My Billionaire Ex Beg For A Second Chance-Chapter 38: Pact In A Foxhole

The city lights were beginning to flicker to life, casting a golden glow across the high-rise buildings when Leonard finally leaned back in his leather office chair. The soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional beep from his computer were the only sounds accompanying him in the silent space.

Work was done, reports sent, meetings wrapped. But instead of going home, where a long bath and a cold drink waited, Leonard grabbed his car keys and headed out. He had another destination tonight—one he would have happily avoided if it weren’t for his father’s insistent message earlier.

"We need to talk. Come by the house."

Leonard could still hear the weight in his father’s voice when he played the voicemail on loop earlier. Something about it sounded too serious to ignore, and that alone was unsettling.

The long driveway to the Crawaford estate was lined with towering trees and glowing garden lights. It was a place of tradition, of power, and of memories Leonard often found himself trying to forget. The butler, Theor, stood ready at the door before Leonard even stepped out of the car.

"Young Master," Theor greeted, bowing his head respectfully.

Leonard gave a short sigh, lifting a hand. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?"

Theor merely smiled, unaffected. "And how many times have I ignored it? Your father is waiting in the study."

Leonard didn’t respond this time. Just a low hum in his throat and a nod as he brushed past, the familiar scent of aged wood, cigars, and something distinctly regal filling his lungs. He walked the long corridor, his steps echoing slightly against the polished marble floor, and stopped in front of the grand double doors of his father’s study.

He knocked once.

"Come in," came the low baritone from within.

Leonard pushed the door open, stepping into a room that looked more like a library than a study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, a tall window behind the massive oak desk casting in the fading light of dusk. His father sat there, posture impeccable, a glass of brandy in hand.

"You came," his father said, a touch of relief coloring his tone.

Leonard walked forward and took a seat across from him. His expression was blank, but his jaw was clenched. "You said it was important. So? What is it?"

His father didn’t speak right away. He took a sip from his glass, then reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a sleek, silver photo frame. Without a word, he placed it on the desk and turned it toward Leonard.

Leonard narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward. The moment he saw the face, his brows furrowed. "Oh, this woman..."

"You know her?" his father asked, watching him carefully.

Leonard’s fingers tapped absently against the edge of the desk as his gaze remained fixed on the photo. Her face was striking, not necessarily beautiful in the traditional sense, but sharp, composed—like someone who rarely needed to explain themselves twice. He blinked once, then twice, the memory beginning to surface like sediment in still water.

"She was here," Leonard said slowly, lifting his eyes. "The other day. I was just leaving your study when she showed up." His voice was thoughtful now, not defensive, but curious. "She didn’t seem like someone who’s here to talk about stock portfolios or trust funds," Leonard muttered, glancing again at the photo.

A long pause followed, filled only by the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, his father stood and walked slowly to the window, holding his glass loosely in one hand.

"She wasn’t just a guest. That woman is Katherine Anderson—daughter of my good friend. I’ve been in talks with her about something."

Leonard frowned. "Talks about what?"

His father turned and leaned forward. "Your marriage."

Silence fell. The room suddenly felt colder despite the golden hue from the chandelier above.

Leonard leaned back slowly, scoffing as he tilted his head. "You’re not serious."

"I’ve never been more serious," his father replied.

"And what do I get in this crazy arrangement?" Leonard asked sharply. "Besides a wife I didn’t ask for."

His father sighed, placing the glass gently on the desk with a quiet clink. "It’s not a ’crazy arrangement,’ Leonard," he said, the weight of something old and unresolved in his voice. "It’s a promise. One I made a long time ago—to a man who saved my life."

Leonard stood suddenly, the chair screeching slightly as he pushed it back. "So you made a pact in a foxhole, and now I have to pay the price?"

"Leonard—"

"Don’t," he cut in, shaking his head. His face was tense, jaw ticking with every breath. "You do this every time. You make decisions, throw names and deals like it’s paperwork. But these are people’s lives. My life."

His father stood now too, voice firmer. "I’m doing this for you. She’s a good woman for you."

"No," Leonard bit out. "You’re doing this for your own goddamn ego and I don’t care if she’s good or nice or whatever."

"Watch your tone."

"Or what?" Leonard laughed bitterly. "You’ll disown me? Be my guest."

He turned, already heading for the door.

"Leonard, if you walk out now—"

"Then I walk," Leonard snapped without looking back. "And for your sake, I hope you never bring this up again."

He flung the door open, his footsteps loud and fast as he stormed down the corridor. Theor, waiting by the entrance, straightened at the sound.

"Young Mas—"

Leonard didn’t slow down. "Not now, Theor."

He yanked the front door open and strode toward his car, his fists clenched tight at his sides. The cool night air hit his face, but it did little to cool the anger burning in his chest. He threw himself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and started the engine with a low growl.

As he sped off into the night, his thoughts swirled.

Marriage? To a stranger?

He couldn’t believe he had wasted his evening listening to that nonsense.

Not now. Not ever.