The faint scent of roasted coffee beans and polished wood hung in the air as Adrian and his father, Leonid Volkov, sat across from Damian's grandfather.
Grandfather leaned back in his chair, his silver hair gleaming under the morning light that filtered through the tall windows.
He had the commanding presence of a man who had built an empire from nothing — the kind of man who spoke rarely, but when he did, everyone listened.
Leonid stirred his coffee, a faint, forced smile tugging at his lips.
"Father, you look well," he began, his tone smooth but his eyes sharp.
Grandfather gave a curt nod. "Age hasn't taken me yet, Leonid. Though I can't say the same about patience. So, tell me — why did you call this meeting?"
Leonid exhaled slowly, setting his spoon down with a deliberate clink.
"It's about Damian."
The old man's brow lifted slightly. "What about him?"
Leonid leaned forward, lowering his voice. "He's losing control.
The board has been whispering — his decisions are too risky, his investments too aggressive. He's… impulsive. Dangerous for the company's image."
Adrian, sitting beside his father, smirked faintly and decided to add fuel to the fire.
"Grandfather, you should have seen the last meeting. Damian walked out halfway through because someone disagreed with him.
He acts like he owns the company, not like he's running it for the family."
Grandfather's piercing gaze flicked from father to son.
"Damian does own most of it," he said flatly. "And unlike the two of you, he's actually kept it profitable. The board may complain, but numbers don't lie."
Leonid's jaw tightened. "You always defend him," he said bitterly. "You always have. Just because he's the son of your precious firstborn."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through steel.
Grandfather set down his cup carefully, his expression unreadable.
"Don't speak of your late brother like that, Leonid. You know well that Nikolai earned everything he had."
Leonid's eyes darkened. "And yet, I was left with the scraps.
The company, the name, the power — all handed to him and now to his son. You think Damian is worthy of leading the Volkov legacy? He's reckless, ruthless — just like his father was before he died!"
Grandfather's hand came down on the table with a sudden, thunderous bang that made nearby patrons turn their heads.
"Careful, Leonid," he warned, his voice low but dangerous. "Your jealousy is showing."
Adrian glanced at his father uneasily. Leonid's face had turned red, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Grandfather continued, his tone calmer now but colder.
"Your brother was the eldest. The company was rightfully his. Damian inherited what Nikolai built — as it should be. That's how our bloodline works. Firstborn to firstborn."
Leonid's eyes flickered with hatred, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage.
"And what about loyalty, Father? What about those of us who worked behind the scenes while your golden son took the glory? Do you think Damian will ever care for this family the way I did?"
Grandfather stood, adjusting his coat. "You don't care for the family, Leonid. You care for the throne."
Leonid's jaw tightened so hard that for a moment, it looked like he might strike his father right there. Adrian placed a hand on his arm subtly, but Leonid didn't move.
Grandfather leaned close, his words a quiet threat.
"You may hate Damian. But if you try to touch what's his, you'll find out just how much of his father's blood runs through his veins."
And with that, the old man turned and left the café, leaving the two men seething in silence.
Leonid watched him go, his eyes narrowing, voice low with venom.
"You will regret choosing him, Father. Both of you will."
Adrian said nothing, but the corner of his mouth curled into a faint, dangerous smirk.
--
The café had quieted after grandfather's departure, leaving only the soft clinking of cups and the low murmur of distant conversations.
Leonid sat rigidly, staring at the empty space where his father had been moments ago, his eyes burning with resentment.
Across from him, Adrian leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
"Well," Adrian said finally, breaking the silence, "that went well, don't you think?"
Leonid shot him a cold glare. "You find this amusing?"
Adrian shrugged, swirling the last sip of his espresso lazily.
"Father, you always let him talk to you like that. Maybe that's why Damian walks around like he's untouchable. Someone needs to put him in his place."
Leonid's expression softened slightly — not from warmth, but from shared bitterness.
"And that someone will be us."
Adrian leaned forward, his tone turning sharp.
"I'll make sure of it. I'll do everything possible to make that company ours.
Damian thinks he's the only Volkov fit to lead, but he forgets — power can be taken. Slowly, quietly, until it's gone."
Leonid smirked faintly. "Good. That's the kind of fire you should've shown years ago."
But before his father could say more, Adrian's attention shifted.
A woman had just walked in — elegant curves outlined by a fitted dress, her walk confident, drawing every eye in the room. Adrian's smirk widened.
"Now that," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, "is something worth my time."
Leonid followed his son's gaze, his expression hardening immediately. "Don't embarrass me, Adrian."
Adrian chuckled.
"Relax, Father. I'm not going to bite… unless she asks nicely." He rose slightly from his chair, his eyes tracking the woman as she ordered at the counter.
Leonid's hand came down sharply on the table. "Sit down."
The tone of command in his father's voice made Adrian pause. Leonid's glare was full of disappointment and disgust.
"And you wonder why no one in the boardroom takes you seriously. You're chasing women while Damian is chasing power. That's why you'll always be behind him."
Adrian slowly sat back down, his smirk fading to something colder.
"Maybe I don't want to be like Damian," he said, his voice low but edged. "He acts like a god, ruining everything and everyone around him. You think that's something to admire?"
Leonid narrowed his eyes. "At least he's competent. You—" he pointed sharply at his son "—have yet to prove you're good for anything beyond flirting and wasting my time."
Adrian let out a short laugh, though his jaw tightened.
"And you have yet to prove you can run the company without begging for scraps from Grandfather," he shot back.
"You talk about power, but you've been sitting in the shadows for years, blaming everyone but yourself."
Leonid's expression turned lethal. "Watch your mouth."
Adrian leaned in, voice calm but dangerous.
"Maybe I got my ambition from you… and my impatience from Mother. But one thing's for sure — I won't spend the rest of my life in your shadow.
The company will be ours. I'll make sure of that — with or without your approval."
Leonid stared at him for a long moment, torn between fury and a reluctant spark of pride. Then he gave a thin, bitter smile.
"Be careful what you wish for, son. Damian isn't like the others you've toyed with. You'll have to destroy him completely — or he'll destroy you first."
Adrian's eyes glinted dangerously. "Then I guess it's a game of who strikes first.