"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.

My books scattered across the floor. Pain shot through my left shoulder where someone had slammed into me.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Let me help with your books," a male voice said.

I glared up at him, still gripping my shoulder. "Do you always pace around like a maniac?"

He bent down and picked up my bag without a word. When he handed it to me, something about his eyes caught my attention. Had I seen him before? Something about the way he looked at me felt… familiar.

"Yes, mom," he said, smiling.

The nerve of this guy. I snatched my bag and turned to leave, when his hand wrapped around my wrist.

"Let go—" I started, but he was already pulling me down the sidewalk. My stomach tightened. Who did he think he was?

"What the hell!" I tried to yank free, but he didn't stop until we reached a pharmacy.

I stared at the store sign. "You've got to be kidding me. It's just a scratch."

He walked inside like he owned the place. I followed, watching him grab an ointment and headed to the counter. There was something maddeningly familiar about him, something I couldn’t place.

When he reached for his wallet, I slapped my card down first.

He looked at me.

"I don't need your charity," I said firmly. "I can take care of myself."

His expression didn’t change. He just watched me with those unreadable eyes. My chest tightened. Why did he make me feel so small and unsettled at the same time?

I grabbed the ointment and headed for the door. His hand caught my wrist again.

"Look—" I whirled around.

He snatched the ointment from my hand, guided me to a chair, and pushed me down into it. Not roughly, but with enough authority that I obeyed without thinking.

His eyes dropped to my crop top, then back to my face.

I sighed and pulled the fabric down my shoulder. The skin was angry and red.

"What are you made of, steel?" I muttered under my breath.

A small smirk crossed his face as he opened the ointment. His touch was surprisingly gentle.

I wanted to snap at him, but something held me back. Why did I feel like I knew him? Why did my pulse insist on racing even though I wanted to hate him?

"Funny," he said quietly. "I heard you shut down your company because you were dying or something. But you seem pretty alive to me. Lots of energy for someone who's given up."

I shoved him away and yanked my top back up. "How do you know about that?"

"So you can't handle a breakup and you just disappear?" His voice was calm but cutting. "What about your customers? The people who depend on you? Is that how you run a business?"

My face burned. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you didn't build a company from nothing just to let it fall apart because some guy broke your heart."

He placed the ointment in my hand, his fingers warm against mine.

"Nobody's coming to save you, Cherry. You need to save yourself."

"Fuck you," I whispered, my hands trembling slightly.

He stepped back, that infuriating smile still on his face. The breeze caught his hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Damien," he said. "Damien Haurts. You'll be seeing me around. Remember that name."

Then he walked away.

I stood there, ointment in hand, watching him disappear around the corner. Damien Haurts. I wanted to hate him. But his words kept echoing in my head. My chest ached, and for the first time in weeks, I felt… unsettled.

The walk home felt endless.

“Nobody is coming to save you.”

I pressed my hands over my ears, but the words wouldn’t stop. A couple walking past stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

He was right. Luna had been trying to tell me the same thing. I'd spent two weeks hiding in her apartment, ignoring calls, letting my business crumble. What was I doing?

For the first time in weeks, I saw myself clearly. And I didn’t like what I saw.

"I'm so proud of you," Luna said the next morning, practically glowing as she watched me get ready for work.

I'd told her everything last night. The stranger, the pharmacy, what he'd said. She'd laughed so hard she cried, then made some joke about "fate" and "meant to be."

She dropped me off with a pep talk and a hug.

I stood outside my office building, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

My desk was buried under papers. My email was a disaster. I had three missed deadlines and angry clients.

"God, I'm such an idiot," I muttered, sinking into my chair. My shoulders felt heavier than usual, weighed down by exhaustion and embarrassment.

"Hi," a voice interrupted my thoughts, and I remembered I needed a new secretary too.

Slowly, I lifted my lashes and opened my eyes, blinking once… twice… as if my mind was playing a cruel trick on me.

But no.

It wasn’t a trick.

Ken stood right in front of my door like he had every right to be there.

My stomach tightened instantly, and my fingers curled into fists. Of all people… him?

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, my voice colder than I intended.

Ken’s expression shifted, nervous, almost desperate.

"Please, Cherry, hear me out." He stepped inside like he had every right to be here.

Heat flooded my face. This man, this lying, cheating bastard, was the reason I'd abandoned my business. The reason I'd fallen apart. My chest burned with a mix of anger.

He pulled out some papers and placed them on my desk. "I drafted a contract. You'll get thirty percent of everything I own when we get married. Please, Cherry. Marry me."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you insane?"

"Just think about it—"

"Get out of my office right now, or I'm calling the cops!" I shot to my feet, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.

His face twisted with rage. "You bitch! Thirty percent isn't enough for your gold-digging ass? I told Ray this wouldn't work, but he insisted I come here—"

"Gold-digging?" My voice shook with fury. "You cheated on me! I don’t even know if I should call it cheating at this point, since I was the third wheel. You weren’t even into me. You deceived me! And now you have the audacity to—”

I was about to unleash hell on him, to remind him exactly who he was talking to—when movement behind him caught my attention.

A familiar figure stepped in through the glass doors. My heart skipped a beat.