Chapter 13
Morning light spilled across the sheets when Franklin stirred awake. He reached out instinctively — but the bed was empty, cool.
He sat up slowly, blinking at the quiet room. No sign of Damien. Not even the faint trace of his cologne.
Franklin sighed, dragging a hand down his face. His phone buzzed, fans wishing him, happy birthday, he dropped his phone, sighed. What was I expecting? Damien had never once remembered his birthday. Why would this year be different?
His phone buzzed again on the nightstand. A text from Mason:
I'm outside.
Franklin exhaled, tossing the phone aside. He showered, dressed neatly, and slipped out of the room. No Damien. No note. Nothing.
He walked outside, pulling on his jacket, and slid into the car. The moment he did, his eyes landed on a small box waiting on the seat.
He looked up at the rearview mirror. Mason was grinning.
"Happy birthday," Mason said.
A genuine smile tugged at Franklin's lips. "Thank you."
He opened the box, and his chest warmed. Inside was a strawberry cake — from his favorite little shop across town.
"It's from the store you like," Mason said proudly.
Franklin chuckled, shaking his head. "You drove all the way out there?"
"Didn't really take that much time," Mason replied, pulling out of the driveway.
Franklin took a bite, the familiar sweetness melting on his tongue. He smiled. "Thanks, man."
"Anytime," Mason said, eyes still on the road. "By the way, there are a lot of packages from your fans waiting at the office. So—are we going to the office first, or straight to set? You don't have a scene until noon."
Franklin leaned back, savoring another bite of cake. "To the office."
"Roger that," Mason said, tapping the wheel. After a pause, his tone softened. "And… I'm sorry about yesterday."
Franklin reached forward, squeezing his shoulder. "Forget about that. It's my birthday."
They both laughed, the sound filling the car, cutting through the morning silence.
-----
Franklin and Mason pulled up to the office, the car stopping in front of the glass building with the company's logo glittering under the morning sun.
Inside, the receptionist greeted him with a bright smile. On the counter, a small mountain of packages stacked almost to her chin — all from fans. Balloons in the corner read Happy Birthday Franklin Eddie in gold letters. Franklin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Wow. Guess I should've come earlier before they built a shrine," he joked.
Sophia appeared from her office, smiling warmly, carrying a small box tied with a red ribbon. Unlike the piles of flashy gifts from strangers, hers looked simple — thoughtful.
"Happy birthday, superstar," she said, handing him the box.
Franklin blinked, a little caught off guard. "Sophia… you really didn't have to—" He broke into a grin. "Just kidding."
"Open it," she said firmly, folding her arms with a knowing smile.
He tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside lay a sleek fountain pen, his initials engraved along the side. For a second, he just stared at it, surprised into silence.
"I know you're always signing things for fans, contracts, scripts…" she said gently. "But I thought you should have something personal. Something that's yours."
Franklin tilted the pen in the light, lips curving. "I was hoping for a Lamborghini key, but I guess this will do."
Sophia rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder. "Be serious for once."
Sophia hit his shoulder playfully.
For a moment, the weight in his chest lightened. He looked up at her, smiling. "Thank you. Really. This means a lot."
She waved him off playfully, but there was a warmth in her eyes. Mason leaned against the doorway, grinning.
"Common let's go upstairs." she said holding his shoulder.
"okay" Franklin said, laughing as he closed the box carefully, tucking it away like it was something precious.
----
Damien pushed open the grand doors of the Carter mansion, his steps echoing against the marble. At the entrance, Emma appeared in her school uniform, bag slung over her shoulder.
"Uncle Dami!" she squealed, throwing her arms around him.
He ruffled her hair with a grin. "Aren't you late?"
"Hey!" she protested, quickly fixing her hair back in place. "I'm not that late." She slipped past him toward the door. "Besides, I've got a lot to do today."
"What—" Damien began, but she was already halfway outside.
"Love you, Uncle!" she shouted, darting down the steps.
Damien laughed softly, shaking his head. "Love you too, sunshine," he called after her, before turning toward his father's study.
Inside, the air was heavy with smoke. Jones sat behind his desk, cigarette balanced on his lip, while Uncle Jerome leaned casually against a chair on the other side. Damien greeted Jerome with a respectful nod; Jerome smiled in return. Then Damien's sharp gaze cut to his father.
"Let's get straight to the point," he said, lowering himself into the chair opposite.
Jones chuckled, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. He dropped a thick folder onto the desk. "These are our new clients. I need you to look into them."
Damien flipped through the first few pages, then shut it with a snap. "You didn't drag me here just for this."
"True," Jones admitted, tapping ash into the tray. "The Farrells. They've been our enemies for decades. Blood for blood, men on both sides buried. But now—they've offered a truce."
Damien scoffed. "A truce? After so many deaths?"
Jones leaned back, eyes cold. "Exactly. Which is why this matters. The terms are simple. You will marry the youngest Farrell daughter. Unite the families. End the war."
Damien let out a short, humorless laugh. He stood abruptly, chair scraping back. "You must be out of your damn mind."
"Don't push me, Damien," Jones growled. "You know what I'm capable of."
Damien looked down at him, his voice low, dangerous. "What are you going to do? Kill me, like you killed her?"
The room went silent, thick with unsaid words. Damien scoffed and pulled at the handle—
"What about your little actor?" Jones's voice cut through like a blade.
Damien stilled.
"You think I don't know?" Jones sneered. "I don't care who warms your bed. Wed the girl, put a fucking child in her, continue the family name. After that, keep screwing the actor for all I care. No one will dare whisper."
Slowly, Damien turned back, his eyes like fire. "Just like you did with Mother?" His voice cracked like a whip. "Guess what—I'm not playing your games. Not this time. Never again. And if you touch a single hair on his head… I'll make you pay double."
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
"Damien—" Jerome hurried after him, catching up in the hall.
Damien finally stopped, chest heaving. Jerome laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, nephew. Your father—my brother—has always been hotheaded. You're the same. But listen, what he proposed… it isn't entirely wrong. A marriage could end the bloodshed. Save lives."
"There's nothing to think about," Damien snapped, pulling away. "Not when it's his game." He strode toward the exit.
From the staircase, Dianne watched as her brother stormed past, too fast for her to call out. Outside, his car roared to life and disappeared into the distance.
Jerome walked back to Jones's study, his face unreadable. Dianne felt Vic's hand at her side.
"What's wrong?" Vic asked quietly.
She shook her head. "Father and Damien had one of their fights again."
Vic sighed. "Want me to go after him?"
"No," she murmured, eyes on the door Damien had vanished through. "Let him be."