Aiden had spent the last few days hiding in the sanctuary of his sprawling estate, trying to drown the relentless buzz of his problems in cheap whiskey and the numbing silence of solitude. The quiet had been a balm, a temporary reprieve from the chaos stalking him, until the shrill, persistent ringing of the doorbell shattered the fragile peace.
"Could I just get a damn moment of silence?" he growled, slamming the glass down onto the cluttered coffee table. He dragged himself up, cursing under his breath as he made his way to the door, dreading the interruption.
When the door swung open, the sight on the other side stole the sharp retort he was ready to unleash. Standing there, stiff and uncomfortable, were his parents and Kyle—his brother by bond, if not by blood. Concern painted his mother’s face, while his father’s expression was a mask of disdain, eyes narrowing at his disheveled, hungover son.
"God, you look like hell," Thomas spat without preamble, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "And those eyes... It’s barely noon, and you’re already wasted? When was the last time you drank anything besides that poison? Or better yet, when did you last shower? I can smell the booze from here."
"A simple hello would’ve sufficed," Aiden shot back, the edge in his voice barely masking the hurt beneath.
Without a word, Thomas pushed past him, stepping inside with the confidence of a man who owned everything in sight. Lydia followed, her gaze flickering between her son and her husband, a silent plea for peace lingering in the air.
"Will you two ever get along?" Lydia’s voice was soft but laced with a weariness that suggested this question had no answer.
"It’s not me," Aiden muttered, barely audible. "It’s him." The word ‘father’ felt foreign on his tongue, a relic from a relationship long corroded by disappointment and unmet expectations.
Memories flooded back—Thomas’s cold ultimatum after Aiden’s reckless years post-high school, the forced hand that pushed him into the corporate world he loathed. The man who built Grayson Enterprises from nothing had dreamed of his son ascending that throne, but Aiden had always resisted, wanting nothing to do with the golden cage.
Years ago, Thomas laid down the law in a brutal speech that still echoed in Aiden’s mind. "I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Aiden James! Your behavior is unacceptable. Your mother and I will not stand for your disgrace any longer. You’ve made a laughingstock of this family. It’s time to stop acting like a child and start being a man. Cut out the partying, the drugs, the drinking, and the women. Step up, or be cut off forever."
That ultimatum had been a turning point, swallowing Aiden’s defiance with a bitter gulp. Financial survival forced him to accept the role his father carved out for him, though rebellion simmered beneath the surface. Every insult, every calculated snub was a silent rebellion, a child’s petty war against a man who never sought to understand him.
Thomas’s decision to appoint Kyle as CFO was a strategic masterstroke, placing the responsible brother alongside the reluctant CEO to balance out the company’s helm. Kyle had stepped into the role with resolute determination, embodying everything Aiden was not—diligent, reliable, and fiercely loyal to their father’s vision.
Despite the gulf between them, Aiden harbored no ill will toward Kyle. They’d been inseparable since childhood, bonded not by blood but by shared history. When Kyle’s parents died, Aiden’s family took him in, weaving him into their complicated tapestry.
Yet the closeness between Kyle and Thomas was a painful mirror reflecting what Aiden lacked—a connection he envied but didn’t dare seek. With Kyle, everything was orderly, predictable, and sanctioned by their father’s approval. With Aiden, it was chaos, contempt, and unspoken disappointment.
Now, standing in the ruined quiet of his mansion with his family invading his sanctuary, Aiden felt the old wounds tear open. The whiskey haze dulled his senses but not the sting of familiarity—the coldness, the judgment, the chains he’d been shackled with since he was a boy.
He moved to the kitchen, grabbing another bottle, the weight of his father’s words heavy in his ears. Kyle watched with a mix of pity and frustration, his responsible demeanor a stark contrast to Aiden's unraveling state.
"You need to pull yourself together," Kyle said quietly, avoiding the glare from Thomas. "This... this isn’t you. You’ve got to face it head-on, or everything will fall apart."
Aiden scoffed, the sarcasm a brittle shield. "Easy for you to say. You never had to live in this mess. You’re the golden boy. Always have been."
Kyle’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Lydia stepped forward, placing a tentative hand on Aiden’s shoulder. "We’re here because we care," she said softly. "All of us. Even your father."
Thomas’s gaze softened fractionally, but the hardness remained. "This family didn’t build an empire so it could be torn down by a reckless son. Shape up, Aiden, or step aside."
The words landed like a hammer, but beneath the fury, a spark flickered—Aiden’s resolve. Despite everything, this was his legacy too. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running from the inevitable and start fighting on his own terms.
As the tension thickened, Aiden swallowed the bitter taste of defeat mixed with defiance. The battle lines had been drawn yet again within these walls, but this time, the war was far from over.