Entangled with My Billionaire Nemesis

"Boss, there's a problem. He's here!" Mr. Fabian, my secretary, said as he ran into my office, panting like he'd seen a ghost.

"For fuck's sake! What is he doing here?" I cursed, shutting my laptop and standing up. I tugged on my tie, one hand in my pocket, the other dragging through my hair in frustration.

From the hundredth floor, the penthouses surrounding my office building stood tall while the people below shrank into tiny dots.

I took in the morning view for a moment, hoping it would calm me before the drama unfolded.

"What do you want?" I asked harshly, sensing his presence in the room.

"Don't use that tone on me, boy!" Mr. Elias Haurts, my father, said coldly as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

"I don't think we're close enough to bother with pleasantries. I'd rather you get straight to the point. What brings you here, Father?" I asked, my jaw tightening.

"I need you to take care of some business for me," he started.

I turned to face him.

"In Paris," he added.

"I don't see what that has to do with me," I said coldly. "Are you sure you walked into the right office? You have a personal assistant. If it's something you can't handle on your own, send him. I don't see why you came all the way here to tell me your personal problems."

"I made a lot of mistakes in the past, and I know you hate me so much you can't stand the sight of me..."

"Yet here you are, asking for favors," I snapped, cutting him off.

"But I'm trying to make amends, and no matter how much you hate me, son, you're still a Haurts. My blood runs through your veins. You can distance yourself all you want, but it doesn't change anything. You're just like me. People fear you because you're ruthless and lack compassion. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, son!" he thundered.

I glanced at my wristwatch, picked up my suit, and said calmly, "I'm not in the mood for this. Besides, I have a meeting in five minutes. If that's all you came to say, then you've wasted your time. I have no interest in helping you."

"You think this is a conversation and that I'm giving you a choice, but don't get confused, young man. It's not a conversation, and you're going to Paris whether you like it or not. And before you refuse, know there will be consequences. I'll spell it out for you right now: Jules. I'll have him do it instead," he threatened.

"Do whatever you want, Father," I said firmly, my jaw tightening as I walked toward the door. "And I won't be seeing you out. When you're ready, leave the same way you came."

"Mr. Fabian," I called, gesturing for my secretary to follow me.

"But your father..."

"He'll see himself out," I said coldly as we walked to the conference room for the board meeting.

After the meeting, I buried myself in paperwork and met with a couple of investors. By the time I was done, the sun was already setting. I yawned and sank back in my seat, exhausted. My stomach growled, a reminder I’d forgotten to eat again.

"Shit!" I cursed, standing up as I remembered I was supposed to be somewhere.

I grabbed my car keys and phone and left the office building. I drove to a nearby flower shop and picked up a rose.

It was my elder brother Martin Haurts's death anniversary. I pulled up at The Varius Darius Cemetery, where he was laid to rest, and walked in.

I stopped in front of his tomb and placed the rose on it. I noticed the bouquets of flowers already there and knew my family had come earlier to pay their respects.

They did this every year, while I came at sunset to avoid crossing paths with them and the drama that came with it. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever be on speaking terms with them again.

I settled onto the cool grass and rested my back against my brother's tomb. I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes as I took a drag.

The taste and burn slowly filled the emptiness inside me. For a fleeting moment, the world felt quiet, peaceful, almost comforting.

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden piercing wail tore through the silence and snapped me out of my daze. My eyes flew open, scanning my surroundings until I spotted the source.

A few tombs away, a frail, slender young woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties was sitting on the cold grass like I was. She was wailing, clutching her chest and striking it repeatedly while muttering incoherent words I couldn't make out because of the distance between us.

Her long dark hair swayed gently, and her plump pink lips quivered as she continued to cry. Judging by her swollen face, she'd been crying for a while.

I had a clear view of her because I was leaning against my brother's tomb while she was facing the one she was crying at. A larger tombstone blocked me from her view, so she couldn't easily see me.

I watched her carefully, wondering if it was also the death anniversary of the person she was visiting. For some reason I couldn't explain, her tears felt like tiny thorns pressed into my heart.

Who is she? Why does my heart hurt seeing her like this? I don't even know her name. Is it the tears… or something deeper? Something that stirs memories I don’t even remember having?

My chest ached as I studied her, as if a part of me recognized the grief she carried. I didn’t even know her, yet I wanted to reach out, to tell her it would be okay, even though I knew I couldn’t