"Thinking about you keeps me up at night in the best way."

[Edited]

Blake's Pov

My youngest brother, Triston, glares at me from across the room as I sit at the head of the table. His hostility is nothing new. Anger flows easily between us, an unspoken language among brothers who never truly liked each other.

There was a time, though, when Triston and I were close. As kids, we were inseparable. But somewhere along the line, we realized we were worlds apart, our differences impossible to bridge.

When I was sixteen and Triston twelve, the distance between us started to grow. He buried himself in his paintings, obsessing over every brushstroke, while I turned into a workaholic, shadowing Dad at every turn. My focus was on learning how to be a "man."

Man, my foot. All Dad ever taught me was how to be a cold-hearted jackass, wielding power like a weapon.

"Are you just going to stare, or are you going to tell us what's going on?" Triston snaps, his tone grating.

I smirk. "Why didn't you come to the funeral?" My words are deliberate, a test of his patience.

His jaw clenches, the telltale sign of his anger simmering beneath the surface. "I was busy," he bites out.

Liar. I know exactly why he didn't come. He was too soft to face it—to face him.

Corbin scoffs, a sound heavy with disdain. He knows the truth as well as I do. We all do. Dad treated each of us differently, and none of us escaped unscathed.

As the eldest, I bore the brunt of his expectations. He was relentless, molding me into his image of power and control. Corbin had it marginally better, though that's not saying much. He was constantly berated for his grades, a target for Dad's emotional attacks.

And then there was Triston. Dad's "teddy bear." He'd take Triston bowling, drop him off at school, buy him boxing gear—all the fatherly acts Corbin and I only dreamed of. The one crack in their relationship was Triston's obsession with painting. Dad hated it, considered it a waste of time. So Triston painted in secret, but we always knew.

A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

"Come in," Corbin says, his voice bored.

Dad's lawyer, Samuel, steps in, his small smile as fake as the rest of him. He bows slightly, clearing his throat as he takes in the tension hanging thick in the room.

"Take a seat," I say, gesturing to the chair beside Triston. Corbin glares but complies, sinking down reluctantly.

"You're three minutes late, Samuel," I note, glancing at my watch.

"My apologies," he says, bowing again. "I was reviewing some files and lost track of time."

"I trust your flight was smooth?"

"Yes, it was," he replies.

I nod. "Good. Let's begin."

Samuel straightens, the practiced air of professionalism taking over. "As you all know, your father is gone. His passing means that someone will have to take over his... throne."

Triston and Corbin's eyes snap to me, their gazes heavy with jealousy and rage. I smirk at them before turning back to Samuel, who shakes his head slightly.

"Surprisingly," Samuel continues, "your father left a letter for all of you. He wanted me to read it aloud. He didn't share its contents with me, but he did say, and I quote, 'It's time for a change.'"

Samuel unfolds the letter, his hands steady despite the charged atmosphere.

"According to your father's letter...

Author's Note

It's my birthday today so why not publish a new chapter for my readers xD