Empire of Hate: A Second Chance Enemies to Lovers Romance

My childhood is a phase that I like to consider nonexistent.

It was a splash of eating disorders, a loss of faith in my cheating father, and a deep-seated hatred for the woman who allowed him to get away with it.

The woman who chose misery for herself and her sons instead of walking away about…thirty-one years ago, before Zach was even born.

The Zach who held her hand and couldn’t care less about her status as a meek woman who didn’t mind being used any way Benedict Sterling saw fit.

Both of them are staring at me now.

Mother is grabbing the napkin that’s on her lap with long, skinny fingers that reflect the rest of her body. She’s an abstract of bones and flesh wrapped in a designer dress and jewelry that cost a small fortune.

She doesn’t even wear the known brands; the actual rich get to dress from obscure brands only people like us know about. Brands that sell you a shirt for twenty thousand pounds to make you feel more important than the mainstream brand people.

Her red lips part before she reaches a hand and pats her perfectly styled French twist. Her hair is a dark shade of blonde that she passed me a portion of.

But I always had my father’s eyes. A fact we both hated but never voiced out loud.

“Daniel.” It’s my brother who speaks, his voice toneless, and his stance is upright but not rigid.

Zach is two years older than me, has my father’s dark hair and my mother’s steel-gray eyes. He used to be broader than me, the type who slaved at the gym for a perfect body, but it doesn’t seem that he kept that dedication now. He’s leaner, which makes him appear taller even when he’s not standing.

“That’s my place.” I point at where he’s sitting, at the head of the table, as if this is his damn house.

“Nonsense.” He already has the napkin tucked neatly into his shirt which means he’s ready to eat. “You forfeited your leading position eleven years ago and you have no right to demand it now.”

I narrow my eyes, but despite the tension in my spine, there’s something off about the way he speaks, the way his stance is.

It’s almost…robotic.

Zach was more fun than me—if you can believe that. I let my father’s behavior get under my skin and ruin my perception about things, namely food and relationships. My brother, however, tucked it all in a neat box, threw it in the rubbish, and lived the life he wanted to.

So his tone and voice are grating me the wrong way.

A soft hand touches my arm before Nicole stares up at me with enough brightness to light a whole fucking room. “You can sit down anywhere.”

“You did this.” It’s not a question, because I’m sure it was all her idea.

The fact that she was stalling for time, made dinner for an army, and prepared the table for four.

“You can’t possibly ignore your family forever.”

“Watch me.” I glare at them. “Have the food and get the fuck out. Better yet, leave without eating.”

“Daniel.” Nicole gasps, watching me as if I grew a few more horns than what a devil is allowed.

Well, surprise, baby. I’m still the jerk who made your and everyone else’s life hell.

“Dan…please.” Mother’s voice is brittle, which means she’s probably about to cry. That’s what she used to do every day, every night.

It’s her side gig. Aside from giving us prophets’ names in a vain attempt to save our arses from hell.

“Too late for begging, don’t you think, Mother? Here’s a thought, how about you do us both a favor and leave?”

Zach interlinks his fingers on the table. “Since we’re all here and there’s food, we might as well eat.”

“No thanks,” I say.

I’m about to leave when Mother blurts, “Zach had an accident.”

“Nice try, Mother. Next time you’ll tell me his arm is artificial and he’s surviving on Viagra to shag. Can’t you hear how desperate you are?”

I expect Zach to spar with me, verbally or physically. He was always the number one defender and the founder of Nora Sterling’s fan club. Even when she neglected us both for her husband-related issues.

However, my brother is sipping from his soup, his expression unchanged. “I like the chef. I’m moving him to my estate.”

“Like fuck you will.” I wrap an arm around Nicole’s waist, a blinding sense of possessiveness gripping me by the throat.

“We’ll see about that.”

My urge to punch him snaps my shoulder blades together. And why the hell is he saying that with a perfectly straight face? Is this a joke?

“Get out of my fucking house, Zach. Take Mother with you.”

“I decline. I made a dent in my schedule to accept Nicole’s invitation to dine here and I’ll only leave when that’s done.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin, staring at me with soulless eyes. “And I’m taking the cook with me.”

I lunge at him then, grabbing the collar of his shirt and the stupid fucking napkin.

A long time ago, we used to wrestle for sport. It was also our way to get our parents’ nonexistent attention. Zach never, and I mean never, allowed me to win, or take a punch at him.

He was the sort of older brother who made sure I knew who held the power and frustrated me beyond belief.

But right now, he doesn’t even attempt to fight as I hit him. “You’re taking no one!”

Blood explodes in his nose, but he doesn’t even touch it. Or me. His hands are still on the table with the spoon in his fingers.

“Oh my God, Zach!” Mother runs toward us like a shotgun, getting a napkin and wiping his nose.

Nicole grasps my wrist and pulls me back, but she doesn’t need force for it. I was already letting go of him.

I saw something in his eyes just now.

Or more like…nothing.

There was no trace of the Zach I’ve known most of my life. It’s like a ghost exists on his behalf.

Tears glisten in my mother’s eyes as she dabs away the blood from his face. He seems more pressed to go back to eating as if that’s his sole purpose for being here.

“Can you please hear me out?” Mother asks, fawning over him like the doting mother she rarely was.

I remain silent, but I take a seat to Zach’s right.

“Alone?” Mother gives Nicole an apologetic glance. “This is a delicate matter.”

“Yes, sure.” Nicole starts to leave, but I grab her hand and force her to sit beside me.

“If you want to talk to me, she’ll be here.”

Mother twists her lips like a child having a tantrum, then she releases a deep sigh and retakes her seat, then neatly places the napkin on her lap. “The thing is…I never thought you’d come back, Daniel.”

“We actually agree on something. Shocker.” I pick up the spoon to keep at least one of my hands from fisting. The other is at my thigh, slightly curling.

The reason why I’m estranged from the two only family members I have left isn’t only because of my father’s fiasco.

But mostly because they remind me of a weak version of me. Of the young Daniel who was desperate enough to cause trouble so his own parents, the people who should’ve been forced by nature to nurture him, would finally see him over all their shit.

Spoiler alert. They never did.

Mother pours herself a glass of wine, then drinks half of it before meeting my gaze. “Zach was in a crash seven years ago and suffered from a traumatic brain injury. I tried to call you, but you told me, “Wrong number,” and hung up.”

“Sounds legit.”

Nicole gives me a side-eye.

“What? I told them to forget about me. Not my fault they have trouble moving on.”

And Astrid did mention that Zach had an accident, but I ignored her once I knew he was alive.

“A mother can’t forget about her own child.” Her eyes fill with tears again. She likes to paint herself as the victim, to be completely and utterly pitied.

“Oh, so now I’m your child? Sorry, kind of lost sight of that during all the years of emotional neglect.” A small hand wraps around mine, and I force myself not to look at Nicole, not to get trapped into her again.

It’s because of her that I’m even in this predicament, facing a part of me I wished to keep buried until I was six feet under.

The woman who gave birth to me swallows thickly. “Daniel, please…”

“Save it, Mother. Tell me about Zach. Why is he barely even blinking?”

“I don’t know how to say it…”

“I’m over here and can tell you about myself.” My brother’s eyes meets mine, and once again, I’m caught in their ghostly quality and the black hollowness inside them. “Due to the head injury, I have Alexithymia. That means I don’t recognize emotions anymore and I’m considered a heartless bastard, or that’s what I’ve been told by the incompetent executive directors I fired.”

Mother starts weeping, always, without doubt, turning the attention to her. Nicole releases my hand and goes to comfort her as if she’s a baby.

Zach—who’s the cause of all the distress—continues sipping his soup with no care in the world.

And for the first time since I left England, I think maybe I made a mistake.

Maybe if I stayed, if he didn’t have to take care of Mother’s dramatics and Father’s death on his own, he wouldn’t have had that crash. He wouldn’t be a ghost of his previous self.

I would still have the Zach who laughed more than necessary and taught me how to touch a girl right and bring both of us pleasure.

The Zach who stayed by my side whenever I got sick because my mother was too busy throwing a self-pity party to take care of me.

“We’re trying to hide his condition,” Mother says in a brittle voice. “Since he refuses to get married or have children, people will eventually find out and the shareholders will kick him out. Oh, you don’t know how much I’ve suffered.”

“Shut up, Mother,” I say calmly.

“Excuse me?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mother.” I’m louder now, unhinged by all the emotions that have been running rampant in me. “Stop turning everything about you when Zach was the one who had an accident. This is about him, not you, not me. Him. So stop making it about you!”

Her wails turn up in volume and the only reason I’m not going full on aggressive mode on her drama queen antics is because I can’t keep my attention away from Zach.

My brother watches us like we’re the dullest animals in a zoo.

Now I recognize the emptiness in his gaze. It’s complete and utter apathy, as if being alive is the most boring thing he’s ever had to do.

My hand fists on the spoon. “Are you struggling?”

He meets my gaze. “With what?”

“Anything? Everything?”

“I’ve never been better, but Mother likes to act in such…an overly expressive way.”

Tell me about it.

“I’m just looking out for you,” she sobs while Nicole holds her shoulder. “I’m doing my best to protect the family name and company.”

“Which I’m doing an excellent job at by doubling its profit,” Zach says.

“But if they find out…”

“They won’t, Mother. You’re making an event out of nothing.”

Something she likes to do, but I keep those words to myself out of fear that she’ll burst into another wave of tears.

The rest of the dinner is strained to say the least. Mostly because Zach’s lack of empathy makes him not only stoic but also kind of evil. His thoughts, principles, and perspectives have taken a one hundred eighty-degree dive and he’s now a true nihilist.

Nothing is important and everything is senseless and useless.

By the end of the night, he says he’ll drive my drunk mother home.

She had too much wine, no surprise there, and she’s the type who bursts into tears when drunk. No surprise there either.

“Thank you, Nicole.” She pulls her into a long hug. “Thank you for bringing my baby home.”

“I’m neither back nor am I your baby.” I resist the urge to inform everyone that I’m the one who brought Nicole back, not the other way around.

But then again, if it weren’t for the fucker, whom Kyle informed me that he can’t take a piss without crying like a whore, I wouldn’t have returned. I wouldn’t have learned about my brother’s condition.

So I guess Nicole did bring me back.

That doesn’t mean I’m less pissed off at her.

“You can hate me all you want, but you’ll always be my baby.” She releases Nicole to grant me one of her rare hugs. One I don’t return. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a good mother, Danny. I’m sorry I never grew a backbone, but if you give me a chance, I’ll try.”

I say nothing, and she eventually lets me go and sways on her feet, her tears cascading down her face. Zach grabs her by the arm and nods at me. “If you intend to stay, let me know.”

“I don’t. And Zach?”

“Yes?”

“You hated me back then.”

“Back when?”

“When I left. Why?”

“I suppose I disliked the fact that you were running away. You’re not a coward, Daniel. But you acted like one, and that probably grated on my nerves.”

“Past tense?”

He smiles a little, then taps the side of his head. “The benefit of this brain is that I couldn’t care less anymore.”

Then he drags my mother who’s blabbering about her sons and herself and how much she regrets everything.

As soon as the driver speeds out, I want to hit something.

Anything.

And just right then, Nicole comes in front of me, in her white dress and a little smile. “I’m glad you guys could finally talk.”

“That makes one of us.”

I turn around and head to the kitchen. One of the tea monsters, the gardener, sees my face and bolts out with a bow.

Good choice because I’m contemplating drowning him in his tea.

I swing the cupboard open and wrench out a bottle of whiskey, the expensive type, the one that will get me drunk slower but deeper.

Nicole comes to my side while I’m popping the bottle open. Or trying to, anyway; the thing is stuck as if mocking me as well.

“Are you mad?” she asks cautiously.

“Am I mad? Oh, let me see. You invited my mother and brother over when I’m barely on speaking terms with them and forgot to mention that detail. On a scale of zero to ten, I’m one hundred at being mad.”

“You had to speak to them eventually.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“So you’re okay with not knowing about your brother’s condition?”

“He’s fine. He’s not paralyzed or incapacitated. Stop channeling the Nora Sterling in you and making this into a big fucking drama that it isn’t.” I forcibly pop the bottle and drink straight from it, dousing my throat with burning liquor.

“Well, I’m sorry that I tried to bring you close to your family.”

“Apology accepted.”

She glares, then crosses her arms over her chest. “You know what? Screw you, Daniel. I’m retracting that apology, because I know I did the right thing and you would know it, too, if you weren’t too busy being a dick.”

“The right thing? Since when are you a saint, Nicole? You like using people, so let’s hear it. What did you intend to gain from this? My mother’s favor? My brother’s attention? Did you put all that effort into the food so that he’d decide to keep you as his warm hole?”

The sound comes first, loud and deafening in the silence of the house. Then the sting of her palm against my cheek follows. There’s an unnatural shine in her eyes, but the tears don’t escape. “I’m no one’s warm hole, including yours. And I only put in all that effort for you. To make you happy as you made me yesterday by bringing Uncle Henry, but apparently, I made a mistake. I always make mistakes when it comes to you and it’s time I learn to not make them anymore.”

And then she strides out of the kitchen like a storm.

I slowly close my eyes and take a sip of the whiskey, knowing full well that I screwed it all up.

Not that it wasn’t meant to be screwed eventually.