Entangled with My Billionaire Nemesis

"Beautiful," I muttered, staring at her eyes. She had stopped crying, and her hazel eyes just stared into space. They looked distant, tired, almost lifeless.

It was getting late, and she was still there. I was too worried to leave her alone, yet I didn't want to approach her and startle her.

My thoughts stopped when I saw a petite, curvy young woman walking toward her. She crouched down and pulled her into a hug, and I could swear a faint smile tugged at my lips as I watched her relax in that embrace, a little life returning to her eyes.

I felt a quiet sense of relief knowing she had someone to lean on.

That was my cue to leave. I stood up, stubbed out my cigarette, and let my gaze linger on my brother's tomb one last time before pressing a soft kiss to my index and ring fingers and placing them gently against the cold stone.

"Peace, brother," I whispered, closing my eyes as a wave of longing washed over me, wishing, just for a moment. I could feel him one more time.

I sensed someone watching me and turned around. It was my mystery girl. I'd momentarily forgotten she was still there. She looked at me with an emotion I hadn't seen in a while: pity.

Then she looked away and disappeared through the gates with her friend.

Out of curiosity, I walked to the tomb where she'd been crying.

"Mr. Stephen Montclair," I read aloud, making a mental note to ask my sworn brothers, Jamie and Ethan, about him.

I left the cemetery, slid into my Rolls-Royce, and drove onto the quiet streets. Forty minutes later, I turned into my driveway, bordered by towering trees and a meticulously groomed garden.

The villa stretched before me, an architectural masterpiece of glass and stone. Soft lights glowed behind the tall windows, spilling warmth across the marble terrace.

I parked and stepped out of my car.

"Welcome back, Damien," Mrs. Rose, my housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile that softened her elegant, wrinkled face. I returned the smile with a nod and walked toward her.

"Hope you didn't have a hard time with anything today?" I asked gently.

"I had a good day, thank you. But your mother is here. I tried calling earlier, but I couldn't reach you," she said softly, her voice carrying a trace of unease.

"My mom?" I repeated, needing to be sure I'd heard her correctly. She nodded.

"First my father this morning, and now my mother at night? What kind of family reunion is this? Any more surprises before I call it a day?" I muttered, walking into the living room where she was waiting.

Stepping in, I saw her looking as beautiful and elegant as I remembered from the last time I'd seen her in person.

For the past eight years, I'd only seen her virtually, mostly through the news, where she stood beside my father at important events, on her social media pages, or in photographs the security detail I'd employed to keep an eye on her had shown me.

"Hi, Mom," I said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

It had been eight years and she hadn't cared if I was alive or not. I wondered what must have pushed her to come to a place she'd sworn never to set foot in. She looked up, and what I saw in her eyes was nothing close to warmth. It was pure disdain.

Instinctively, I stepped back and watched as she rose gracefully, her heels striking the marble floor as she closed the distance between us. Before I could even blink or process why she was approaching me in long strides, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek.

She'd slapped me.

"What do you want from me, Damien?" she cried, pounding her fists against my chest. I stood there and let her, too confused to react while my mind raced to make sense of her sudden outburst. Then it hit me, my father's threat earlier that morning and this sudden outburst couldn't be unrelated.

"I lost my son, my sweet boy Martin, because of you, Damien! And now, as if that isn't enough, you're after your younger brother Jules!" she spat out, her voice trembling with rage.

"You know very well that art is his life, and you want to steal that from him. He's already threatening to kill himself if your father forces the company or any of his businesses on him. Please, Damien, don't make me lose another son. I'm begging you."

"I'm also your son, Mom," I blurted out, shrinking back in shock. I didn't mean to get emotional and say it aloud.

"You are not my son. Don't ever say those cursed words to me again!" she yelled. She grabbed her bag and slammed the door on her way out.

I dragged my feet up the stairs, trying hard not to let it bother me. I was used to the treatment, and I wouldn't blame her for it either. If I could go back in time to that fateful day eight years ago, I would give anything to change fate.

Maybe then I would still have my elder brother and perhaps a family.

I went straight to the bathroom when I got to my room and stood under the cold shower, gently scrubbing my body while my thoughts drifted to the stranger I'd seen earlier at the cemetery.

I wondered why she'd been crying that hard, especially since the tombstone read November 27th and it was June.

The death anniversary wasn't for another five months.

I recalled the look she'd given me before she left. It was pity. I couldn't even remember the last time someone had looked at me like that. These days it was mostly fear and respect.

Did I look pitiful to her?