"Mom!"
Dylan shouted as he jolted awake from a nightmare. He was gasping for air, drenched in sweat, his chest aching as his heart pounded violently. When he glanced at the clock beside his bed, it was barely three in the morning.
He had dreamed of his mother again.
Dylan was fifteen years old when his mother died of cancer. Four years had passed, but to him, it still felt like it had all happened just yesterday. The pain never really went away.
I miss you, Mom... he whispered softly. The silence of the night made the emptiness in his chest feel heavier. He wished she were there to hold him, to tell him that everything would be okay.
The next day, it was already nearing noon when Dylan woke up to a loud knocking on his bedroom door. Still half-asleep, he forced himself out of bed to see who it was.
A surprise flickered across his face when he opened the door, though he quickly masked it to avoid showing it.
It was Wilson-his father's personal assistant. Dylan knew that wherever his father was, Wilson would always be close by, which made his sudden presence all the more unexpected.
"Sorry to disturb you, Young Master," Wilson said politely. "Your father arrived early this morning. He's currently in the kitchen with his fiancée. He's asking you to join them for lunch."
Dylan frowned, his expression darkened the moment he heard the word "fiancée." That single word stirred emotions he wasn't ready to face.
"I'll come later," Dylan replied quietly.
Wilson gave a small bow before turning to leave.
Dylan closed the door slowly, his grip tightening around the knob until his knuckles turned white.
His father had returned, unannounced, like he always did-sweeping into the house and expecting everything to fall into place.
But this time, he wasn't alone. The word fiancée echoed in Dylan's mind like a cruel joke.
After getting dressed, Dylan headed to the dining area where his father and the woman were already waiting.
Sunlight poured in through the wide glass windows, illuminating the long oak table set with careful precision. The scent of roasted chicken and herbs lingered in the air, warm and inviting-yet it only heightened the unease tightening in Dylan's chest.
As they ate, Xavier found himself watching his son. He hadn't realized how much Dylan had grown. Work had kept him away for most of his life, and now, sitting across from him, the distance between them felt unmistakable-wider, heavier, especially after his wife's death.
The silence between father and son was thick and suffocating, broken only by Anna's polite attempts at conversation.
Dylan hardly touched his food. His appetite had fled the moment he saw her sitting at the table, smiling with ease beside his father as if she had always belonged there.
Her hair was neatly tied back, her voice soft, her presence composed-but to Dylan, it felt like an intrusion, a stranger trespassing on memories that should never be replaced.
Finally, Xavier set his utensils down, his tone calm but edged with authority.
"By the way, my schedule at the company is lighter these days. Most of my meetings are here in the country, so I'll be staying at home for a while."
He paused before adding, "Your Aunt Anna will also be living here from now on-especially with the wedding coming up."
Dylan froze mid-bite, his face darkened at his father's words.
"Do whatever you want," he muttered, eyes fixed on his plate. "I'll stay in my apartment. I don't want to live here with you."
Then he looked up, meeting his father's gaze. "It hasn't even been that long since Mom passed, and you've already replaced her. Now you're letting her live here, in our own home."
Anna's discomfort was clear. She gently set her spoon down and placed a hand over Xavier's, which was clenched tightly in anger.
"It's okay, Xavier," she said softly. "I can stay in one of our other houses. Let's give Dylan some space. I understand that he hasn't accepted me yet."
"I won't allow it," Xavier said sharply. "I make the rules in this house. Whether he likes it or not, you will live here."
Dylan finally stopped eating, his chair scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed back and rose to his feet.
"Your house?" he scoffed bitterly. "Funny how you remember that now. Too bad you didn't think of that when Mom was sick. The time when she needed you most-but you weren't there."
His words cut through the air like a blade, cold and merciless. Without waiting for a response, Dylan turned his back and walked briskly toward his room.
Xavier's brows furrowed, his face darkened as his son's words sank deep. Fury surged through him, and with a sharp motion, he slammed his palm against the table, rattling the dishes in helpless anger.
Anna flinched but remained silent, her gaze drifting toward the hallway where Dylan had disappeared-her expression soft with pity, yet hiding something unreadable.
On his way back to his room, Dylan passed by his mother's bedroom. Memories flooded his mind-her laughter, her warmth, the life she once filled the house with.
Then Anna crossed his thoughts. Quiet. Composed. Perfectly polite. She smelled of expensive perfume and new handbags. Her smiles were gentle but calculated.
Nothing like his mom, Dylan thought bitterly. Nothing like home.
He hurried into his room and grabbed his car keys. He couldn't stay here-not with a stranger living in his mother's house.
Minutes later, the low growl of his engine broke the stillness of the driveway as he pulled away, the afternoon sun still hanging high in the sky.
His hands clenched the steering wheel, jaw tight, his father's words echoing relentlessly in his head.
He drove without direction, the city blurring past, until frustration forced him to pull over. He sat there for a long moment, staring blankly ahead.
Finally, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts. His thumb hesitated before pressing call.
"Bro, it's me," he said flatly when Jake answered.
"Let's go out later. I need a drink."
After a pause, he added, "Yeah-bring Cholo too. I'll send you the place."