The city lights blurred past my window like forgotten thoughts—bright, fast, and meaningless.
Sebastian Brusten hadn't touched the Jaden land since he outbid me. No press release. No groundbreaking ceremony. Nothing.
And yet, he owned it.
The silence didn't mean he was done. It meant he was thinking—plotting. And that made him dangerous.
I leaned back against the leather seat, fingers drumming against my knee. The air inside the car was warm, but I couldn't shake the cold weight of that missed deal.
David, my guard sat in the passenger seat, murmuring something low to the driver about tomorrow's security rotation. I didn't need to ask—he always handled it before I even realized it needed handling. That's what made him good. Reliable. Silent unless necessary.
The car turned off the main road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we rolled through the familiar iron gates of the Kings' family estate. The headlights swept across the wide circular driveway, catching the stone lion statues on either side like old, watchful guards.
Home.
Or what was left of the word.
David stepped out before I did, casting a glance around the darkening estate like he expected a war to break out in the hedges. He gave a small nod, and I followed.
Inside, the smell hit first—cedarwood, dust, and Mother's ridiculous obsession with jasmine candles. The place hadn't changed. And it never would.
"About time," Mother's voice called out from the hallway before I even made it to the main room. Arms crossed, lips pursed. But her eyes always betrayed her—softer than she'd ever admit.
"I've been busy."
"You're always busy."
She stepped forward and fixed the collar of my coat like I was still fifteen. I let her.
Maybe I even missed it.
From the living room couch, Elias glanced up, gave the world's laziest wave, then returned to whatever book he was pretending to read. He was always more shadow than substance.
Elias, my younger brother by three years, now twenty-six—worked out of our Main office. Brilliant, grounded, and always halfway between aloof and insightful. The quiet thinker of the family, but dependable when it counted.
"Hey," Naomi's voice piped up before her fingers were in my coat pockets. "Did you bring anything back?"
Naomi—the youngest, at twenty-one—was the heartbeat of this house. Bright, dramatic, endlessly curious. We all adored her, maybe a little too much. Even Dad smiled more when she was around. She had a way of making the coldest room feel like spring.
"You mean besides generational pressure and a migraine?"
"No chocolate?"
I shrugged. "Fired the assistant who forgot to pack it."
She rolled her eyes and muttered something about "useless billionaires" before trotting upstairs like a drama queen. Probably to post about it.
I chuckled under my breath and turned toward the living room. Elias was still lounging on the couch, legs stretched out, book propped up like he was reading, though I was fairly certain the pages hadn't moved in ten minutes.
"Still pretending you understand Proust?" I asked, stepping into the room.
He smirked without looking up. "Still pretending you enjoy coming home?"
I gave him a tired look, and he finally lowered the book. Elias never said more than necessary, but when he did, he never missed.
"You heard about the land deal," I said.
"Dad told me. Rough one."
"I underestimated Brusten."
"You always do when they smile too much." he joked.
I sank into the chair across from him. "You think I'm slipping?"
"No," he replied simply. "I think you're tired. There's a difference."
I looked at him, surprised. That was... unusually generous.
"Thanks."
Elias shrugged, tapping the book closed. "You don't have to keep carrying everything, you know. There are two of us."
A rare flicker of vulnerability passed between us—quick and quiet.
"I know," I said.
He stood and stretched like a cat, already bored of emotional honesty. "I'm heading out early tomorrow. Everstead meetings. You good here?"
"I'll manage."
Elias gave me a short nod and disappeared up the stairs, leaving behind a silence I didn't mind for once.
I walked through the long hallway, every step echoing on the marble, until I saw him—my father—sitting by the window like he always did at this hour. The lights from the garden spilled across the floor, brushing the sharp edges of his face and making his silver hair look almost regal.
He didn't turn to greet me. He never did. That wasn't his way.
But tonight, after a beat, he spoke first.
"Your mother says you look thinner."
"Mother says a lot of things."
A pause.
"She's not wrong."
sighed and dropped into the chair across from him. "I lost the land deal."
"I lost the land deal," I said, finally.
His gaze shifted, slow and unreadable. "I know."
Of course he did.
He looked at me properly now, his expression more curious than disappointed. "What did it teach you?"
I blinked. "Not the reaction I expected."
"Would you prefer a lecture?"
"I was bracing for it, honestly."
He leaned back, thoughtful. "We've all made mistakes. Some bigger than others. But you learn more from a loss than from ten smooth wins."
I exhaled, the tension slowly bleeding out of my shoulders.
"How're you holding up?"
That surprised me more than it should've.
"I've had better weeks," I admitted.
He chuckled softly and leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands together. "You know... sometimes we win. Sometimes we learn."
"That's not very CEO of you."
"It's very father of me," he replied, smiling slightly. "You've been working like hell these days. When was the last time you stayed more than an hour?"
"I've had back-to-back meetings for weeks."
"I'm not asking for a report, Richard. I'm asking when you last slept in your room upstairs and remembered that you have a family who still sets a place for you at the table."
The silence that followed settled deeper than the earlier one.
He studied me for a moment. "Elias told me to back off. Said you've been stretched thin."
"That's rich coming from him."
"He notices more than you think. And so do I."
"Just... don't lose the good parts trying to protect the important ones," he added, more gently this time.
I nodded, throat tight. "I'll try."
That was all he needed. He patted my shoulder and stood slowly, taking his time as he made his way toward the stairs.
"You staying for dinner?" he asked without looking back.
"I'll eat something here. But I'm heading out tonight."
He grunted, not exactly pleased, but didn't argue.
I sat there for a while, staring at the empty space where my father had been. His words lingered, settling heavier now that the room was silent.
Eventually, I exhaled, pushing myself up from the chair.
There was no clarity. Just more weight.
I loosened my tie as I made my way back down the hall, past the quiet hum of the chandelier, past the portraits lining the walls.
The warmth of the kitchen met me first.
Dimmed lights, humming fridge, the familiar comfort of a late-night house too big to sleep early. I leaned against the counter, drinking water straight from the bottle when Mom walked in—barefoot, tired, but still graceful.
Behind her, Marta, the housemaid who had worked here since I was a teenager, moved silently, setting a plate down on the marble island. Roast beef, roasted carrots, mashed potatoes—prepared without needing to ask.
"Thank you, Marta," Mom said softly. Marta nodded and slipped out without a word, like she was never there to begin with.
Mom reached for the cupboard, pulling out a tea mug. "You should really slow down."
I didn't answer right away. She didn't expect me to.
"You come here in suits and shadows," she continued, filling the kettle. "And you leave like you're being chased. You used to sit with your siblings. You used to laugh."
"That was a long time ago."
She shot me a look—one brow slightly raised. "That wasn't another life, Richard. That was you. Before you forgot this house wasn't just a checkpoint."
Her voice wasn't angry—it never really was. Just weary. That quiet, motherly kind of sadness that made guilt settle low and thick in my chest.
"I'm not trying to disappear," I said eventually.
"I know you're not," she replied. "But that's what makes it sadder."
She walked over, arms draping around me—light, hesitant—like she wasn't sure how long I'd allow it. I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Not until she let go.
"Come back when you can," she whispered. "Not because you have to. Because you want to."
I nodded.
That would have to be enough—for now.
She pulled away, ran a hand across the back of a wooden chair, then turned back toward me, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"How's Juliana?"
I glanced at the untouched plate. "She's fine, I guess."
"You guess," she repeated, amused but not surprised. "Not exactly a glowing report."
"She's been busy. I've been busier."
The door creaked. Elias walked in, barefoot and yawning, hair flattened on one side like he'd been asleep for hours.
"You two always pick the most dramatic hours for a family catch-up," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Then he noticed the food. "Is that roast beef?"
"Still warm," Mom said. "Help yourself."
He nodded, already reaching for a fork. "Carry on. Don't mind me."
Mom raised an eyebrow at me like see? It's possible to stay present. I shook my head.
"Mm." She took a sip of her tea. "She always did look better in pictures than in person."
That made me pause. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She knows how to perform," Mom said simply. "Knows how to say all the right things without meaning a single one."
Elias raised a brow as he cut into his roast. "Oof. That was brutal."
"She's not unkind," I said, quietly. "She's just... on a different wavelength."
"She's polished," Mom replied. "I'll give her that. But warmth doesn't come with a designer tag, Richard."
"She's exactly what everyone wants."
"Except the part of you that matters."
That stopped me.
I looked at her properly now. She wasn't baiting me. Just telling the truth—soft and low.
"You don't have to follow a blueprint, Richard. Your grandfather built one. Your father perfected it. But that doesn't mean you have to live inside it."
Juliana was the daughter of our father's oldest friend—the Halsteads. Real estate moguls. Powerful, well-bred, untouchable. We'd known each other since childhood—introduced at black-tie events, groomed for the same circles, raised with unspoken expectations. The arrangement had been inevitable.
At first, I tried. I admired her beauty, her poise, the effortless way she commanded a room. But somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing past the surface.
It started with little things.
The way she spoke to people—not rudely, just with that air of certainty that her time was more valuable than anyone else's. The way she expected service, attention, admiration—without ever acknowledging the people giving it.
The way she brushed off anything I talked about that didn't fit her world.
Not out of malice. Just pure disinterest.
Like the night I mentioned a project I'd been working on for months—something I was building for the long-term. Something that required strategy, patience, precision.
"Richard, honestly. That's why you hire people to worry about things like that."
She hadn't even looked up from her phone.
Hadn't asked why it mattered. Hadn't cared.
Like she assumed I always won, so losing—or even caring deeply—wasn't worth a second thought.
And maybe once, I overlooked it.
Now? I couldn't ignore it.
We'd been "together" for almost two years. If you could call sporadic dinners, polished smiles, and well-rehearsed public appearances a relationship.
Mostly, we served each other's image well enough to keep our families content. It was convenient. Safe. Expected.
I didn't answer mom, because I didn't know what to say.
Instead, I pulled out the chair Marta had set for me and sat. The food was still warm. And the chair creaked like it hadn't been used in months.
Elias slid the salt shaker toward me and leaned back in his chair, eyeing me carefully. "You ever thought of dating someone not from a family merger?"
I looked up, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just… maybe try someone who actually knows your middle name. Or at least your favourite movie."
"She knows those things," I said, not quite convincingly.
"Does she?" he asked, raising a brow. "Because I'm pretty sure she still thinks you like red wine."
Mom sipped her tea, her expression unreadable.
Naomi's voice drifted in from the hallway as she entered, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. "You do not like red wine."
"I never said I did," I muttered.
Naomi dropped into the seat beside me. "Then why does she keep bringing it to family dinners like it's some sort of love language?"
Mom gave a small sigh and finally spoke, calm and steady. "Juliana's fine, Richard. She's poised, polite. But maybe it's time you stopped looking for someone who fits and started looking for someone who feels right."
Elias nodded. "Yeah. Someone who knows when you're tired just by how you stir your coffee."
"Someone who'll eat cereal with you at midnight," Naomi added, stealing a carrot from my plate.
I gave a short laugh, despite myself. "You guys are unbelievable."
"We're just saying," Mom said softly, setting her mug down. "There's a difference between someone who matches your life, and someone who adds to it."
I looked around the table. For a moment, it was like we were kids again—quiet house, late dinner, voices low and warm.
And suddenly, I wasn't so sure I liked the version of myself that only existed outside these walls.
"Eat slowly," Mom said, almost to herself. "The world can wait five minutes."
So I did.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks… I let it.
Later that night, back at my penthouse, I loosened my tie and sat at my desk, the city stretching out through the glass windows behind me like a map of glowing opportunity and quiet failure.
The warmth from home had faded, replaced by the sterile silence of polished floors and perfectly arranged furniture. The only light came from the desk lamp and the soft glow of traffic snaking below.
I picked up my phone and tapped a name I hadn't called in weeks.
Gary Reeves.
He picked up on the second ring, voice low and familiar. "Is the King himself calling me at midnight? What did I do to deserve the honor?"
"I need a favor," I said.
"That didn't take long." There was a clink of glass on his end—knowing Gary, scotch, two fingers. "Talk to me."
"Sebastian," I said simply.
A pause. Then, "Ah. The Ashford project."
"You know something?"
"Only that he's being quiet. Too quiet, actually. Lawyers moved fast. No press, no press releases. Just land, silence, and strategy."
"He's building something," I said.
"He always is. But this one's different. Controlled. Focused. Like he's playing the long game."
I leaned forward, fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the desk. "I want to know what he's planning."
Gary hesitated, then said, "Come to Ashford."
I didn't reply right away.
He chuckled. "Don't tell me you're still avoiding the place. It's been what—three years?"
"Four," I muttered.
"You've avoided that city like it's cursed."
"I've had no reason to go back."
"Well, now you do. Let's meet there this weekend. Quiet. No noise. No staff. Just you, me, and a few questions that need answers."
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. "Ashford."
"Bring a coat," Gary added. "It's colder than you remember."
"I'll think about it."
"No," he said lightly, "you'll say yes. Because you hate being blindsided more than you hate that city."
I smirked despite myself. "Fine. I'll clear my schedule."
"That's the King I know."
We ended the call.
I let the silence sit for a moment, then picked up the phone again and dialed Mary.
She answered on the first ring. "Yes, sir?"
"Office arrangements," I said. "For the two new hires. I want their workspaces finalized by Monday."
"I've already started working with HR on it. Would you prefer their desks placed outside your office or—?"
"Send me your draft. Roles. Responsibilities. Setup. I want everything aligned with how I work—no improvisations."
"Yes, Mr. King. I'll have it sent before morning."
"Good."
I hung up and stared out the window at the flickering lights of Kingsland.
Too many threads. And somehow, they were all pulling at once.
This weekend would bring answers.
One way or another.