2. Nik

“Nikolaas.”

The voice comes through the speaker, cold and detached. And then I know. It’s really him. Bram. Not his lackeys or attorneys. He actually wants to speak to me after all this time.

“Yeah,” I reply guardedly into the phone. I stand up straighter, glancing around my lavish flat. The city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft, warm glow across the elegantly furnished living room.

How long has it been since we’ve had a real conversation? I can’t even remember. Years certainly. But this isn’t a friendly catch-up call in the dead of night; there’s an ulterior motive here.

We tread lightly, our words cautious and calculated as if navigating a minefield. The silence hangs heavy between us, loaded with unspoken tension and unanswered questions accumulated over the years apart.

I hear the dull roar of a crowd in the background—laughter, clinking glasses, snippets of mingled conversations. Some ritzy gala or exclusive soiree, no doubt. Bram always did prefer the company of the elite to family. The sole thought ignites a spark of bitterness in me.

Bram cuts straight to the chase, wasting no time with pleasantries. “Our situation has changed,” he announces abruptly. His voice is clipped and business-like, as if negotiating a deal rather than addressing his estranged brother.

I brace myself against the smooth, polished windowsill. Rain patters against the glass outside, beading and running in rivulets down the pane. I stare into the gloomy street below, steeling myself for whatever revelation is about to come.

“Our uncle died,” Bram continues, his voice devoid of any emotion. “I’m head of the family now.”

Uncle Gert. The bitter man who always resented us, and we felt the same in return. That’s just how it is in our twisted family—it’s all about power plays and politics, nothing is ever truly personal.

I know better than to offer any condolences, so I take a deep breath before responding. “Congratulations,” I force out through gritted teeth, unsure of what else to say or do in this situation. What does Bram want from me? And more importantly, how will I disappoint him again this time?

I wait for him to elaborate on how this impacts me, why he’s made this sudden contact from so far away. Only silence meets my unspoken questions.

Finally, impatiently, he adds, “With the old fool gone and no other heirs, the Draken estate and company fall to me now, you understand.”

My free hand curls into a tight fist, fueled by the subtle condescension in his words. I purse my lips, reading between the lines. So, that’s Bram’s aim—to consolidate even more wealth and power in his hands, while I continue gathering dust out of sight. The spark of bitterness flares brighter. I should be indifferent; this changes nothing for me. Yet somehow, it still stings.

“Oh, and... just so you know, I’m not getting married anymore.” Bram throws the words dispassionately.

My mind reels in disbelief. Engaged? My brother was engaged, and I had no idea? “Bram—” I stammer, but he cuts me off before I can ask any questions.

I hear Bram slipping away from the party crowd, the background noise fading. When he speaks again, his voice is hushed with secrecy.

“Listen, Uncle Gert’s departure from this world was... controversial, to say the least...” he murmurs wryly. “Taking over his estate will surely bring its own set of challenges, as my legitimacy is questioned by those who seek to undermine my rule.”

I can’t restrain a flare of vicious satisfaction at the thought of the great and mighty Bram facing contested power for once. But I force the unworthy feeling down. Now is not the time to relish in his struggles, however tempting.

“What do you need?” I ask evenly, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

“You. Here.” He gives no further details. Of course—Bram expects me to come running from across an ocean the instant he crooks his finger, no questions asked. Resume my role as the obedient younger brother despite the years of silence stretching between us... Typical Bram.

I bristle at his commanding, arrogant tone. “Here?” I ask tightly. Does he mean Paris, London, New York? For a week to prop up appearances? Months mired as a pawn in Draken family politics? As always, he provides no specifics, keeping me blind and pliable to his will. It’s infuriating.

I take a slow breath, tamping down the resentment bubbling up inside me. “Alright,” I reply evenly. Choosing uneasy peace over provoking futile conflict. For now.

“I’m putting you on the first flight to Paris tomorrow,” Bram declares briskly. “I’ll have an assistant courier the details.”

And with that, he terminates the call abruptly. No forewarning, no chance to negotiate terms or logistics. Just an imperial command expecting unquestioning obedience. I lower the phone, stare at the blank screen. The spark of anger flares, then surges into an open flame.

Damn him! Why does Bram always treat me like an afterthought? A pawn to be shuffled around his board on a whim? He’s my own brother, for gods’ sake! But apparently, our blood means nothing to him.

Fury surges through me, molten in my veins. My chest heaves as breathing quickens, heart hammering against my ribs. My jaw sets with such force that I let out a growl from the back of my throat. Some primal instinct takes over, my fingers clenching around the phone in a white-knuckled grip.

There’s a loud crack, sharp plastic biting into my palm. I stare down at the crushed device, mangled beyond repair. Slowly, I uncurl my fingers, stunned. I did this? With what hidden strength? I’m definitely not on steroids or any performance enhancers.

I step back, phone shards littering the carpet like glittering confetti. “What the hell?” I mutter, shaken. First the bombshell call, now this unexplained force rising from deep within me.

I don’t have time to dwell on it. I know Bram will expect compliance, no matter how I might wish to resist his control. For now, I have no choice but to play the obedient brother once more.

As I examine the ruined device, a notification pops up on the broken screen. “Oh, come on! Seriously?” I squint, trying to make out the words through the shattered glass. Dammit, now I have to get a new phone.

My wristwatch lights up with an alert—the promised travel details. I read the flight information and let out a string of curses. I have barely enough time to shove some clothes in a suitcase before the car arrives to convey me to this new prison.

I slam the useless phone on the counter and rush to my bedroom, adrenaline pumping through me. One thought ricochets through my mind as I pack hurriedly—perhaps in Paris I can finally regain some small freedom for myself outside Bram’s suffocating web. It’s a slim hope, but right now, it’s all I have to cling to.