"God… you feel so good, baby," Ken moaned.

I froze. The moans and panting were coming from my boyfriend's bedroom. The smile I'd walked in with vanished, and my heart sank as I stood there in shock, too numb to move or speak.

My heartbeat pounded against my chest as I tried to decide what to do. I thought about leaving and breaking up with him over text, but then I heard the other person speak.

"Did you miss me?"

I stopped. "Isn't that Ray's voice?" I muttered, approaching the door carefully to listen.

"You know I did, baby," Ken said.

"So tell me. It's been two years now. Have you gotten used to being with a woman?"

I clamped my hand over my mouth. It was actually Ray, my openly gay secretary.

"Ken is gay?" I whispered, backing away from the door. I didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

"I think I'm fully gay, not bisexual. I can never get used to being with a woman. Our sex life has been horrible, baby. Most of the time, I close my eyes and pretend it’s you. You have no idea how much I'm struggling," Ken admitted.

The tears I'd been holding back escaped and streamed down my cheeks.

"Babe, you know we can't do anything because of your father. He gave you three years, remember? It's been two years now. You should propose to Cherry," Ray said.

I froze again. What was going on? What was happening in three years? Why did he approach me if he was gay? Why did he need to propose?

I deserved answers. I wiped my tears and kicked the door open.

"Surprise," I said, my voice breaking.

"You were supposed to be in Paris," Ken stuttered, dragging the sheets to cover Ray while hurriedly pulling on his shorts.

"And you weren't supposed to be in bed with my secretary. What exactly is going on here? Someone better start talking before I lose it," I snapped.

"Boss," Ray stuttered.

"How long have you known each other? What three years are you talking about? Why do you need to propose to me if you're gay? Why did you approach me in the first place? I demand answers!" I screamed.

"Please calm down. Let me explain everything," Ken said.

I folded my arms across my chest and stared at him.

"Ray and I have been dating for about five years now. Three years ago, I came out to my father as gay. He threatened to disown me if I went public with it, so he gave me an ultimatum, date and marry a girl within three years. Only then will he put my name back in his will. I approached you for that purpose. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't mean to hurt me? Are you listening to yourself? You both used me like a fucking gamble! I loved you, Ken. I trusted you. I thought you were the one, you made me believe that. And this is what I get?" I turned to Ray. "You were more than a secretary to me. You were family. I trusted you, but I was just part of your game. I didn't deserve that. I didn't fucking deserve that!"

I took a shaky breath. "The funny part is, if you had just been honest with me from the beginning, I would have agreed to help you. I would have suggested a fake relationship. But you lied to me instead."

"I'm sorry. We didn't—"

"Don't. If I hadn't walked in today, I would still be clueless. I would have been so happy when you proposed, not knowing you were only marrying me for your father's money. Then what? You'd leave me wondering what went wrong, never knowing it wasn't even my fault. I didn't deserve this."

I ran out of the apartment.

"Cherry! Cherry, please!" they called after me, but I didn't look back. I got into the elevator and left the penthouse.

–

The blaring of car horns and concerned shouts jerked me back to reality. I was standing in the middle of the street, lost in thought, and had nearly been hit by a truck. I quickly moved to the pedestrian lane, trying to figure out where to go.

After a while, I flagged down a cab. "Take me to The Varius Darius Cemetery," I told the driver.

"Ma'am, we're here," he announced.

"Thanks," I murmured and handed him a hundred dollar note. I got out and walked into the cemetery. It was quiet except for birds chirping in the oak trees. The wind blew fallen leaves to my feet, and they crunched under my shoes as I walked.

Tears blurred my vision when I saw my father's tombstone. I stopped and traced my fingers over the inscription: "In loving memory of a father and a great friend, Mr. Stephen Montclair."

I collapsed onto the grass and let out a loud wail.

"I miss you, Dad. It's been so hard. You left me here all alone. I need you. I fucking need you."

I clutched my chest and cried uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable. I wanted it to disappear. I wanted peace. I deserved that much. I'd been strong for so long, facing one challenge after another. I deserved peace.

I cried until I had no tears left, then just stared into space. After a while, I texted my best friend Luna. A few minutes later, she walked in. I gave her a weak smile as she approached.

She crouched down and pulled me into a hug. I was tempted to cry again, but I was too exhausted.

"Let's get you home. You're staying with me tonight," she whispered.

I nodded weakly and stood up, letting Luna dust off my clothes. My eyes drifted around the cemetery and paused on a man standing in front of a grave. I could only see his side profile since he had his back to me.

He looked sad, his eyes closed, his fingers pressed against the tombstone.

I wondered if he'd heard me crying. He turned and looked at me. I quickly looked away and left through the gates with Luna.

"Boss, there's a problem. He's here!" Mr. Fabian, my secretary, said as he ran into my office, panting like he'd seen a ghost.

"For fuck's sake! What is he doing here?" I cursed, shutting my laptop and standing up. I tugged on my tie, one hand in my pocket, the other dragging through my hair in frustration.

From the hundredth floor, the penthouses surrounding my office building stood tall while the people below shrank into tiny dots.

I took in the morning view for a moment, hoping it would calm me before the drama unfolded.

"What do you want?" I asked harshly, sensing his presence in the room.

"Don't use that tone on me, boy!" Mr. Elias Haurts, my father, said coldly as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

"I don't think we're close enough to bother with pleasantries. I'd rather you get straight to the point. What brings you here, Father?" I asked, my jaw tightening.

"I need you to take care of some business for me," he started.

I turned to face him.

"In Paris," he added.

"I don't see what that has to do with me," I said coldly. "Are you sure you walked into the right office? You have a personal assistant. If it's something you can't handle on your own, send him. I don't see why you came all the way here to tell me your personal problems."

"I made a lot of mistakes in the past, and I know you hate me so much you can't stand the sight of me..."

"Yet here you are, asking for favors," I snapped, cutting him off.

"But I'm trying to make amends, and no matter how much you hate me, son, you're still a Haurts. My blood runs through your veins. You can distance yourself all you want, but it doesn't change anything. You're just like me. People fear you because you're ruthless and lack compassion. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, son!" he thundered.

I glanced at my wristwatch, picked up my suit, and said calmly, "I'm not in the mood for this. Besides, I have a meeting in five minutes. If that's all you came to say, then you've wasted your time. I have no interest in helping you."

"You think this is a conversation and that I'm giving you a choice, but don't get confused, young man. It's not a conversation, and you're going to Paris whether you like it or not. And before you refuse, know there will be consequences. I'll spell it out for you right now: Jules. I'll have him do it instead," he threatened.

"Do whatever you want, Father," I said firmly, my jaw tightening as I walked toward the door. "And I won't be seeing you out. When you're ready, leave the same way you came."

"Mr. Fabian," I called, gesturing for my secretary to follow me.

"But your father..."

"He'll see himself out," I said coldly as we walked to the conference room for the board meeting.

After the meeting, I buried myself in paperwork and met with a couple of investors. By the time I was done, the sun was already setting. I yawned and sank back in my seat, exhausted. My stomach growled, a reminder I’d forgotten to eat again.

"Shit!" I cursed, standing up as I remembered I was supposed to be somewhere.

I grabbed my car keys and phone and left the office building. I drove to a nearby flower shop and picked up a rose.

It was my elder brother Martin Haurts's death anniversary. I pulled up at The Varius Darius Cemetery, where he was laid to rest, and walked in.

I stopped in front of his tomb and placed the rose on it. I noticed the bouquets of flowers already there and knew my family had come earlier to pay their respects.

They did this every year, while I came at sunset to avoid crossing paths with them and the drama that came with it. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever be on speaking terms with them again.

I settled onto the cool grass and rested my back against my brother's tomb. I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes as I took a drag.

The taste and burn slowly filled the emptiness inside me. For a fleeting moment, the world felt quiet, peaceful, almost comforting.

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden piercing wail tore through the silence and snapped me out of my daze. My eyes flew open, scanning my surroundings until I spotted the source.

A few tombs away, a frail, slender young woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties was sitting on the cold grass like I was. She was wailing, clutching her chest and striking it repeatedly while muttering incoherent words I couldn't make out because of the distance between us.

Her long dark hair swayed gently, and her plump pink lips quivered as she continued to cry. Judging by her swollen face, she'd been crying for a while.

I had a clear view of her because I was leaning against my brother's tomb while she was facing the one she was crying at. A larger tombstone blocked me from her view, so she couldn't easily see me.

I watched her carefully, wondering if it was also the death anniversary of the person she was visiting. For some reason I couldn't explain, her tears felt like tiny thorns pressed into my heart.

Who is she? Why does my heart hurt seeing her like this? I don't even know her name. Is it the tears… or something deeper? Something that stirs memories I don’t even remember having?

My chest ached as I studied her, as if a part of me recognized the grief she carried. I didn’t even know her, yet I wanted to reach out, to tell her it would be okay, even though I knew I couldn’t

"Beautiful," I muttered, staring at her eyes. She had stopped crying, and her hazel eyes just stared into space. They looked distant, tired, almost lifeless.

It was getting late, and she was still there. I was too worried to leave her alone, yet I didn't want to approach her and startle her.

My thoughts stopped when I saw a petite, curvy young woman walking toward her. She crouched down and pulled her into a hug, and I could swear a faint smile tugged at my lips as I watched her relax in that embrace, a little life returning to her eyes.

I felt a quiet sense of relief knowing she had someone to lean on.

That was my cue to leave. I stood up, stubbed out my cigarette, and let my gaze linger on my brother's tomb one last time before pressing a soft kiss to my index and ring fingers and placing them gently against the cold stone.

"Peace, brother," I whispered, closing my eyes as a wave of longing washed over me, wishing, just for a moment. I could feel him one more time.

I sensed someone watching me and turned around. It was my mystery girl. I'd momentarily forgotten she was still there. She looked at me with an emotion I hadn't seen in a while: pity.

Then she looked away and disappeared through the gates with her friend.

Out of curiosity, I walked to the tomb where she'd been crying.

"Mr. Stephen Montclair," I read aloud, making a mental note to ask my sworn brothers, Jamie and Ethan, about him.

I left the cemetery, slid into my Rolls-Royce, and drove onto the quiet streets. Forty minutes later, I turned into my driveway, bordered by towering trees and a meticulously groomed garden.

The villa stretched before me, an architectural masterpiece of glass and stone. Soft lights glowed behind the tall windows, spilling warmth across the marble terrace.

I parked and stepped out of my car.

"Welcome back, Damien," Mrs. Rose, my housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile that softened her elegant, wrinkled face. I returned the smile with a nod and walked toward her.

"Hope you didn't have a hard time with anything today?" I asked gently.

"I had a good day, thank you. But your mother is here. I tried calling earlier, but I couldn't reach you," she said softly, her voice carrying a trace of unease.

"My mom?" I repeated, needing to be sure I'd heard her correctly. She nodded.

"First my father this morning, and now my mother at night? What kind of family reunion is this? Any more surprises before I call it a day?" I muttered, walking into the living room where she was waiting.

Stepping in, I saw her looking as beautiful and elegant as I remembered from the last time I'd seen her in person.

For the past eight years, I'd only seen her virtually, mostly through the news, where she stood beside my father at important events, on her social media pages, or in photographs the security detail I'd employed to keep an eye on her had shown me.

"Hi, Mom," I said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

It had been eight years and she hadn't cared if I was alive or not. I wondered what must have pushed her to come to a place she'd sworn never to set foot in. She looked up, and what I saw in her eyes was nothing close to warmth. It was pure disdain.

Instinctively, I stepped back and watched as she rose gracefully, her heels striking the marble floor as she closed the distance between us. Before I could even blink or process why she was approaching me in long strides, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek.

She'd slapped me.

"What do you want from me, Damien?" she cried, pounding her fists against my chest. I stood there and let her, too confused to react while my mind raced to make sense of her sudden outburst. Then it hit me, my father's threat earlier that morning and this sudden outburst couldn't be unrelated.

"I lost my son, my sweet boy Martin, because of you, Damien! And now, as if that isn't enough, you're after your younger brother Jules!" she spat out, her voice trembling with rage.

"You know very well that art is his life, and you want to steal that from him. He's already threatening to kill himself if your father forces the company or any of his businesses on him. Please, Damien, don't make me lose another son. I'm begging you."

"I'm also your son, Mom," I blurted out, shrinking back in shock. I didn't mean to get emotional and say it aloud.

"You are not my son. Don't ever say those cursed words to me again!" she yelled. She grabbed her bag and slammed the door on her way out.

I dragged my feet up the stairs, trying hard not to let it bother me. I was used to the treatment, and I wouldn't blame her for it either. If I could go back in time to that fateful day eight years ago, I would give anything to change fate.

Maybe then I would still have my elder brother and perhaps a family.

I went straight to the bathroom when I got to my room and stood under the cold shower, gently scrubbing my body while my thoughts drifted to the stranger I'd seen earlier at the cemetery.

I wondered why she'd been crying that hard, especially since the tombstone read November 27th and it was June.

The death anniversary wasn't for another five months.

I recalled the look she'd given me before she left. It was pity. I couldn't even remember the last time someone had looked at me like that. These days it was mostly fear and respect.

Did I look pitiful to her?