Theodore Nott had been born into a family that everyone admired. His parents were among the richest people in Europe, their influence stretching far beyond wealth. To the public, they were elegant, respected, and untouchable. Behind the doors of their estate, however, Theodore had always felt invisible. Ever since he was a child, COPD had made every breath a struggle, but his parents never sat beside his bed during sleepless nights or asked whether he was frightened. They simply hired the best doctors, the best specialists, and the best caretakers. As long as their son remained healthy enough to appear in public, they considered their job done. Love had always been replaced with money.
Theodore grew up believing he was little more than another responsibility to manage. Every hospital visit was arranged by assistants. Every treatment was scheduled by someone else. His parents rarely looked him in the eye unless photographers were nearby. He stopped expecting affection years ago, burying himself behind silence and distance because it hurt less than hoping they would someday become the family he wanted.
Then, one evening, his parents summoned him to the dining room. The table was set as beautifully as always, crystal glasses reflecting the candlelight, servants standing quietly against the walls. His father spoke about legacy, reputation, and the future of the Nott family as though discussing another business investment. Only at the end did Theodore realize they weren't asking for his opinion. They had already chosen the woman he would marry.
An arranged marriage.
A contract.
Another decision made for him.
Theodore sat perfectly still, his hands tightening beneath the table until his knuckles turned white. His chest felt heavy, every breath catching painfully in his lungs, but neither of his parents noticed. Or perhaps they did, and simply didn't care. To them, his marriage was another transaction, another alliance that would strengthen the family's name. Whether Theodore wanted it, whether he was happy, whether he was even healthy enough to think about a future—it meant nothing.
One night, Theodore wandered through the empty halls of the mansion long after everyone had gone to bed. The walls were covered with portraits of generations of the Nott family, each one staring proudly ahead as though duty had always mattered more than happiness. Theodore stopped in front of one of the towering windows and looked out into the darkness, pressing a hand against the familiar ache in his chest. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to cry.
Not because he had been forced into a marriage.
But because it finally became impossible to deny the truth he had spent his entire childhood trying not to believe.
His parents had never wanted a son.
They had only ever wanted an heir.