Vincenzo didn’t even bother reading what I handed him. He just took the pen, signed it with a quick stroke like it meant nothing, then pushed the papers back toward me.
“Go on,” he said flatly. “Deal with your own child.”
I left before dawn broke. The mansion behind me stayed silent, heavy and lifeless, like it had never held anything warm to begin with.
**
The drive to my father’s estate took hours—five of them that felt longer than they should’ve. The gates came into view like something out of a memory I didn’t fully belong to anymore: tall black iron, sharpened tips, guards standing stiff and motionless like they weren’t people at all.
Everything there was controlled. Polished. Still.
I wasn’t.
I had become thinner. Worn down in places no one noticed. Changed in a way mirrors couldn’t properly reflect.
When I stepped out of the car, no one came to greet me. No voices. No welcome. Just the long corridor of silence stretching inward, like the house itself was watching and deciding whether to let me exist again.
And then I saw him.
My father.
He stood like he always had—quiet authority, gaze sharp enough to cut through anything it landed on.
“So you came back,” he said coldly. “After everything you chose to destroy your life for.”
I didn’t react. Not a blink, not a tear. I had already spent all of that inside Vincenzo’s world.
“I want the arrangement you once mentioned,” I said evenly.
He studied me for a moment. “That deal is no longer available. The man you’re talking about is married now—to someone who doesn’t bring shame into my house.”
He started to turn away, like the conversation was over.
But I didn’t move. I just kept looking at him.
He paused.
“However,” he added after a beat, “his younger brother is still unmarried. Your sister was originally meant for him, but she chose her own ambitions instead. If you want it… the position is still open.”
I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t bargain. I just nodded once.
If this was the only path left, then I would take it. Survive first. Everything else later.
That night, they gave me a guest room that felt more like a forgotten storage space. It smelled faintly of dust and old polish. Even the staff avoided looking at me directly, like I was something that didn’t quite belong in the present anymore.
Like I had already died somewhere and just forgotten to leave.
Later, I was called.
The younger brother.
Leonardo Lancaster.