STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS

DANTE:

Max Ashford-Moretti.

Even his name was a joke. A hyphenated monument to his shamelessness. The man had seduced my mother during the worst period of her life, swept in with charm and empty promises while she was grieving, vulnerable and believing people were inherently good.

He married her for her money. Everyone knew it. I knew it.

And the moment that ring was on her finger, he made it his mission to get rid of me.

I was the obstacle. The reminder that she'd had a life before him, a family that didn't include his parasitic existence. He tried turning her against me first, planting seeds of doubt, twisting my words, making me out to be reckless and ungrateful.

When that didn't work, he switched tactics.

The abuse started small. Cutting remarks. Backhanded compliments. Then it escalated to shoves that looked accidental, grip marks on my arms hidden under long sleeves, words designed to damage my self-worth.

My older brother, Marcus? Max worshipped him. Treated him like the golden child, the heir to a kingdom Max didn't even own.

My younger sister, Dove, wanted nothing to do with him. Refused to acknowledge his existence.

But Mom loved him. Or thought she did. And because we loved her, Dove and I would walk through fire before we let her down. We had to tolerate Max. For her sake. Only hers.

The penthouse looked exactly the same as it always did. Annoyingly, it was Max's home. Except it wasn't. It was hers. My father left it to mom before his tragic demise. He just moved in. Set up camp in her success that dad laid a foundation for like a leech.

"I couldn't afford my own place," he'd probably say if anyone asked, spinning some sob story about prioritizing family over material possessions.

Pathetic.

I'd dressed to kill tonight with my custom Tom Ford. I made sure every inch of me showed the level of success Max couldn't earn in six lifetimes. He was a lazy ass anyways.

Petty? Maybe. But I wanted him to see that he was beneath me.

I Mom and Dove standing at the entrance, smiles lighting up their faces the moment they spotted me.

And just like that, I wasn't a thirty-two-year-old CEO. I was a kid again, desperate for the warmth only they could give.

I crossed the distance in long strides, scooped Dove into my arms, and spun her around. She laughed, a sound I didn't hear often enough and smacked my shoulder.

"Put me down, you overgrown child!"

I set her down and immediately turned to Mom, planting kisses all over her cheeks and chin until she swatted me away, giggling.

"Dante, stop-"

"Uncle D!"

A blur of tulle and glitter barreled out of the house.

Thessa. Ten years old, wearing a pink ball gown and ballet shoes that screeched against the floor as she ran.

I caught her mid-leap, tossed her into the air, and caught her again. She squealed, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"You're here! You're actually here!"

"Of course I'm here." I kissed her forehead. "Couldn't miss seeing my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece."

"Still my favorite."

She beamed. "Did you bring me a present?"

"Thessa," Dove warned.

"What? Uncle D always brings presents."

I grinned. "How's ballet going? You nail that pirouette yet?"

"Almost! Miss Angela says I'm getting better. She said if I keep practicing, I might get to dance the solo in the recital."

"That's my girl. You're going to kill it."

Mom linked her arm through mine, guiding us inside. "I'm so glad you could make it, sweetheart. I know how busy you are."

"Never too busy for you."

"Where's Tate? Thought he was coming," Thessa inquired as we rode the elevator to the top floor.

"He's busy. Maybe next time," I responded with a smile.

The moment the doors opened, warmth hit me like a wave.

The open-concept kitchen and living room before us, every surface gleaming was a sight to behold. The smell of roasted chicken, garlic, and fresh-baked bread wafting through my nose, making my stomach growl.

I set Thessa down and beelined for the counter, grabbing a chicken thigh straight from the pan.

"Dante!" Mom swatted at my hand, but she was smiling. "At least use a plate."

"This tastes better."

She shook her head, laughing. "You're too skinny. You need to eat more. I worry about you."

We all walked into the dining area that has been beautifully decorated to show that Christmas was in a couple of weeks, taking our seats.

"I'm fine, Mom."

"You work too much. You need someone to take care of you." Her voice softened, slipping into that tone I knew too well. "I just want you to find a good woman, Dante. Someone who makes you happy. Someone you can give your heart to so I don't have to worry."

I groaned. "Are you in a hurry to get rid of me?"

Dove snorted. Thessa giggled.

Before anyone could respond, a voice low, smug, unbearably familiar voice took over our conversation.

"Don't be ridiculous, son. Your mother and I want you around for a long time."

The chicken turned to ash in my mouth.

The warmth drained from the room, replaced by irritation.

"Max," I said, not looking at him.

"Son."

He said it deliberately. Knew I hated it. Calling me that made my blood boil every single time.

Thessa's shoulders tensed, eyes flicking between us like she was waiting for an explosion.

I turned slowly.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a cheap suit he probably thought looked expensive, hair slicked back with receding hairline, smiling like he belonged here.

She crossed the room to kiss him, and something old and ugly twisted in my chest. An instinctive flare I hated. That familiar bruise blooming under my ribs. He settled into the chair next to her chair, at her table, in her house. He didn't earn any of this.

My hand tightened around the fork until my knuckles turned white.

Dove didn't even acknowledge him. Her jaw tightened, a silent rebellion she didn't bother hiding. Just turned to Thessa, asking some random question in a voice too bright to be natural.

We sat. Pretended to be a family.

Max loaded his plate, made small talk, and complimented Mom's cooking. Every word grated against my nerves like sandpaper.

Then he turned to me.

"D," he said, using the nickname like we were close.

"Dante," I corrected because he didn't have the right to call me D.

Rolling his eyes, "I heard business is rough for you lately. You know you can always come to me for help. I've got you, son. You don't need to try so hard to be something you're not."

Mom's fork clattered against her plate. "Stop, honey." Her smile was tight and strained. "Let's all just enjoy dinner."

I set my fork down carefully. Met his gaze across the table.

"The last thing I'll ever do is fail at anything," I said quietly. "Including my business. So, I'll never ask for your help."

Dove jumped in without missing a beat. "That's my successful brother. He doesn't need to seduce women for financial security." She glanced at Max. "What kind of man moves into a woman's house? Talk about killing tradition."

"Dove-" Mom's voice broke slightly. "I'll get dessert." She stood abruptly, voice shaking. "Dove, help me."

They disappeared into the kitchen.

Leaving me alone with Max. And Thessa, who was suddenly very interested in her mashed potatoes.

Max leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "Did you hear about my new project?" he asked, voice dripping with the smugness he reserved for moments he knew would hurt.

"I'm not interested," I growled at him.

Yet, he ignored my protest and continued. "Meadowbrook, It's a hot one. Marcus is already there, getting things moving. Thank God he knows his way around the area. He spent enough time there during that ugly engagement of his. Almost married one of those small-town nobodies," he finished.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack.

Marcus was in Meadowbrook. Already working the investors. Already laying groundwork.

Of course he was.

Ten years ago, I'd shared this dream with Max. Back when I still thought we could salvage something. Back when I believed he might actually support me for once. Rather, he'd stolen it. Twisted it into his own plan. And now he was using Marcus to take what should've been mine. Even if I was relenting, this was all the trigger I needed to go hard now.

I lifted my head slowly, my gaze blaring.

"Aren't you tired of hearing your own voice?" My tone was ice. "If you don't know, it makes people's ears bleed."

I stood, picked up Thessa, and settled her on my hip.

"Thanks to you," I said, voice low enough that only he could hear, "I've lost my appetite."

I found Mom and Dove in the kitchen. They looked up when I entered, concern flashing across their faces.

I hugged them both. Kissed Mom's cheek. "I have to go. Work."

It wasn't a lie. I needed to get to Meadowbrook. Now. Before Marcus buried me.

"Stay a little longer," Mom pleaded. "Please. You just got here."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Is this because of Max?"

"No," I lied to her. "I just have a lot going on right now."

She searched my face, then sighed. "Promise you'll come back soon."

"I promise."

Thessa tugged on my sleeve. "Uncle D, can you talk to Santa for me?"

I crouched down to her level. "What do you need?"

"Lots of toys and candies. And, I want all the sick kids to get well so they can enjoy their Christmas with their families."

Such a selfless princess. "I'll put in a good word."

I kissed her forehead, grabbed one of Mom's honey cookies from the counter, and hugged them all one more time.

Then I left.

The elevator doors closed, sealing me in silence.

I pulled out my phone, already dialing Martin.

"Get Cinnamon Wealth on the line," I said the second he picked up. "We're leaving for Meadowbrook tomorrow morning."

"Sir, I thought-"

"Tomorrow. First thing. Make it happen."

I hung up.

I'd been pushed my entire life. Tonight, I finally pushed back. This was the moment the war began.

Marcus thought he could waltz into this deal and Max thought he was about to win. They were both wrong.

Stubborn, infuriating, impossible Cinnamon was about to become my greatest weapon. Whether she liked it or not.