The iron gates of the Voss estate creaked open like a warning.
Nathan Voss remained still behind the wheel of his sleek, black Aston Martin, his icy blue eyes fixed on the house that once held his childhood. The mansion stood as proud and elegant as ever—marble pillars, ivy-strangled balconies, windows polished to a sheen. But beneath its regal facade lay memories buried in ash and betrayal. He stepped out, straightening the lapels of his black tailored suit. The night wind brushed through his jet-black hair, tousled just enough to betray his usual control.
His polished shoes echoed against the granite steps. At the door, he paused—just long enough to remind himself that he was walking into enemy territory.
The door swung open.
Victor Voss stood framed in the light—tall, broad-shouldered, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back with precision. His tailored navy suit hugged his still-fit frame, and the golden cufflinks at his wrists sparkled under the chandelier behind him. His smile was warm. Too warm.
"Nathan," Victor said, voice booming with theatrical affection. "You're here. Welcome home."
Nathan's lips barely twitched. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Victor chuckled—a short, practiced sound—and stepped forward to wrap his arms around his nephew in a stiff embrace. His cologne was sharp—expensive and overwhelming.
"You look well," he said, stepping back, his eyes scanning Nathan's features. "Stronger. Sharper."
"You look older," Nathan replied coolly, stepping past him. "But then again… power tends to do that."
The air inside was laced with wine, polished mahogany, and something colder—something manufactured. The foyer stretched into gold-lit halls, but Nathan's attention went straight to the dining room, where voices murmured and cutlery clinked.
He stepped into the room—and saw them.
Damien Voss sat at the table's center, leaning back with a drink in hand. His sandy-blond curls were carelessly styled, and his cream blazer rested over a black turtleneck that matched his smug smile. His pale green eyes flicked up, gleaming with mock delight.
"Well, if it isn't the long-lost heir himself," Damien drawled, tilting his head. "We were beginning to think you'd gotten lost in one of your sulks."
Beside him sat Luisa. Her golden-brown skin glowed in the warm light, and her burgundy dress hugged every curve with deliberate perfection. Her dark hair was swept into a sleek bun, exposing the delicate line of her neck. Her painted lips parted into a small, uncertain smile.
"Nathan," she said, her voice soft but tinged with guilt. "It's… good to see you."
Nathan's gaze swept over her without pause. "Didn't realize we were bringing back souvenirs from the past."
Luisa looked down. Damien snorted.
"Still bitter, cousin?" Damien asked, swirling his glass. "Or just lonely?"
Nathan walked slowly to the empty seat at the head of the table, every step measured. "Neither. Just entertained."
Victor joined them, taking his place at the far end. "Let's not start with claws tonight, boys. Let's enjoy the meal. It's been too long since we've all been together."
The housekeepers entered with silver trays, placing lamb chops, roasted vegetables, and crystal pitchers of red wine on the table. Nathan leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, his fingers tapping against the tablecloth.
"I'm surprised you cooked," he said. "I assumed guilt had long ruined your appetite."
Victor poured the wine with practiced ease, his knuckles tightening around the bottle. "Guilt? For raising you after your parents' accident? For holding the company together while you… found yourself?"
"You didn't raise me. You caged me," Nathan replied, lifting his glass. "And Vosstech didn't need a puppet. It needed an heir. Which, coincidentally, I still am."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "For now."
Nathan's expression didn't shift. "Actually, for soon. Six months from now, I turn twenty-eight. The age I'm legally permitted to reclaim full control."
The room fell still.
Victor's glass froze halfway to his lips. Luisa's fork stopped mid-air. And Damien… blinked. Once. Twice. Then scoffed.
"You expect the board to hand it all over to you just like that?" Damien said. "You've barely been in the picture."
"Maybe not in yours," Nathan said coolly. "But I've been watching. Reading. Listening. You'd be amazed how many people talk when they think the heir's not listening."
Damien sat up straighter. "You're bluffing."
Nathan's voice dropped into a deadly calm. "Try me."
Victor's tone turned firm. "This is unnecessary. Tonight isn't about the company. It's about reconnecting as a family."
Nathan turned to him with a sharp smile. "That word again. You say it like it means something."
A tense silence. Then Damien laughed, dry and bitter. "You walk in here, tossing threats and claiming thrones like we're still living in your childhood fairy tale. You think you're entitled to everything."
Nathan's gaze burned cold. "No. I inherited everything. Entitlement is what you get when you sleep with your cousin's ex just to spite him."
Damien's smirk slipped.
Luisa's face flushed with heat. "Nathan—please…"
Nathan ignored her, eyes still locked on Damien. "Does he know, by the way? About your late-night calls after the funeral? The ones where you said Damien would never measure up?"
Damien stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. "Enough!"
Victor's eyes darted to his son. "What's he talking about?"
"Nothing," Damien snapped. "He's lying."
Nathan stood slowly, calm as ever. "Funny. You always sweat when I lie, Damien. But tonight… you're sweating when I tell the truth."
A beat.
Victor looked between them, realization dawning—but incomplete. "What secret?"
Nathan turned to him, voice like a blade sheathed in silk. "Ask your son. And when you do, ask yourself why he's afraid of a birthday."
Without waiting for a response, Nathan adjusted his cufflinks and walked toward the door.
He paused beside Luisa, his voice low. "You chose him. Just don't be surprised when he burns everything down to feel tall."
She swallowed hard, eyes glossy. "You're not the same."
"No," he whispered. "I'm worse."
He stepped out into the night, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
And inside, silence clung to the table like smoke.