THE HOUSE OF LARSON

The Larson family house was not a home.

It was a statement.

The mansion stood at the edge of the city, hidden behind tall black gates and endless rows of trimmed hedges. From the outside, it looked like something out of a magazine white marble walls, wide glass windows, and a long driveway that curved like a royal path. Inside, everything was polished, quiet, and expensive. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was ever allowed to be.

The sitting room was the heart of the house.

High ceilings. A crystal chandelier. Cream-colored couches arranged around a glass table that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salary. The walls were decorated with abstract art and old family portraits generations of Larson's staring down from golden frames, their eyes cold and proud.

Eleanor Larson sat on the largest couch, her posture perfect, her legs crossed elegantly. She wore a silk dress and diamond earrings, even though she had nowhere to go. Eleanor always dressed like she was being watched.

Across from her sat Adrien Larson.

One leg crossed over the other, suit jacket undone, phone resting lazily in his hand. His expression was calm, almost bored, but his eyes were sharp. Observant. The kind of eyes that missed nothing.

Beside Eleanor sat Livia, Adrien’s younger sister. She was twenty, beautiful, and much softer than the rest of the family. Unlike her mother and brother, she actually looked uncomfortable being in that room.

The air was heavy.

Eleanor broke the silence first.

“Adrien, we need to talk.”

Adrien didn’t look up from his phone. “You always say that.”

“This is not business as usual.”

He finally lifted his gaze. “Everything in this house is business.”

Livia shifted slightly on the couch. “Mom, can’t this wait until dinner?”

“No,” Eleanor replied calmly. “It cannot.”

Adrien sighed and placed his phone on the table. “Alright. I’m listening.”

Eleanor folded her hands. “The Larson company is entering its final phase of restructuring. The board is ready to hand over full control.”

Adrien’s lips curved slightly. “Good. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Not yet.”

Adrien frowned. “What do you mean, not yet?”

“There is a condition,” she said.

Livia glanced between them. “What condition?”

Eleanor turned to her daughter. “Your grandfather wrote it into the family contract years ago. No outsider can fully inherit the Larson company unless they become part of the family.”

Adrien laughed softly. “I already am part of the family.”

“By name,” Eleanor replied. “Not by law.”

Adrien’s expression slowly changed. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

Livia’s eyes widened. “Wait… what does that mean?”

Eleanor looked straight at Adrien.

“It means you have to get married.”

Silence.

The chandelier above them glittered softly, the only sound in the room.

Adrien stared at his mother as if she had just insulted him.

“Marriage?” he repeated. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke about business.”

Adrien stood up slowly. “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“This is not about belief. This is about inheritance.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You want me to marry someone just to sign papers?”

“Yes.”

Livia stood up too. “Mom, that’s insane. You can’t force him to marry.”

Eleanor turned to her. “I’m not forcing him. He has a choice.”

Adrien laughed bitterly. “A choice between love and power?”

“You never wanted love,” Eleanor said quietly. “You wanted control.”

Adrien’s jaw tightened.

Livia looked at him. “Is it true? You’d really marry a stranger for a company?”

Adrien didn’t answer immediately.

He looked around the sitting room. At the walls. The art. The portraits. The wealth.

This house had raised him. This family had shaped him. Everything he was came from the Larson.

Finally, he spoke.

“So who is she?”

Eleanor’s eyes softened just a little.

“I will choose her.”

Adrien turned sharply. “Absolutely not.”

“She must be suitable.”

“For who? The company?”

“For you.”

Adrien shook his head. “I’m not dating someone you picked.”

“You won’t be dating her,” Eleanor said calmly. “You’ll marry her.”

Livia whispered, “You won’t even meet her first?”

Eleanor smiled faintly.

“They will meet on their wedding day.”

Adrien stared at his mother.

“You’re turning my life into a contract.”

“That’s what this family does.”

The room went quiet again.

Outside, the gates of the Larson house stood tall and unbreakable.

And inside, Adrien Larson realized that for the first time in his life, even he was not in control.

NOON. . . . . . .

The house felt different after the conversation.

Too quiet. Too empty.

Adrien stood alone in the sitting room, staring at one of the family portraits on the wall. A younger version of his mother smiled back at him, elegant and distant even in paint. Everything in this house was perfect. Everything was controlled.

And now, even his future.

Upstairs, Eleanor Larson was already getting ready to leave. By noon, her driver waited at the front of the mansion, the black car polished and silent. Her hospital visits were routine—private doctors, private floors, no waiting rooms. The kind of care only people with unlimited money received.

Livia watched her from the staircase.

“Do you have to go today?” she asked.

Eleanor adjusted her gloves. “Health doesn’t wait, darling.”

She turned briefly toward Adrien. “Think about what I said.”

Adrien said nothing.

The car doors closed, and the Larson house returned to silence.

The hospital was nothing like the Larson mansion.

It was loud. Crowded. Filled with the smell of disinfectant and quiet panic. Nurses walked quickly down the halls, patients waited on metal chairs, and families whispered prayers under their breath.

Eleanor was escorted straight to the top floor.

Her specialized doctor greeted her with a warm smile. “Mrs. Larson, right on time.”

“Of course,” Eleanor replied calmly as she sat down. “Let’s get this over with.”

The check-up was routine. Blood pressure. Heart rate. Scans. Numbers discussed in low voices. Everything was controlled. Predictable.

As the doctor reviewed her chart, a nurse knocked lightly on the door.

“Excuse me, doctor,” the nurse said. “We have an emergency surgery case downstairs. The patient needs immediate approval.”

The doctor frowned. “What kind of case?”

“Internal complications. If the surgery doesn’t happen within forty-eight hours, she won’t survive.”

“And payment?”

The nurse hesitated. “The family can’t afford it.”

Eleanor stood up slowly, uninterested in the conversation.

“That’s not my concern,” she said, already reaching for her bag.

But as she stepped into the hallway, something caught her attention.

Not the doctors. Not the machines.

A voice.

A trembling one.

“…she’s only nineteen,” a nurse was saying softly to a young girl standing near the wall. “You’re still a student, I know, but if you don’t get the money, we can’t schedule the surgery.”

The girl looked pale.

“My mother will die?” she whispered.

The nurse avoided her eyes. “We’re doing everything we can, but without payment…”

The nurse walked away.

The girl remained frozen in place.

Eleanor stopped walking.

She turned slowly.

The girl couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. Simple clothes. Tired eyes. Hands shaking slightly as she tried to hold herself together.

Desperate.

Eleanor watched her like a hunter observing prey.

She called out, calm and firm.

“Nurse.”

The nurse turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Who is that girl?”

The nurse hesitated, then answered. “Her name is Clara. Her mother needs urgent surgery, but they don’t have the funds. If we don’t proceed soon…”

“She will die,” Eleanor finished.

The nurse nodded.

Eleanor’s lips curved faintly.

“Tell the girl to meet me in the lobby.”

The nurse blinked. “You want to speak with her?”

“Yes.”

A few minutes later, Clara stood in the lobby, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

An elderly woman in an expensive coat stood near the glass doors, waiting.

The nurse whispered, “She asked to see you.”

Clara swallowed and walked forward.

Eleanor turned to face her.

Up close, Clara looked even smaller. Fragile. Like someone life had already started breaking.

Eleanor studied her from head to toe.

Young. Alone. Afraid.

Perfect.

“Your mother needs an immediate surgery,” Eleanor said without emotion. “And you don’t have the means to pay.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “How do you—”

“I can help you,” Eleanor interrupted. “I can cover every hospital bill.”

Clara felt her breath catch. “You can?”

“Yes. On one condition.”

Clara’s hands tightened around the strap of her bag. “What condition?”

Eleanor stepped closer, her voice low and controlled.

“You marry my son.”

The world stopped.

Clara stared at her. “What?”

“You will become his wife. In return, your mother lives.”

Clara shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand. I don’t even know you.”

Eleanor reached into her bag and handed her a business card.

“You don’t need to understand. You just need to decide.”

Clara looked at the card. The name printed in gold:

Mrs. Eleanor Larson

“I’m not asking for your love,” Eleanor continued. “Only your agreement.”

Clara’s voice broke. “This is insane…”

Eleanor leaned in slightly.

“Your mother is dying.”

Clara felt tears burn her eyes.

“Think it through,” Eleanor said calmly. “But remember there is no time.”

She turned and walked away, heels echoing against the hospital floor.

Clara stood there, shaking.

In her hand, a card that could save her mother’s life.

Or destroy her own.