The night seems to hold its breath when my brother and I finally stand face to face.
His eyes roam over me with a familiarity that feels invasive… and painfully nostalgic.
"It's truly been long, brother," I murmur, letting a slow, deliberate smirk pull at my lips. "I think I missed you."
Jeremy's answering smile is razor–thin.
Cold.
Warm.
Dangerous.
All at once.
"Careful, Michael," he drawls, stepping close enough for his cologne to mix with the crisp night air. "If you missed me too much, someone might think you've gone soft."
"Soft?" I echo, chuckling under my breath. "Don't flatter yourself. Missing someone doesn't make me soft. Missing you just makes me… nostalgic."
His gaze sharpens.
He knows exactly what I mean.
We both do.
There is so much unspoken between us it hangs in the air like humidity — dense, suffocating, electric. Love and hatred braided together in ways neither of us ever untangled.
Behind him, my men stand poised, alert. Behind me, Anna remains in the car — watching, unaware that she is standing at the center of a battlefield without even realizing she's a weapon.
Jeremy slides his hands into his pockets casually, as though this were a pleasant reunion between siblings, not two predators measuring each other's throats.
"You look good," he says, but his tone carries the faintest edge of mockery.
I tilt my head. "Age has been kind to you too. I see you haven't lost your flair for dramatic entrances."
He chuckles, low and dark. "Well… someone has to spice up your boring routines."
There it is again — that teasing, the familiar jab hiding something deeper.
Resentment.
Wounded pride.
Old scars neither of us healed.
The tension hovers between us, taut like a wire.
One wrong move and it snaps.
And then — it hits me.
A memory.
Uninvited, like always.
Slamming into my chest so suddenly my breath catches.
Memory
It was the last time I saw the brother I loved the most.
I'd just left my room after Father called for a meeting — his tone more serious than usual. The hallway felt colder that day, as if the house itself sensed something irreversible was coming.
I pushed open the heavy doors to the meeting room and stepped inside.
Father sat at the head of the table, posture rigid. Jeremy sat on his right, looking composed but curious. Two of Father's most trusted men stood behind him — stone–faced, unreadable.
I took a seat, unaware that my life was about to change.
Father cleared his throat.
"I called you here," he began, "because I have made a decision. A decision about this family's future."
Jeremy straightened slightly, the faintest spark of anticipation in his eyes. He'd been preparing for this moment for years — molding himself into the heir, shaping himself into what Father wanted. He earned this, through blood and sacrifice and sleepless nights.
I already knew what Father was going to say. Or at least… I thought I did.
But then his words came out like a blade to both our chests.
"I've decided that Michael will be the one to take over when I resign."
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
I felt my head snap up. Felt my pulse spike.
"What?"
Jeremy whispered first, shock flooding his expression.
Then anger.
Real, visceral anger.
"Father, what do you mean by that?"
He stood abruptly, voice shaking despite his effort to steady it.
"Papa, I've trained for this my entire life. Michael doesn't want this life — you know that."
My father didn't flinch.
"My job," he said sternly, "is to choose what is best for this family. And I believe Michael will be a better head than you. Whether he wants to or not, he must step up."
I watched the words hit Jeremy like bullets.
"Jeremy," Father continued, "you are an amazing candidate. Smart. Calculative. But you lack one thing: loyalty."
Jeremy stiffened — visibly wounded.
"You would do whatever serves you, and only you. That is not what this family needs. I expect you to use your intelligence to support your brother in leading this family to greater heights."
I couldn't look away from Jeremy's face.
The devastation.
The betrayal.
The disbelief.
All the sacrifices he'd made — dismissed in one breath.
Something in me snapped.
"Father," I said sharply, standing up so quickly my chair scraped the floor. "I will not accept this position. You cannot do this to Jeremy. It's unfair. He's worked for this. I don't even want this. Leave me out of your dirty business!"
"Sit down," Father barked, eyes burning. "My decision is final."
"No," I snarled, rage boiling through me. "You keep saying Jeremy lacks loyalty. How sure are you that I don't?"
I drew my gun.
It was impulsive. Reckless.
But I was blinded by anger — blinded by the thought of my brother losing everything he lived for.
Father stared at me, stunned but confident.
"Micheal, you wouldn't dare—"
Before he finished, a gunshot split the air.
A sickening crack.
And my father fell forward, blood spraying across the table.
Dead.
My heart froze.
Everyone stared at me.
Some in shock.
Some in horror.
But I knew — I knew — I didn't pull the trigger.
My hand trembled.
My finger wasn't even on the trigger anymore.
Slowly… too slowly… I turned to Jeremy.
And there it was.
A faint smile.
Not joyous.
Not proud.
Not cruel.
Something scarier — satisfied.
Terror crawled up my spine.
If Father's men found out the truth, they would kill him.
He was the one disowned.
He was the "disloyal one."
The expendable son.
I couldn't lose him.
I couldn't lose both of them on the same day.
So I swallowed my horror, straightened my back, and said clearly:
"Now I'm the head of this family… and my father's resignation letter has been approved."
The room bowed.
And Jeremy…
he just stared at me with something unreadable in his eyes.
Pride?
Gratitude?
Possession?
Love?
All of them?
None?
It was the last time I saw the brother I loved.
Present
The memory fades, but the weight of it lingers on my skin like cold water.
Jeremy's gaze flicks toward the car…
toward Anna.
And something inside me goes very still.
A shiver slices down my spine.
He sees her.
He sees everything.
He always has.
His smile tilts, subtle but knowing.
Calculating in a way that terrifies even me.
Because I recognize that look.
It's the same one he used to give Father's enemies.
The same one he wore the day he pulled the trigger on our father.
The same one he wore the last time he stood by my side.
And now…
he is looking at Anna like that.
He knows.
He knows what she is to me.
What she could become.
What she could be used for.
A weapon.
Against me.
Jeremy lifts his eyes back to mine, amusement glittering in them.
"You've been busy these years," he says softly.
"And you've acquired… interesting company."
I don't move.
I don't breathe.
"Stay away from her," I say — softly, but with a weight that shakes the air.
His smile widens.
Slow.
Cruel.
Beautiful.
Familiar.
"Oh, little brother," he murmurs. "If she wasn't important… you wouldn't have said that."
His words slip into the night like poison.
And the worst part?
He's right.
The moment stretches — tense, suffocating, electric.
For the first time in a long time…
I feel fear.
Not for myself.
Never for myself.
For her.
Jeremy chuckles under his breath.
"This will be fun," he says.
And I realize — too late —
he didn't come back to reunite.
He came back to play.
And I have no idea what the rules of his game are anymore.