Chapter Six

Marco’s POV

"Excuse me, Mr. Marcos," the guard said, his voice respectful but hurried. "I have a message for you. Your father is calling you. He requested your immediate presence."

My heart sank at the mention of my father. Our relationship had always been strained, and his sudden request filled me with a sense of unease. I exchanged a worried glance with Scarlett before turning back to the guard.

"Thank you for letting me know," I replied, trying to maintain composure. "I'll go see him right away."

Scarlett looked at me with concern, her eyes searching mine for answers. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"I don't know," I admitted, a touch of anxiety seeping into my voice. "But I need to find out."

With a heavy heart, I excused myself from Scarlett's side, promising that I would return as soon as I could. She nodded, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me in my father's presence.

The guard led me through the intricate corridors of the estate, each step echoing with anticipation. My mind raced with thoughts of the past, memories of distant conversations and unresolved conflicts. I braced myself for whatever awaited me, hoping that this encounter would bring clarity and closure.

Finally, we arrived at my father's study. The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit room. My father sat behind his mahogany desk, his face worn with age and burden. He motioned for me to enter, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something I couldn't quite decipher.

"Marco," he said, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Sit down."

I took a seat, unable to shake off the tension that filled the room. My father leaned forward, clasping his hands together, and regarded me with a serious gaze.

"Son," he began, his voice weighed down by the weight of unspoken emotions. "I called you here because there is something important we need to discuss."

I braced myself, uncertain of what was to come. My father's words held an air of finality, as if they carried the weight of a lifetime of regret.

"I have made mistakes, Marco," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "I have let my pride and ambitions drive a wedge between us. And for that, I am truly sorry."

I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected admission. The walls I had built around my heart began to crumble, replaced by a glimmer of hope that perhaps our relationship could be salvaged.

"I wanted to mend our broken bond before it was too late," my father said, his voice laced with regret. "I may not have been the father you needed, but I want to change that. I want to be a part of your life, Marco."

A mixture of emotions swirled within me—doubt, skepticism, but also a flicker of longing for a connection that had been absent for so long. Could it be possible that our fractured relationship could be repaired?

"Father," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "I appreciate your words, and I want to believe in the possibility of a renewed bond between us. But actions speak louder than words. Can we truly rebuild what was lost?"

I looked into my father's eyes, searching for any signs of sincerity. His words carried a weight I hadn't expected, and while a part of me yearned for reconciliation, another part remained guarded.

"Father," I began cautiously, "I appreciate your desire to mend our relationship, but there's something I need to tell you."

He leaned back in his chair, an expectant look on his face. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation that lay ahead.

"I got married," I confessed, the words hanging in the air. "I did it to please you, to meet your expectations. But it's not who I am, and it hasn't brought me the happiness I thought it would."

My father's face hardened, and disappointment flashed across his eyes. I could see the weight of his expectations, the plans he had crafted for my future, weighing heavily upon him.

"I see," he responded, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and frustration. "Marriage was merely a means to an end, then?"

I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of my confession. "I thought that by conforming to your wishes, I could make amends, find some semblance of approval. But it was a mistake. I can't live my life solely to please you, Father. I need to find my own path, discover what truly brings me happiness."

Silence settled between us, the tension palpable in the air. My father seemed lost in his thoughts, grappling with the realization that his expectations had led me astray.

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer but filled with a sense of urgency. "Marco, I understand your desire for independence, for forging your own path. But there is something else I want from you."

I raised an eyebrow, curious yet apprehensive about what he would say next. "What is it, Father?"

"I want you to get ready to take over," he declared, his eyes locked with mine. "The responsibility of the family business rests upon your shoulders, and it's time for you to step up."

His words hit me like a blow. The weight of expectation had shifted from marriage to the burden of legacy. But deep within me, I knew that the path he envisioned was not my own.

"Father," I said firmly, my voice tinged with determination, "I respect the throne and the empire you've built. But it's not my passion. It's not where I find my fulfillment."

A mix of disappointment and frustration washed over my father's face, his eyes filled with a blend of regret and stubbornness. "Marco, you are the rightful heir. It's your duty to carry on what I've built."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Father, I can't live my life according to your dreams alone. I need to find my own purpose, my own calling. The throne may be a part of our legacy, but it can't be the sole defining factor of my life."

My father's frustration reached a boiling point, and his voice rose with anger. "Marco, you must become the king of our empire! It is your duty, your responsibility!"

I couldn't hold back any longer. The pent-up emotions, the years of feeling suffocated by his expectations, erupted within me. "No, Father! I won't be a puppet in your game, a mere pawn to fulfill your ambitions!"

My words reverberated through the room, the tension thickening with each passing second. I could see the shock and disbelief etched on my father's face, but I refused to back down.

"I won't sacrifice my happiness, my dreams, for the sake of an empire that holds no meaning for me," I continued, my voice shaking with a newfound determination. "I want to forge my own path, to create something that resonates with who I truly am."

My father's eyes narrowed, his face contorted with a mix of anger and disappointment. "You're being foolish, Marco. The weight of our legacy rests upon your shoulders. You have a duty to uphold!"

I stood my ground, my voice filled with conviction. "My duty is to myself, Father. To live an authentic life, to find fulfillment and happiness on my own terms. I won't be shackled by the chains of tradition and expectation any longer."

And my Dad did the unexpected……