Damien
A crisp slap echoed through the mansion.
I stepped inside, only to be struck across my face. The sting wasn't physical—it was nothing compared to the suffocating murderous aura that filled the meeting room. My senses sharpened, instinctively picking up the tension and silently evaluating who among them had the bloodiest hands. But before my mind could settle on one, the voice of my attacker cut through the haze.
"Where were you? We sent a driver to pick you up hours ago! Do you think this is your house, where you can do whatever you please?" Serena snarled, venom dripping from her every word. My so-called sister, Don's biological elder sibling, glared at me as though I'd committed a mortal sin.
I suppressed the urge to snap her neck. She was insufferable. Even if I weren't pretending to be Don, she'd treat the real Don with the same disdain. That thought made me scoff internally. Was she even his real sibling? Couldn't she see the subtle differences between the brother she grew up with and me, an imposter? How blind could she be?
"I got caught in a shoot," I murmured, keeping my gaze to the floor.
Her laugh was sharp and biting. "A shoot? So what? A measly photoshoot is more important than coming home when summoned? Has the fame gone to your head?"
The others snickered, enjoying the spectacle. This was entertainment to them—a way to pit Serena against Don and watch the fireworks. They were vultures, thriving on every scrap of discord in the family.
"What's wrong with you? Lost your tongue?" Serena's voice rose, her irritation boiling over. "Answer me when I speak! All you ever do is grovel!"
I remained silent, though I seethed inside. If I dropped the charade, if I stopped pretending to be Don, she'd never speak to me this way. Hell, she wouldn't even dare share the same air as me. But I stayed in character, letting her unload her fury.
"Ugh, disgusting! Grow a spine!" she hissed, stomping to her seat in frustration.
I followed quietly, my head bowed, my shoulders slouched, every movement an act. I stared at the pearl-white tiles beneath me, mentally burning holes into the $3-million flooring while the weight of their stares pressed down on me.
"Now that Don is here," Wendy, my cold and ruthless cousin, spoke with a sharp edge, "can we start the meeting? Someone go fetch Grandpa from the greenhouse. Tell him we're all here—even if some people decided to show up late."
Her jab didn't go unnoticed, but I ignored it.
A servant rushed out to summon Henry. None of us dared to step foot in the greenhouse uninvited, but he allowed the servants—claiming their hearts were pure and free of deceit. Minutes later, the servant returned, her posture stiff and nervous.
She bowed deeply. "Master said he does not wish to be disturbed. He set the time, and you failed to meet it."
The room filled with stifled curses and icy glares, all directed at me.
"This is your fault, whitehead!" Serena spat venomously. My patience thinned, but I swallowed the desire to shove a bar of soap in her mouth. As an older brother—at least in her eyes—it was my duty to correct her behavior. But I remained silent, playing the role of the submissive sibling.
"Shouldn't you at least apologize?" David sneered. He was another cousin, reckless and stupid, a pawn who thought he was a king.
Feigning anxiety, I fidgeted with my hands. Apologize? Not a chance.
"You—"
"Enough!" Richard's commanding voice cut through the tension. My least favorite member of the De Lucas spoke with an air of authority he didn't deserve. "Everyone dismissed. Arguing won't get us anywhere."
The vultures scattered, but Richard wasn't done.
"Don, stop." His tone was low, commanding. I froze, turning to meet his gaze.
"You lied just now. Where were you?"
I paused, letting the silence stretch between us. Then, I raised my eyes to his, unleashing the full force of my simmering rage.
His breath hitched. He fidgeted, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
"Brother, are you all right? Why are you sweating? Is it hot in here?" David asked, returning to the room.
Richard recovered quickly, masking his discomfort. "It's nothing," he muttered, his voice shaky.
"Can I go now?" I asked, my tone calm, neutral.
"Not until you tell me where you were," Richard insisted, his composure slipping.
I stared at him, unwavering. "I went to see my wife."
Richard's eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"Does it matter?" I countered, my voice laced with defiance.
"Yes, it does. I need to explain to Grandpa why you didn't take the car arranged for you." His words hung heavy with suspicion.
Before I could respond, David scoffed, taking a long sip of water. "We all know you're just a live-in son-in-law. I doubt you're telling the truth."
My patience was razor-thin. "And if I am?"
David smirked. "Then I'll kneel down and worship you."
Before I could retort, laughter rang through the room—a sound I knew all too well. My head snapped toward the source, and my breath caught.
Cleopatra.
She strode in, confidence radiating from her every step. "Then you better start kneeling," she said, her voice honeyed with amusement. "Because my hubby was telling the truth."