind. For a brief moment, hope sparked in my chest. Maybe he would see reason with me this time. Maybe this would be the point that finally made him reconsider.  

But when he spoke, his words crushed that hope instantly.  

“Well,” he said, his tone firm, “in that case, you will marry Marrissa in secret until the child is born. If it’s yours, the marriage will be made public. If it’s not, you’ll divorce her quietly.”  

I froze.  

“No!” The word came out louder than I’d intended, but I didn’t care. I took a step closer to him, my voice rising with frustration. “That’s not the solution, Dad. Marriage shouldn’t even be in the sentence!”  

He stared at me, unflinching, his calm demeanor only making my anger grow.  

“Morgan,” he said slowly, his voice carrying that familiar warning edge, “you’ve made your bed. Now, you’ll lie in it.”  

I tried to reign in my frustration, but it was impossible. The thought of being forced into a marriage I didn’t want made my skin crawl.  

“Dad,” I said again, this time in a more controlled tone, “I don’t love her. We can’t stand each other. She hates me. I—”  

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place,” he cut in sharply.  

That shut me up for a moment.  

“You don’t even know if the baby is mine,” I muttered after a beat, my voice quieter now.  

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “What if she disagrees?” I asked, grasping for something..... anything to buy myself some breathing room. “What if she says no to this marriage proposal? It's not like we can force her." 

“Then you convince her,” he replied, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. “Not with money like you foolishly tried before, but properly. Like a man.”  

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Dad, I’m not a child. You can’t just force me into marrying someone I do not love. I can take care of Marrissa and the baby—if it’s mine—without marrying her. This isn’t the Dark Ages. Not every relationship ends in marriage.”  

He stiffened at that, his expression darkening.  

“Morgan,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade, “do you think raising a child is just about money? A child needs his parents. They need stability, love, and protection. Do you think you would be where you are today if I had left your mother to fend for herself?”  

“That’s different,” I argued, my voice rising again. “Mom is nothing like Marrissa!”  

“That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice like a whip.  

The room fell silent.  

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes hard and unrelenting. Then, taking a deep breath, he straightened his tie and spoke again, his tone final.  

“You will marry Marrissa this weekend,” he said, each word landing like a punch. “If you refuse, then you can kiss your inheritance goodbye.”  

Before I could respond, he turned and walked out of the room, his footsteps firm on the floor. He didn’t bother looking back as he left, slamming the door shut behind him.  

The sound echoed in the room, leaving me standing there alone, my fists clenched and my heart pounding with fury.  

I let out a sharp breath, pacing the length of the room. My mind was racing, thoughts tumbling over one another as I tried to process what had just happened.  

"Marry Marrissa?" The very idea made me feel sick. We could not even have a civil conversation without tearing each other apart. The thought of spending my life with her—or even a fraction of it—was unbearable.  

And yet, my father had left me no choice.  

If I refused, I would lose everything. Everything I have worked for. Everything I deserved.  

I stopped pacing and leaned against my desk, gripping the edge, so tightly my knuckles turned white.  

“Marrissa,” I whispered under my breath, my voice low and venomous, “you’ll pay for this. I swear it.”  

I had no idea how I got myself into this mess, but one thing was clear: I wasn’t going down without a fight.