AARON WALLACE'S POV

I stood outside the hospital, enveloped in a sizzling silence, my blood flowing to my ears. Stepping in felt like risking everything I had worked for, a fear that gripped my brain with lethal intensity. It was a strange sensation. I would have entered if she hadn't given off signals by avoiding my gaze. She didn't say it, probably because she had been in shock but she undoubtedly blamed me for distracting her. She blamed herself for succumbing to being with me. The shattered look on her face when she stared at her phone screen now haunted my vision, drowning me in angst. Her sobs in my space must have stained the silence there. I still feel her push against my chest as I stand here, for once not knowing what to do.

"Aaron Wallace, who's the mystery woman you came with?" "Is she your girlfriend?" "Your birthday is next month, anything we should look out for?" "What about Ruby Denzel?" "Is it true Steven Wallace has finally married after years of mourning his late wife?" "How do you feel getting in the office next month as the new and one of the youngest CEOs of a multi-billionaire company in the world?"

"Mister Wallace," amidst the chaos of flashes and microphones thrust towards my face, one voice sounded familiar.

Keenan must have followed me, creating a barrier with his hands, pushing reporters away as I slid into the car he drove here in. He'd know how to deal with the other vehicles parked in the lot.

As the door closed, a sharp pain shot through my head. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, aware of Keenan's presence and the car starting to move.

"I thought it would be a journalist-free summer, but unfortunately, it's not. That's what the security promised, but now they're involving Lively. She's not ready for it; she has other things to worry about," I grumbled discontentedly.

"My apologies, Mister Wallace. The wedding rumor about your uncle got things out of control," Keenan explained, his focus on the road.

"We shouldn't lose control. That's not in the Wallace regime."

"It'll be fixed. I'll have men around the hospital to ensure Miss Kelby's family isn't harassed by the journalists."

"Good," I sighed, though it offered little relief, pinching the bridge of my nose. I hadn't shown her off yet; we hadn't discussed it. Yesterday, I only wanted to show her the good side of what our lives could be together. I hadn't warned her about the attention she was about to receive as the approved granddaughter-in-law of Thomas Wallace. And now that she wore the four-generation ring, her world was about to change with a single linked photo. "Did you manage to get details on what's wrong with Bubble?" I asked.

"The hospital won't release that information, sir."

They wouldn't, definitely.

"And Mister Wallace?" Keenan hesitated, peeking through the rearview mirror, looking apologetic.

He was hesitant.

"What is it, Keenan?" I demanded.

"Your parents have provided quarters for the Hebrew and Raphael's family in the lake house."

"What? Shaun Hebrew?" I scoffed. How was that possible with Grandpa there?

"Yes, Mister Wallace. I believe their daughters are there for you to incline toward," he sadly said.

"No way!" Only my parents' bias was missing.

We drove past the live broadcast happening outside the lake house, also playing on the entertaining screen in front of me, which I hadn't been concentrating on. Uncle Steven was out there addressing reporters, something normal if you had my last name. This family made no way for any scandal upon it that it had become perfect at purifying any articles before the companies posted them. The last big scandal we had was the accident, and that was only because deaths couldn't be covered up. Since then, everything has carefully remained within our walls, avoiding the media dirting it. Grandpa had always reminded us: that the first mistake is letting someone have leverage over us, for that's when weakness eats at us. A Wallace is not weak; that lesson had been planted in my head since I was a child.

"There are newly added members of the Wallace family that unfortunately couldn't be here with me due to family bonding happening inside. My late wife was a good woman, we will always—" I turned off the screen at the voice of my uncle as Keenan drove through the open gate.

Harold opened my door, greeting me as I stepped down. I was on edge to confront my family. I hadn't forgotten yesterday; whatever they did to Lively while I was away, I planned to get to the bottom of it. And now this? I wouldn't tolerate their harmful opinions.

Dashing up the portico and into the house, before heading upstairs to our chambers, I asked a passing woman for my parents' location.

"They're by the lake, Mister Aaron Wallace."

"What about Grandpa?" I inquired.

"He left this morning," she obediently replied.

Now my parents' misbehavior made sense. Uff!

Exhaling, I maintained the stereotypical Wallace poise: unfazedness, confidence, and bravery. If anything, I wouldn't let them gaslight me, as they'd been doing this whole time. I had given this family my entire life; I deserved something of my choice this one time. If Grandpa could agree, my parents would know better.

Stepping out into the lake air, I followed the path towards the first steps. There they all were, under the shades, my hypocritical family hosting our guests for some tea party, discussing my future when I wasn't sure I was more than a child.

My dad's eyes met mine as I approached, and the look on his face wasn't relaxed. He got up, excusing himself with a counterfeit smile, and moved towards me. We met at the bottom of the first steps.

"What are you two up to?" I asked, maintaining an inauthentic smile.

"Act accordingly; we have a guest. You will do nothing but charm their daughters and see who you enjoy their company with the most," he cautioned with an equally deceitful expression.

Had he gone mad? "Where were you when I asked Lively to marry me, and she said yes?" I gritted, almost losing control publicly.

He adjusted, shading me from the guests below. "I said be on your good behavior, do not whine, be a man, be a Wallace," he angrily whispered.

My glare was sharp and fierce at Dad, with acid dripping down my throat. If I say anything next, we'll both regret it. It took everything in me to release my fists, loosen my clenched teeth, and breathe.

I force a smile and pat his arm for the sake of our assumed good father-son relationship in public, unable to swallow the bitterness in my throat as we both descend the steps, meeting Raphael's and Hebrew's families, two of Europe's and America's generational wealthy families like ours.

"Young Mister Wallace," Shaun Hebrew says.

"Aaron, darling, come meet these wonderful family friends," Mom beckons me, sitting, stretching out her hands. I hug her, kiss her on the cheek, and extend my hand for a courteous handshake with the men, and a formal hug with their wives and four young ladies similar to Ruby.

"The last time we met, you were ten," Mrs. Raphael remarks as I take a seat and my cocktail is brought to me immediately by the staff.

"Yes, it's been a while since I traveled out of the States."
"How is that possible? I hear you fly different sorts of airplanes," the flirting blue-eyed girl with a British accent asks, whom I assume is Raphael's daughter asks.

"Yes, I don't fly too far," I try not to come off as uptight.

"Actually, Aaron has plans to pursue space engineering for his second master's degree in London. It was supposed to be this year, but it will be a busy year with duties readied for him next month," Mom proudly interjects, affectionately rubbing my knee.

"I'll be your first customer when you become the new CEO, but there's a catch. You'll have to take me for a flying test," another girl in the group says, who had also introduced herself, but I can't recall her name, as the rest.

"Is that so?" I might have smirked, no, I definitely did. It was amusing.

The girls giggle.

***

After the little garden gathering ends, and our guests have returned to the guest quarters, escorted by dearest Dad and Mom, I head up to our chambers and wait for them, legs crossed on the armchair.