Chapter 4 ANDRE

"Your father would be proud of the man you've become," Damien said.

"Cut to the chase. What do you want?" I muttered without looking up. I was tired of his performance.

"Show me some respect. I'm still your uncle."

"Then act like one," Michael chimed in coldly.

Damien scoffed. "Shouldn't he give us some privacy? This is a delicate matter."

"Just so you know," Michael said as he stood up, "the only reason I'm leaving is because of Andre."

He walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Finally," Damien sighed.

"I don't have much time," I said, dropping my pen and leaning back in my chair. "So if you have something to say, say it."

Damien nodded. "The thing is... you won, Andre. I'd like to call a truce."

My fingers stilled. I looked him dead in the eye, my face hardening.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"No. Andre-"

"Enough." I stood, my blood boiling. Something about this man always brought out the worst in me. "You tried to have me removed from my father's company just to take it for yourself." I grabbed him by the collar, pulling him to his feet. "You made my father worry himself into an early grave. You bribed the board members, divided the company, and you succeeded-"

"Please, Andre, let's put all that behind us-"

"What do you take me for? A fool?"

"Andre-"

"Do you know what I had to do to get back what was rightfully mine?" My voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "Do you know how many people I hurt in the process?" I adjusted his tie with false gentleness. "You don't just walk in and call a truce, Damien. Not when I'm this close to ruining you."

"Surely you understand-it wasn't personal. It was just business."

"Business," I repeated, laughing bitterly. "You made millions off my father's death-your own brother. And you call that business?"

"Andre-" he croaked, gagging as I pulled his tie tight against his throat.

I let go.

He stumbled back, coughing and gasping for air. I straightened my jacket, suppressing the urge to do more.

"Get out."

I turned my back to him and didn't look again. I heard his footsteps fade behind me. The silence left in his wake was heavy with rage and grief.

He had made me like this-full of anger, full of vengeance.

"Andre, I just saw your uncle leave. What happened?" came my mother's voice.

What the hell was she doing here?

I picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. "Samantha, never let my mother into my office without notifying me first. Next time, you're fired."

"What is that supposed to mean, Andre?" she said sharply.

"What do you want?" I asked as I sat back down. I had no time for another round of her dramatics.

"I'm worried about you, Andre."

I ignored her and resumed working.

"You barely speak to me anymore. Did I do something wrong?"

"I don't have time for this."

"Would it be so terrible if I asked to have lunch with my son?"

I gave her a deadpan glare. "If this is about the past-"

"I'm sorry!" she cut in, sitting in front of me. "How long do you want me to keep apologizing? Just know that whatever I did, I did it for you."

"I never asked you to."

"Ever since I lost your father-"

"Aren't you tired of using him as your excuse?" I snapped, exhausted by the same old script.

"Alright then," she said, gathering herself. "So what about that lunch?"

"That won't be possible."

"Can't you make time?"

"I can. But I won't."

She sighed. "You should know I'm trying, okay? I'm tired of us always fighting."

"I thought you enjoyed that."

"I did," she admitted. "But not anymore."

I dropped my pen again and leaned forward, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Drop the act, Mother."

"I'm serious. I've changed. I'm tired of fighting."

"Do you want to know why we're not on good terms?" I asked.

"Yes. Please."

"Do you remember what I told you after I married Sandra?"

"No..."

"I told you never to visit without me being home. Does that ring a bell?"

She looked stunned.

"You knew-"

"Sandra and I had an understanding," I continued. "We were in a marriage of agreement. We respected each other's boundaries."

"I was only looking out for you!" she defended.

"By feeding her lies? Calling her a gold digger? Embarrassing her every chance you got?"

"Couldn't you see that she was a gold digger?"

"JUST LISTEN TO YOURSELF!" I shouted. "You were just apologizing five minutes ago. And now you're right back to who you've always been. The truth is, you can't change."

"Stop, Andre-" she sniffed.

"I know I hurt her, but you... you're a different breed." I laughed bitterly. "You disgust me. You tormented her. And worst of all, you paid online trolls to harass her."

Her eyes widened in horror. She knew I knew.

"I didn't know what came over me," she whispered. "I was so blinded by rage after your father died-"

"Are we back to that again?" I rolled my eyes.

"Please, just... find it in your heart to forgive me."

"I'm not the one you need to ask forgiveness from." I grabbed my jacket and walked out.

---

Michael and I were in his car, heading to God knows where.

"So what did your uncle want?" he asked.

"The old fool wants to call a truce."

"Motherfucker. Why now?"

"How would I know?" I shrugged. "Where are we headed?"

"Anna sent me to get bread and pastries from a bakery she loves."

"What bakery?"

"I don't even know the name. But she swears by it-it's her favorite."

"If it's so popular, why haven't I heard of it?"

"Maybe because you haven't done anything remotely fun for yourself in a while."

"That's not entirely true," I muttered as we pulled over.

The bakery was cozy, bright, and warm. There were paintings on the walls-one of fruit caught my eye. Customers were lined up, happily chatting, and being attended to by cheerful staff.

A few women whispered while staring in my direction, trying to place where they knew me from. Damn. I should've worn a cap. Last thing I needed was paparazzi outside a bakery.

To avoid eye contact, I stared down at my phone and started pressing random buttons-pretending to be busy, even pulling up the calculator.

Then Michael's phone rang. His face went pale.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's Anna. Her water just broke."

"Well then, go! What are you waiting for?"

"I-"

"Go," I said, both excited and... envious. He was about to be a father.

A father. Would I have been one if things with Sandra had gone differently? If we'd given our marriage a real chance-would it have worked?

I sat down at a table, typing away on my phone, waiting for someone to take my order.

"What would you like, sir?" a voice asked.

I looked down. A boy, wearing an apron, stood in front of me with a notepad and pen.

Was this a joke?

I glanced around. Every other customer was being served by adults.

Maybe if I waited long enough, someone else would come.

"Sir, I said-what would you like to have?" the boy asked again, this time with more edge.

I was rarely intimidated by anyone. But there was something about this kid... Something eerily familiar.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt like I was staring at a younger version of myself.

I leaned forward slightly.

"What's your name?" I asked, quietly.