*Isabella's POV*
"Don't worry," he spat, his voice venomous, his words sharp enough to cut. "You can kiss Damien instead of me."
The venom in his tone hit harder than a slap. My breath caught in my throat as the weight of his accusation sank in. Before I could get a word out, Jacob stormed past me, his footsteps heavy and unforgiving as he slammed the door behind him.
The echo lingered, leaving me frozen in place. My heart raced, my mind spinning, and when I finally tore my gaze from the door.
"Jacob!" I shouted after him, my voice carrying through the corridor, but he didn't so much as glance back. The slam of the door was my only answer.
"I apologize, Isabella," Damien said quietly, pulling my attention back to him. His tone was softer than usual, laced with something that almost sounded like guilt. "This has nothing to do with you, yet he lashed out at you. He does that sometimes, but… he's not a bad guy. He's just worked up about a certain visit." His gaze flicked away briefly before settling on me again, apologetic and heavy.
I tilted my head, curiosity piqued. "Who, if I may ask?"
"Our father," he replied simply.
My brows shot up. "Oh. I met him," I said, trying to sound casual, though my nerves gave me away.
"You did?" His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion mixed with surprise.
"Yeah. At the Gala back in New York." I hesitated, then added with a faint, awkward laugh, "Him and his… lady friend."
The corner of Damien's mouth twitched, though he didn't smile. I pressed on, the tension still gnawing at me. "Can I ask you what's going on between them? I sensed… a lot of tension between him and Jacob."
Damien let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as if bracing himself to open an old wound. "Okay. I'll tell you." His voice dropped lower, slower. "My brother was very attached to our mother. We both were. But… it was easier for me growing up. I was a good kid. An easy kid. Jacob, on the other hand, was restless. Reckless. Always needing to push limits, always testing boundaries. He'd often upset our father, and Mom was the one who protected him. Every damn time. She was his shield."
He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze fell to the desk between us, eyes clouding with grief that was years old but still raw. "She was… an angel. The kind of woman you don't get twice in a lifetime." His voice cracked for the briefest moment, then he drew in a sharp breath and pushed forward. "When we were sixteen, she died of cancer. Jacob… he didn't just lose her. He lost his safety net. He felt completely alone, like nobody could save him from our father anymore. After that, he went off the rails. Extreme shit. And since then, he and Father haven't seen eye to eye on anything."
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "Especially since he started dating again?" I guessed.
Damien gave a grim nod. "Exactly. Our father loved Mom very much. More than anyone. He mourned her for seven years. Seven fucking years, Isabella. He was a wreck—barely cared about the company, about himself. It was like living with a ghost."
I could see the pain etched across his features as he spoke, but just as quickly, he masked it, inhaling deeply and forcing composure back into his posture.
"But now… the man is living again. And I can say, wholeheartedly, that I'm happy for him. But Jacob—" Damien shook his head. "Jacob thinks he's defiling Mom's memory. That he's betraying her by even looking at another woman. And the fact that these women are all… young, beautiful, and of questionable morals, as Jacob likes to put it—well, it doesn't exactly help."
I couldn't help it. A giggle escaped me, lightening the mood for just a moment. "He's hilarious," I said, covering my mouth to stifle another laugh.
Damien's lips curved into the faintest, reluctant smile. "He is," he admitted, though his eyes still carried the shadows of his memories.
Later that day, I was bent over some files in the office when the sound of heels clicking against the polished floor made me glance up. A woman had walked in, her eyes sweeping across the space with an appreciative gleam.
"This place is great," she said, her voice lilting with casual charm. She paused, tilting her head toward me. "What are you doing? Can I help?"
I straightened in my chair, caught off guard. There was something oddly familiar about her face, but I couldn't immediately place it. "No, I'm good," I replied politely, though my tone leaned toward clipped.
"I know!" she chimed, ignoring my dismissal. "Let's get a cup of coffee." Her enthusiasm was almost too bright for the atmosphere of the office.
"I just told you I have work to do," I countered, my patience thinning.
"Come on," she pressed, her smile turning sly. "You can afford it. Since you're screwing your boss' brother."
I froze, blinking at her in disbelief. My jaw tightened as her wink sank in.
"Oh girl," she continued breezily, brushing imaginary lint from her designer jacket. "If I didn't have a gorgeous Lancaster daddy at home myself, I'd be jealous. But I've got my daddy." She smirked knowingly. "I saw you two at the gala. He was all over you."
That's when it clicked. Her voice, her face, the way she said daddy. She was the woman with Jacob and Damien's father at the gala.
"Yes, well," I said sharply, my professionalism snapping back into place, "this conversation ends here. Sit at my desk over there."
Her eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting the command. "But—" she started, pouting as if she was trying to charm me into relenting.
"I don't care who you are, lady," I cut in, my tone firm and cold. "You can't expect me to discuss private aspects of my life at work."
Her mouth snapped shut, and for a moment, she just stood there, stunned. Maybe I had been too harsh—maybe she really was the sugar baby of the Lancaster patriarch, and technically above me in the family's messy hierarchy—but nosy people have always been my weakness. And I hate when they think they're entitled to my business.