When I heard the door swing open, I could have sworn she'd changed her mind about leaving. I was so convinced she'd returned that I even hurried to prepare the guest room. A little room spray never hurt anyone's feelings. I sprayed the air, taking in the warm vanilla spice, already half-relieved at the thought of welcoming her back. But when I turned around, to my complete disbelief, I saw the last person on earth I would ever want to be alone in a room with.
"Oh, such a sweet boy," he sneered. "Finally decided to listen to your mom about taking care of your little brother?"
Fuck no, my brain barked.
"At least you've got the adjective right next to your name," I snapped. "What the hell are you doing here? Didn't you get the memo when I ignored your calls?"
My eyes then cut to his ridiculous red suit.
"According to my dad, I can stay in the family penthouse whenever I fly in. Didn't you read the group chat?"
"I pay for it, which makes it mine. And we don't have a group chat, you idiot—or I would've responded."
I'm not planning on driving all the way to Beverly. My chauffeur is going to have to pick me up. I really wanted to enjoy my stay in Encino and handle the repairs I'd been alerted about. Technically, it's the family penthouse, but I'm the one saddled with the responsibility of keeping it intact. As always, it falls to me—or else it would be trashed by this toddler of a man who thinks partying in Asia and drowning in liquor is more important than anything. And yet, someone in the family always finds a way to excuse him, to see the good in him, and to let him crash in any estate whenever he decides to slither back.
"How's Style Sphere?" I asked, my tone dripping sarcasm. "Do you even know if it's still around? You've been gone what—ten years? A lot can happen in ten years."
"Of course everything is booming," he retorted, already making himself at home. "My perfect little doppelgänger has seen to that." He sauntered toward the kitchen, eyeing the counter. "Been drinking any of my stuff out of that little teacup? Looks like you've needed some, judging by the state of your nose. Tissue a new accessory, or did someone finally take a swing at your perfect face?"
He was already rooting through the cabinets for whiskey. My chest tightened as I yanked the paper towel from my nostrils, and watched him pour two shots and down them like water. He knew exactly how I felt about alcohol—especially because of his family's history. The only time Henry could look me directly in the eye and talk a big game was when he had liquor burning in his blood. Other than that, he was scared like a dog to talk back meaning he was already intoxicated before he arrived.
"I don't drink—and you know that. Especially not your poison."
Henry just smirked and disappeared into "his" office, after tossing his duffel bag carelessly on the dining room table. A few seconds later, I heard the hum of the computer booting up.
"What was that about my business?" his voice rang out smugly. "Looks like my doppelgänger Donni has handled everything on my end. Plenty of applications too."
I was already sick of seeing his face and of hearing his voice echo through my walls. I turned to the bottle he'd left behind, and without hesitation, dumped its contents down the kitchen sink.
"Applications don't mean business, you dumb fuck," I shouted, slamming the empty bottle against the counter before storming out.
It wasn't just the ten years of silence that cut deep. It was the fact that he left me holding the reins of Style Sphere in the early years—when he was supposed to be running it. He almost ruined our family's reputation with his drunken escapades and his affairs with employees. And after Mom got sick, it was me—always me—left to carry the entire weight. But the worst part? The betrayal I'll never forget. He stole from his own family. And Mom will never forgive me for what I did in response: I had him arrested.
Three years in jail. Three years that were supposed to teach him something. But when he got out, he vanished across the globe, and we only heard about him through gossip columns and scandals.
I was the one that cleaned up the mess but with a carefully crafted lie. Donni—who looked just like him—became the puppet CEO of Style Elganza. When Henry discovered the truth six years ago, I bought his silence with money. He could rot in Thailand for all I fucking cared, as long as he stayed away. His salary would reach him wherever he was, provided he never came back.
So what the hell was he doing here now—after all these years—breaking our agreement?