CHAPTER 163: VOTING!!!

A few minutes slipped by.

Still no sign of Miles.

The murmurs began to stir again, soft at first, then building like ripples in a pond.

"Is he not coming?" someone whispered.

"Who cares if he comes or not," another muttered, adjusting his cufflinks.

"But I’m curious to see him," said a woman from the far side. "I heard he only has Sterling blood — no relatives left."

"Really?"

"Yes. That’s what Chester’s branch says."

"Then what’s the point of calling him here?"

"Just begin already, I have to go shopping—"

"Shut up! You can go shopping later. This is a family meeting. If anyone hears you, we’ll be in trouble."

The chatter died quickly when Gordon raised his hand.

His voice broke through the silence, calm but firm.

"Enough," he said. "We are starting it soon."

Few minutes passed

Kyle leaned back in his chair, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Time’s up, Uncle Gordon," he said smoothly. "You should start now."

Silvey shot him a look — sharp, irritated — but held her tongue. Her fingers tightened around the file in front of her.

Gordon glanced once at the clock, sighed quietly, and nodded.

"Let’s begin—"

"Why start early?"

The voice came from behind — calm, confident, carrying just enough weight to silence the entire hall.

Every head turned toward the grand doors.

A young man walked in. His steps were steady, unhurried. The light from the balcony windows fell over him — a sleek black suit, perfectly fitted; his expression cool, unreadable. There was something different in the air as he moved — an authority that didn’t need to be spoken, only felt.

His polished shoes clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing through the hall.

Whispers rippled through the family members.

"Who is that..."

"He’s so young..."

"Handsome too."

"This brat? He’s just a kid."

"Silence," Gordon said, voice firm.

Miles smiled faintly, that sharp curve at the corner of his mouth giving away nothing — and everything. His eyes moved slowly across the hall, taking in every face, every reaction.

He met Gordon’s steady gaze. Then his eyes drifted to Silvey, and then shifted again — to Kyle

.

Their eyes locked.

Kyle’s expression was cold, a mix of disdain and disbelief.

Miles’s lips curved into a smirk — calm, knowing, almost taunting.

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

That single look said everything:

It ends here today.

Gordon’s voice carried through the hall, firm but cordial.

"Welcome to the family meeting, Miles. I hope you had a smooth journey from Star Harbor."

Miles nodded lightly, his tone polite yet edged with something subtle.

"Thanks for inviting me. Honestly, I was surprised when I received the invitation — considering no one here really sees me as part of the family."

The remark made a few heads turn. Whispers flickered along the table. Kyle’s jaw tightened, but Gordon remained calm.

"Things change, Miles," Gordon said after a pause. "We cannot punish you for what your grandfather Timothy did. Time has passed — it’s time for the young generation to take its place."

Miles smiled faintly.

"So... a change of rules then," he said, leaning back. "You should consider changing a few more while you’re at it."

His gaze flicked toward Silvey, and though he said nothing further, she caught the meaning instantly. The rights for women in the family.

Gordon noticed the unspoken exchange but chose not to interrupt.

Miles shifted his posture, his tone softening.

"Anyway... you should start the meeting now."

"Have a seat," Gordon said, gesturing toward the empty chair.

Miles sat down smoothly, crossing one leg over the other, calm and composed.

But the whispers began again, low and sharp.

"Who does he think he is..."

"He didn’t even greet the elders properly..."

"No manners, just arrogance..."

Miles turned his head slightly, eyes drifting across the table with a faint, effortless smile — not to silence them, but to let them know he heard every word and didn’t care in the slightest.

Gordon noticed it all — the whispers, the looks, the tension — yet he said nothing.

He simply watched Miles, an unreadable calm in his old eyes.

Gordon adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, his deep voice cutting through the restless murmurs that filled the hall.

"I welcome everyone present here," he began, his tone carrying the weight of years and authority. "As you all know, this meeting was preponed due to my son’s accident. Because of that, some decisions must be made now — decisions that will ensure the operations of the ACE Group remain smooth and uninterrupted."

The room quieted, though not entirely — a few faint whispers lingered in the corners like echoes.

Miles sat with his back straight, expression calm. Kyle sat across from him, relaxed, confident, his fingers idly tapping the polished table.

"Today," Gordon continued, "we are here to decide who will be the next decision-maker of the ACE Group

. In other terms — the holder of the fifty-one percent controlling stake."

That sentence alone changed the air. The faint hum of the AC became suddenly louder; the servants along the walls stood even straighter. Everyone in the room — every cousin, uncle, and aunt — knew what that meant. Whoever won today would hold the family’s empire in their hand.

Gordon took a moment, his gaze sweeping across the table.

"Let me announce the candidates."

He looked first toward his right.

"First, we have Kyle Sterling — from Chester’s branch. His family has managed ACE Finances for years now. Under his leadership and hard work, ACE Finances has achieved considerable growth. Most recently, it even acquired the Redheart Insurance Firm, marking a major expansion in our financial wing."

Kyle offered a composed smile — the kind that had just enough charm and arrogance mixed together. Some family members nodded approvingly; others whispered among themselves.

Gordon’s eyes shifted to the other side of the table.

"Second candidate — Miles Sterling."

The murmurs rose immediately. Heads turned, eyes sharpened.

Gordon raised a hand. "Those who do not know him — he is the son of Edward Sterling, grandson of our eldest brother Timothy Sterling. We have no current information about Brother Timothy, and Edward — unfortunately — lost his life in an accident years ago."

The mention of that old wound brought a faint shadow over the table.

"When Brother Timothy moved to Star Harbor, our father made a decision," Gordon continued. "He declared that ACE Group would never enter Star Harbor — ever. But recently, we broke that rule. Because Star Harbor has become a major hub of business, we established our automobile factory there this year. So if we can break one rule for progress," Gordon paused, looking around the room, "we can also allow Miles to return to the family."

The tension rippled through the room. Some faces were impressed; others, skeptical.

"Miles has achieved a lot in his young age," Gordon said, his voice steady. "His company — Sterling Enterprises — has become one of Star Harbor’s strongest rising empires. It owns multiple successful divisions — a jewelry chain, weapons and arms supply company, construction division, private security firm, media house, and even a government research project. And all of this... achieved independently."

Gasps and disbelief followed instantly.

"Are you kidding?"

"He’s just a kid!"

"On his own? I don’t believe it."

"You’re saying he’s better than Kyle?"

The whispers grew louder, until Gordon’s firm "Silence." cut them clean.

Miles smiled faintly — calm, unbothered. His gaze drifted over the table slowly, meeting the skeptical stares with polite indifference.

Across the table, Kyle smirked, his hand resting near his glass. He looked like a man already sure of his victory.

Gordon continued once the silence settled again.

"We have other candidates as well, but they are still studying. They have a long way to go before taking such responsibility."

He gestured toward his aide, who stepped forward holding a stack of papers.

"The decision-maker," Gordon said clearly, "will be chosen by vote."

The aide began distributing the papers around the table. Each sheet was neatly folded, with a crease dividing it down the middle — Kyle’s name on the left, Miles’s name on the right.

"When you have made your decision," Gordon said, "tear the paper along the crease. The side you choose will determine your vote."

He paused for a moment, letting everyone absorb it.

"You have ten minutes. After that, the papers will be collected."

A faint murmur filled the air again — the shuffle of chairs, the quiet, tense breathing of a family that was about to decide its next ruler.

Miles leaned back in his chair, still smiling, watching them all.

Kyle’s smirk never faded — but his eyes, sharp and cold, were locked on Miles.

Outside the Sterling Estate, the air was unnaturally still — the calm before a strike.

Three black SUVs sat parked discreetly along the treeline, their engines off, their tinted windows hiding the shadows within.

Inside the first vehicle, men in dark tactical coats checked their weapons — silencers, compact SMGs, and blades strapped beneath their sleeves. The faint red glow from their comm devices flickered in the dim cabin.

One of them — a tall man with a scar cutting down his left brow — looked at his wrist communicator and muttered,

"Team Alpha in position. Visual on the main gate. No movement yet."

From the second car, another voice crackled through the comms, calm and deep.

"Copy that. Target: Miles Sterling. We move only on direct orders."

The man with the scar unlocked his phone and typed a quick message.

We are ready, Mr. Kyle.

Inside the estate, Kyle Sterling’s phone buzzed silently in his pocket. Sitting at the long marble table, he lowered his gaze for half a second, thumbed a reply beneath the tablecloth.

Wait for my orders.

The message was brief, cold — and final.

The man in the car read it and gave a single nod to his team.

"Stand by. Orders pending."

From the third vehicle, parked farther down the slope near the west wall, a younger operative whispered,

"Sir, movement at the north road. A car’s approaching."

The man with the scar frowned, pulling a small monocular to his eye.

The approaching vehicle was sleek, tinted black, moving without sound, like it didn’t belong to anyone ordinary.

"Sir," the young man repeated quietly, "who’s in that car?"

The leader’s grip tightened on the binoculars. The car rolled closer, the sunlight glinting faintly off its spotless paint — no visible number plate, no escort, no insignia.

He narrowed his eyes. Something about that car didn’t fit.

In his earpiece, the whisper of the wind was replaced by static — a faint interference across all channels.

"...Sir? We’re losing signal—"

The leader’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer, still staring at the silent, black vehicle pulling into view like a ghost.

It was coming straight toward them.

To be continued...