"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?

"Your threats don't work on me, Father. The only reason I agreed to do this was because of Mom, and I'll do it on my own time. You can't seriously expect me to drop everything and run just because you said so." I paused, gripping the phone tighter. "Don't call me again, or I'll block you."

I ended the call.

My father had decided to make my life hell. I'd called him one morning and agreed to do whatever he wanted as long as he left my younger brother alone. Since then, he'd been calling me every day, making demands mixed with threats whenever I refused to do what he said.

I sighed in frustration and looked at my wristwatch. It was 6 PM. I debated whether to go home or stop at The Moon's club to hang out with my sworn brothers for a while.

My phone rang again, interrupting my thoughts.

"I swear to God, Father..."

"Boss, she just left the house."

"What?" I said slowly, picking up my phone to look at the caller ID. It was the security detail I'd assigned to my mystery girl.

"What?" I exclaimed again, this time in shock as his message sank in.

"Yes, sir. She's currently walking down the street," he confirmed.

I stood up immediately. "Finally," I muttered, happiness flooding my face.

"I'm coming there right now. Don't let her out of your sight," I said and ended the call, darting out of the building while humming quietly.

"She's at the bookstore across the street," I read when my phone chimed.

I got in my car and sped off, honking repeatedly at slow drivers. With the speed I was going, I was surprised I didn't get pulled over.

I finally arrived. Luckily, I covered what should have been an hour drive in forty-five minutes. I pulled up in front of the bookstore and walked in.

There she was, sitting in a fluffy chair that gently cradled her. She had no makeup on, just lip gloss that made her plump lips look succulent.

Her sharp jawline, paired with flawless skin and a pointed nose, made her small oval face beautiful to look at.

She was perfection.

She was looking down at her phone with complete concentration.

If we were dating, this would have been a good time to take cute candid pictures of her for my lock screen and wallpaper. I fought every urge to actually do it.

I took my eyes off her to observe the place. The store was spacious with shelves for different book genres. I walked past the counter where books were paid for.

A few people were sitting on comfy chairs placed throughout the store, while others were picking up books, giggling with their friends as they debated in hushed tones.

I pretended to search for books and got closer to where she was sitting. I stood behind the shelf closest to her and kept my eyes on her.

My inner demons won because the next minute I found myself pulling out my phone, turning off the shutter sound and flash that would give me away. I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention.

Luckily, everyone was minding their business.

I discreetly took the pictures and put my phone away when I was satisfied with how many I'd taken.

After a while, she wore a playful smirk on her face, stood up, walked past me, and headed toward a bookshelf I'd passed earlier.

She kept muttering things as she looked through the shelves. I glanced up to see the label on the shelf she was searching through and paused.

"Dark romance, huh?" I smirked and watched her squeal with happiness when she finally found the book she was looking for.

I walked past her and left the bookstore, waiting beside my car or more like pacing nervously.

What should I say to make her want to talk to me? I already knew she'd be defensive because of the heartbreak she went through, was still going through. She hadn't even gotten back on her feet yet.

She'd abandoned her company. It had been two weeks already and she hadn't even gone there. It was like she'd given up on everything. The thought of it pissed me off.

You could imagine my surprise when I learned she decided to step out today for a change.

But that aside, with the things I'd done, I wasn't exactly the right person to approach her right now, especially since she wouldn't want someone who would lie to her again.

Come to think of it, how do I tell her that ever since I saw her at the cemetery, I got curious and had Jamie, my sworn brother, dig up all the information he could on her?

That I stalked her so hard I found out she was crying on her father's grave that day because of her ex-boyfriend and secretary? Let's not even talk about the methods I used to get that information.

I also assigned a security detail, a bodyguard to watch her after I learned she'd been staying at her best friend's house. I told him to take extreme measures if necessary to make sure she was safe and out of harm's way. In fact, he personally delivered the pizza she ordered last night.

I kept pacing, lost in my thoughts, when I accidentally bumped into someone. I apologized immediately and looked up.

It was her. Her books had fallen and were scattered all over the floor.