chapter 5
1564 Words
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The city skyline outside an office window was painted in harsh streaks of dying sunlight and the blinking red lights of helicopters making their final descent into the heart of downtown. Kieran Delmonico barely noticed. His eyes were glued to the financial reports glowing on the massive screen before him. The soft, sterile glow of his office was the only light he tolerated this late. His assistant was also working endlessly on his duty post. The entire building was a hollow, echoing testament to his endless work ethic.
Work was his fortress. His battlefield. His escape.
His jaw clenched as he scanned the numbers again, fingers drumming on the cold glass of his desk. The mergers were behind schedule, the stocks were dipping by decimal points that, to him, felt like a personal insult. Every detail mattered. Every fraction of profit loss was another war he had to win.
Then—his phone buzzed.
Annoyed, he glanced at the screen, prepared to ignore it as he did most personal calls. But the name made his entire body stiffen.
Mom.
The device vibrated insistently, as if daring him to ignore her.
With a sharp sigh of irritation, Kieran stabbed the answer button, leaning back into his leather chair.
"Mother," he said coldly, his tone more suited for business meetings than family conversations.
There was a pause on the other end, as though she was weighing how much of his frost she was willing to endure tonight.
"Kieran," came her soft, ever-patient voice. "You're still at the office, aren't you?"
"I don’t have time for games, Mom. Why are you calling?" he asked
There was a soft chuckle, but it held no humor. "Straight to the point, as always."
He said nothing, letting the silence speak for him.
After a breath, she said gently, "We're having a family gathering this weekend. Your brother might fly in from London, and your cousins would be present... Well, you know how much it means to your father and me to have everyone together, even if it's just for one night." his mom said
Kieran's fingers curled tighter around the edge of the desk. Family. Reunions. Pointless dinners with hollow conversations and carefully rehearsed laughs. He hated them. Every minute dragged like nails on glass.
"I'm busy," he said flatly. "You know that."
"Kieran..." Her voice cracked just slightly, as though she was carefully holding something fragile behind her words.
"You said that last year. And the year before. Your father—he doesn't say it, but it hurts him, you know. It hurts me." she added
Emotion. Guilt. Sentiment. Weapons he refused to acknowledge in the ruthless world he built for himself.
"Business doesn’t pause for birthdays or family dinners, Mom. You know this." His tone was like ice wrapped in steel.
There was a beat of painful silence on the line. The kind that pressed against the chest like a dull weight.
"Maybe that's why you're always alone in that big office, Kieran," she whispered, the words trembling with restrained hurt.
"Maybe the empire you're so determined to build isn't worth much if there's no one left at the table." she added
His jaw locked so tightly it ached.
"I'll send a gift. Have the butler arrange it." he said
"I don't want your money, Kieran." Her voice broke then, the pain seeping through the cracks. "I want my son." she added
He swallowed hard, something foreign twisting deep in his gut.
"Please, Kie," she added quietly, using the childhood nickname no one dared call him anymore.
"Just this once. Come home. For me." she added
He closed his eyes for a brief second, but when he opened them again, they were hollow, shielded, the walls back in place.
"I'll think about it," he muttered.
But they both knew it was a lie.
She sighed softly, as if accepting her defeat one more time. "I'll tell your father you said hello."
The call ended with a soft click.
Kieran stared at the silent phone for a long moment, the ghost of his mother's voice lingering in the sterile coldness of the office. He exhaled slowly, like a man who had been punched in the chest without warning.
And yet, despite every cell in his body telling him to bury himself in work, his fingers hovered over his calendar app.
Family reunion.
He scowled bitterly.
Why did that word feel heavier than any hostile takeover?
---
The marble floors of the Delmonico estate gleamed under the golden glow of the chandelier, but to Kieran Delmonico, the place felt suffocating. Cold. Lifeless. Like everything about his family.
He stood at the grand doorway, perfectly tailored suit, tie knotted flawlessly, but the stiffness in his jaw gave away the storm brewing inside him. His mother, Ava Delmonico, hovered near the dining hall entrance, her manicured hands wringing nervously.
“Kieran, please,” she whispered, almost pleading. “Your father… he’s been looking forward to this dinner. Can you try—just for tonight—not to make it a battlefield?”
He let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “Is that what this is? A dinner? Or another performance for the family ?” His voice was like steel, cold and sharp.
“Kie…” Ava’s voice cracked as she used the name only she dared call him. “Just try. For me.”
He said nothing but brushed past her, his scent—woodsy cologne and icy indifference—lingering in the air. He stepped into the grand dining room, where the Delmonico clan had assembled like mannequins posing for a portrait of perfection.
His father, Charles Delmonico, sat at the head of the table, whiskey glass in hand, his gray eyes calculating, dissecting, judging.
“Kieran,” Charles said without warmth.
"you're late, dinner started 30 minutes ago" Charles said
"let's just say I had more important matters to attend to" Kieran said
“well it's Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence. I was beginning to think your calendar was too cluttered with… insignificant affairs.”
The subtle jab didn’t go unnoticed. Kieran’s lips curled into a tight, dangerous smirk. “What can I say, Father? I try to keep my schedule clear for the important things… like public executions.”
A few awkward chuckles echoed from the distant relatives and cousins seated along the table. His mother’s hand trembled as she poured herself more wine.
Dinner began with the usual suffocating pleasantries, hollow conversations about stocks, mergers, and who had married into what family and Kieran noticed that he's brother was not present only insignificant family relations.
And then, the conversation turned to what Kieran hated most—his personal life.
“kieran,” Charles said, his voice thick with authority. “We need to discuss your… future. You're not getting any younger. You can’t possibly think it’s suitable to continue this bachelor charade while the family name—our empire—hangs in the balance.”
Kieran’s fork clattered onto the porcelain plate. The air crackled with tension.
“You mean the empire I built, Father? The deals I negotiated? The billions I added to your stale fortune?” His voice remained eerily calm, but the fury in his eyes was undeniable. “Forgive me if I find your sudden concern for my marital status laughable.”
Charles’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Business is not just about numbers, Kieran. It’s about alliances. And your recklessness could destroy everything I spent building over the years.” Charles said
"with that in mind I invited Mr Alexander's daughter over tomorrow, she'll be coming here by 2 and I expect you to be present and don't be late. Charles added
Kieran pushed back his chair with such force the room fell into a suffocating silence.
“I don’t need your lectures. And I sure as hell don’t need your matchmaking schemes,” he spat, loosening his tie as if the room itself was strangling him. “Enjoy your performance, Father. I’m done.”
Ignoring the horrified gasps and his mother’s trembling voice calling his name, Kieran stormed out of the mansion, his shoes echoing like gunshots on the marble floors.
He drove.
He didn’t know where.
He just drove.
Miles away from the suffocating chains of the Delmonico estate, Kieran finally pulled over on a deserted stretch of road that overlooked the endless city lights. The skyline blurred like a painting as he sat behind the wheel of his sleek black Aston Martin, the engine purring beneath him like a beast barely caged.
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the passenger seat—the same one he kept for nights like these when the weight of his name, his family, his empire became too much to carry.
The burn of the liquor down his throat was the only thing that felt real tonight.
He poured another. And another.
The cold leather seat beneath him, the empty darkness outside, the smell of expensive alcohol—it was the only company he wanted.
His head leaned back against the seat, his vision spinning.
For the first time in years, the ruthless, untouchable Kieran Delmonico let the mask fall.
And in the deafening silence of the night, he allowed himself to feel the bitterness, the anger, and the crushing loneliness he hid from the world.
- Writer
