aded walking cane struck the polished marble tiled floor with a sharp, triumphant tap-tap-tap-each sound echoing off the glass walls and high ceilings like a gavel marking judgment. The ornate gol

id so without hesitation, settling into the cushions like a man who already owned the room, crossing his legs elegantly as he placed his cane beside him. Teddy remained standing for a moment, walking to the window and staring out at the city below before finally turning and walking over, loosening his tie as tension crept into his shoulders, the fabric of his suit jacket stretching across his broad back. "That ring..." his father began, his tone shifting from excitement into something more serious, more solemn. He reached forward, picking up a crystal ashtray from the coffee table and turning it over in his hands. "It has been passed down from your great-great-great grandmother-Elena Witherson, who founded this company over a hundred and fifty years ago. It is not an ordinary piece of jewelry." Teddy exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against his forehead as a headache began to form behind his eyes. He'd heard the stories a thousand times-how the ring was supposed to choose the woman who would lead the family, who would ensure the Witherson legacy continued. He'd always dismissed them as nothing more than old-fashioned superstition. "Dad-" "Anyone who is meant to wear it," the older man continued, cutting him off with a sharp look, "cannot take it off. It will fit perfectly, and no matter how hard they try, it will not budge from their finger. But for those who are not chosen... it slides off as easily as any ordinary ring." Silence fell over the room, heavy and charged. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant traffic from the streets below. Teddy lowered his hand slightly, his brows furrowing as he processed his father's words. He remembered watching Mira take the ring off just moments ago-how easily it had slipped from her finger. "What?" he said, his voice quiet but filled with confusion. "But she took it off. It came right off her hand." His father leaned forward, resting both hands on the head of his cane, his expression serious now. "Because she didn't know what it was. The ring only binds itself to its chosen one once they understand its significance. Once she knows what it means... she will not be able to remove it again." He paused, his eyes locking onto his son's. "She is the woman the Witherson family has chosen. The head of the household. Your wife." "Dad." Teddy's voice dropped, firm and unyielding now. He turned to face him fully, his expression serious, his amber eyes dark with determination. "This is the twenty-first century. We don't live by outdated traditions anymore. You can't just decide someone's fate because of a ring-especially not the fate of a woman who doesn't even know our family's history." "Nonsense!" his father snapped, his cane striking the floor again with a sharp crack that made Teddy flinch slightly. "This is not superstition. This is destiny. Your mother was chosen the same way-she found the ring in her grandmother's attic, tried it on, and couldn't take it off. And your grandmother before her. Every generation, the ring finds its match." The mention of his mother made something flicker in Teddy's eyes-a flash of pain and longing that vanished just as quickly, replaced by his usual composure. He'd lost his mother five years ago to cancer, and the wound was still raw, even if he'd learned to hide it well. "Ever since your mother passed," the older man continued, his voice lowering slightly, softening with emotion as he reached out and placed a hand on Teddy