3. Nik

Paris, France.

Home. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?

I sneer at the massive estate before me, feeling like an unwelcome intruder in a museum of my past. Memories of my childhood and parents should come flooding back, but there’s only a blank void. The driver dumps my suitcase unceremoniously at the entrance as a suited man stands waiting. My heart races with nerves and anticipation—I haven’t seen my brother in over ten years. As I step through the threshold, the man with salt and pepper hair gestures for me to follow, his eyes betraying a hint of curiosity about this long-lost prodigal son.

I yank off my leather jacket the instant I step through the doors. The house is like an inferno, but I welcome the heat after traveling in the chilly night air. A roaring fire crackles at the end of the spacious hall, drawing me in with its flickering tongues. Fire has always calmed my restless soul, and now, on the brink of seeing Bram, it soothes me even more.

“The esteemed M. Draken will see you tomorrow,” a man announces in a formal tone.

“Sean will escort you to your room,” another adds, gesturing towards a grand staircase.

I tear my gaze away from the hypnotic flames dancing in the massive stone fireplace. “Tomorrow?” I repeat, my voice echoing off the ornate gilded walls. “I was expecting to see my brother tonight.”

“M. Draken is currently out at the countryside estate,” the man replies tonelessly. “He will return tomorrow for you to meet with him.”

My teeth grind together in frustration. Am I to be treated like a child, another pawn in Bram’s game? No way in hell. The moment I get settled here, I’ll be finding my own place. And I refuse to be cooped up in this mansion, waiting for Bram to grace us with his presence whenever he feels like it.

“I need a car,” I state, straightening to my full height. “You’re his personal assistant, correct?” The man nods. “Have a car out front in twenty minutes.”

Before he can respond, I turn on my heel and ascend the grand curving staircase, polished oak banisters smooth under my trailing fingertips. Behind me, I hear the man stammering assurances to my brooding back.

I pivot sharply, fixing my brother’s assistant with a stern gaze. “And one more thing,” I declare, my tone brooking no argument, “I’ll need a mobile phone as well.”

The assistant nods hastily, clasping his hands in submission. “Consider it taken care of, sir,” he replies obediently.

A wicked smirk slowly spreads across my lips. This is rather pleasant. Might as well enjoy being treated like royalty, even if it means living in my brother’s shadow.

I stumble into the plushly appointed bedroom, the world spinning with a now familiar dizzy fury. Curse these headaches that seem timed to strike each night. I clutch at my throbbing temples, envisioning my pain melting away through sheer willpower.

Sean, the ever-attentive butler Bram has assigned me, lingers in the doorway looking concerned. “Everything alright, sir?” His genteel voice sounds muffled through the pounding agony in my skull.

I fumble for the pill bottle, my saving grace. “I’m fine,” I mutter before placing a bitter tablet under my tongue. Aspirin is useless against these attacks. Only the strongest pills make a dent in this relentless pain. Still, I despise relying on meds to numb my senses.

“Anything you need, sir?” Sean asks dutifully.

I make an effort to adopt a haughty tone despite the hammering inside my head. “That will be all.”

With a graceful bow, Sean takes his leave. The taut line of his mouth betrays disapproval at my curt dismissal.

A long exhale slips through my lips the moment I’m alone, the air thick and stifling as a wool blanket in this accursed house. I rush towards the window, desperate for a breath of fresh air to soothe my restless spirit. As soon as I crack open the pane, a refreshing gust caresses my clammy skin, dulling the haunting pain that constantly gnaws at me.

Where does this unease simmering inside me come from? It’s not Bram—he’s not the spark that ignited these inner flames. This disquiet plagued me long before his imperious summons dragged me back here.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, gazing out at the moonlit courtyard below—an orderly world of manicured hedges, marble fountains, stately palms. So postcard-perfect, yet so foreign to me now. I yearn for the numbing pills to kick in, to grant even a temporary reprieve from this pounding agony in my skull.

Other than presenting a united front for the clan, why did Bram summon me back here after all these years apart? I know he called me to stand as a show of Draken strength against outside threats. But does he believe a lavish room and the family name can compensate for a decade’s absence? I chuckle bitterly at the idea. Nothing can fill the hollow chasm carved inside me so long ago. Though curiosity tinges my distress—what else prompted him to break our silence at last, beyond the obvious political motives? What game is he playing?

I gaze up at the night sky, picking out scattered constellations amidst the Parisian haze, like joining fading dots in an abstract painting. Mother taught me those patterns as a boy. One of the few happy memories not stripped away by time.

I close my eyes, inhaling the heady perfume of roses wafting in from the gardens below, mingling with the smoke of crackling birch logs in the fireplaces winding through the manor. Scents of the past conjure ghosts best left undisturbed.

A bitter realization settles in the pit of my stomach. This place, this house that I once called home... it’s not the haven I thought it would be, not the warm embrace of family and belonging that I’ve been craving for so long.

Instead, it’s a mausoleum, a cold and lifeless shell of a building that echoes with the shadows of yesteryear, the memories of a life that can never be reclaimed. The halls that once rang with laughter and love now stand silent and empty, a stark reminder of all that I’ve lost, all that can never be again.

The clock tower chimes midnight, a mournful toll jolting me from my brooding thoughts. “I need to get out of here,” I mutter under my breath, a prisoner desperate for any respite from these ornate walls steeped in memory.

I lean closer to the glass as a sleek black and red sports car prowls up the long driveway like a jungle cat. A Bugatti Chiron Sport. “Gods, is that... my ride?” I realize with a spark of disbelief. But as I stare at the spotless beauty, I see more than a luxurious vehicle. I see a chance for escape, if only temporary.

Time for a drive to clear my restless mind.

I have no allies here, no friends I can call on in this place that was once home. But the open road and the city night beckon. I need to get away, lose myself for a few reckless hours, feel the wind scour away this lingering unease. Anywhere is better than sitting idle, waiting for dawn and Bram’s return.