Chapter 3 Grim reaper
Liyana’s POV
I mean obviously there was going to be a will.
My parents’ legacy—still, nothing could’ve prepared me for this.
The moment I stepped into the room, I paused.Like actually froze mid-step like some glitchy NPC.
It wasn’t a small room.But it suddenly felt like all air was sucked out of it.
I saw him.Hell no!!! Sitting in the far corner of the room, slightly away from everyone else like he had social anxiety or just didn’t vibe with humans—was that man… the grim reaper guy!
Black coat.
Black hat.
Black glasses.
And—oh my God—still holding that fucking umbrella.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I muttered under my breath.Because seriously.What was next…he pulls out a scythe?
I blinked hard.Once.Twice.Nope,did not vanish this time. He was still there.
Okay.
Cool.
Great.
So either—
A) I had officially lost my mind.
B) Death himself had RSVP’d to my parents’ funeral.Why? To take me?!
I subtly leaned sideways, trying to check if anyone else was reacting.
Nothing.
A few people were already seated.
Some I recognized—our family lawyer, Mr. Mehra, who had probably known me since I was in pigtails. A couple of business associates I vaguely remembered from those boring dinners I used to escape from.
All suits. All serious. All staring at me like I’d just unlocked a new level in life (I didn’t sign up for).
Mr. Mehra was flipping through documents.One of the suited guys was checking his watch.A woman near the window was typing something on her phone.
No one—and I mean absolutely no one—was looking at the Grim Reaper chilling in the corner like he paid rent.
I cleared my throat.
“Uh… quick question,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “Are we just… ignoring the guy in the corner or—”
Every single head turned towards me.
Not the corner.
Me.
Mr. Mehra adjusted his glasses. “Yes Liyana?”
I slowly straightened.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Never mind. Please. Continue ...”
I did not look back at the corner.
Absolutely not.
Nope.
“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Mehra gestured.
I walked forward, trying to act like I wasn’t one bad decision away from pointing and yelling ‘DO YOU SEE THAT?!’
I sat down.Back straight.Hands folded.
Do not look!
I looked.
His eyes were only on me.
I swallowed.
“Shall we begin?” Mr. Mehra asked.
Everyone nodded.
Mr. Mehra opened the document.His voice shifted—the kind of tone that made everything sound ten times more serious than it already was.
“Last Will and Testament of Mr. Adrian Whitmore and Mrs. Elara Hale,” he began.
My chest tightened.
“Being of sound mind and legal capacity, we hereby declare this document as the final expression of our wishes regarding the distribution of our assets, holdings, and estate.”
Final expression of our wishes… yeah!
“We begin with the declaration of primary holdings under the Hale and Whitmore Group of Companies—”
It started.
“Majority shares in Hale Industries, Whitmore Infrastructure,Whitmore Global Logistics, and Hale Biotech—”
Okay! We owned all that?!
“Ownership of international subsidiaries across Europe, Southeast Asia, and North America—”
…what?
“Residential estates located in London, Dubai, Mumbai, and private island property registered under the Hale Trust—”
I blinked.Slowly.
Private Island? Excuse me?
“Investment portfolios spanning equities, government bonds, hedge funds, and offshore accounts—”
My eyes widened.
“Luxury assets including but not limited to—a fleet of vehicles, private aviation holdings, and maritime vessels—”
Maritime vessels?
What was I inheriting—a small country?
“—art collections, rare antiquities, and secured vault holdings—”
Vault?
At this point, I wasn’t even trying to keep a straight face.My eyes just kept getting wider.And wider.
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh under my breath.
“Following the liquidation protocols and legal consolidations,” Mr. Mehra continued, “all assets, holdings, and controlling interests are to be transferred in full to the designated heir—”
I straightened slightly.
Here it comes.
Mr. Mehra looked up directly at me.
“The sole beneficiary and heir—Miss Liyana Whitmore.”
I just sat there, staring at Mr. Mehra like he’d casually told me I now owned the moon.
“Sole heir?” I repeated, my voice coming out a little hoarse. “Like… everything everything?”
“Yes, Miss Whitmore.”
His chair scraped the floor, the Grim reaper’s chair I mean. His steps were soundless as he walked towards me.
“Is it my time already…,” I muttered, glancing around again, desperate for any sign that someone else could see this.But nobody looked up.
He stopped right in front of me.
Up close, he was handsome.Like intimidatingly handsome.Taller than I expected.
I tilted my head back slowly, staring up at him.
“Liyana?” I blinked.Snapped back.
“Yeah,” I said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry. Continue...”
Mr. Mehra gave me a brief, assessing look before nodding and returning to the document.
“As per the final clause of the will,” he
continued, voice steady, “the transfer of all aforementioned assets, holdings, and controlling interests is subject to a binding condition.”
I leaned back slightly, crossing my arms.
“The heir, Miss Liyana Whitmore, shall assume full ownership and control of the estate only upon compliance with the following requirement—”
I exhaled slowly.
“She is to reside with, and remain under the legal guardianship of Mr.Everleigh!”
Huh?!A legal guardian?What was I like, five?!Something shifted beside me.The man in black came even closer.
My pulse spiked.I froze.
“—for a minimum period of five years, commencing immediately upon the execution of this will.”
Silence.
My head snapped towards Mr. Mehra. “I’m sorry—what?Who the hell is this Mr.Everleigh?!”
The man in black walked straight up to me, extended his hand and spoke for the first time.
“ Liyana, it's Uncle Mat, Matthew Everleigh!How have you been kiddo?! Long time no see!” A smirk lit up his strikingly sharp features. Uncle Mat? Why did that name ring a bell?!
Oh fuck!
No shit!
Uncle Mat… fuck! How could I forget Uncle Mat?! He was no grim reaper. He was my father's best friend ( though much younger than him), my first crush, the one I had wanted to marry when I was hardly seven!
