The secrets between us

in their fathers shadow

The alarm had dragged me out of a dreamless sleep, and the day had been in motion before my body was truly ready for it. It felt strange slipping into one of my father’s tailored suits, strange and yet somehow inevitable. I had been inside those office walls as a boy, watching from the edges while men and women bustled with papers, charts, and quiet conversations about things that I never understood at the time. But this morning had been different. It was no longer a game of playing pretend.

It was mine now.

Ours, I corrected myself, as I glanced sideways at Edward. My twin brother carried himself with that same infuriating mixture of charm and recklessness he always had. He was restless energy wrapped in a sharp suit, grinning at people in the hallway with a sparkle in his eyes that was as much trouble as it was charisma.

The offices were alive with activity as we stepped through them, sunlight spilling through glass walls and catching the gleam of polished desks. The first thing I noticed wasn’t the computers or the sound of keyboards tapping, it was the women. Graceful, confident women moving from desk to desk, their heels clicking against the marble floor. They were attractive, and I knew Edward had noticed as well. His smirk gave him away.

But this place wasn’t a playground.

I clenched my jaw, reminding myself of what Dad had always told us: Business is clean. You protect the image. You protect the people. You never tarnish the name. It was a heavy mantra, but I carried it like armor, especially with all the eyes that seemed to follow us that morning.

The accountant, a sharp man with tired eyes, had pulled us into a long meeting about finances. He carried himself like a machine, precise and unflinching, his notebooks filled with columns of neat figures that spoke a language Edward and I were still learning. Taxes, quarterly projections, hidden pitfalls, it was overwhelming. But Dad had always trusted him, and that steadied me. I thought of the countless times my father had joked about how Edward’s diligence, paired with his assistants, made these meetings bearable.

By the time we stepped out, my head was pounding. Lunch was a welcome escape.

Ted, one of the senior managers, had invited us to join him and a few others at The Modern. The restaurant was a sanctuary of glass and light, perched high above the street, the afternoon sun cascading over crisp white tablecloths. I could feel eyes on us even there, curious, speculative stares from strangers who had probably read enough gossip columns to know who we were. Our names carried weight now. That made me sit straighter, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.

Edward, of course, looked as if he belonged. He lounged back in his chair, sipping coffee like it was champagne, his sharp profile catching in the sun as he returned every curious glance with a confident smile.

“Relax,” he whispered under his breath, smirking when he caught me scanning the room nervously.

“I would, if people would stop staring,” I muttered, sipping at the iced juice I’d ordered instead of a cocktail.

The managers were easier company. They spoke shop in tones both casual and assured, painting a picture of a business running steadily forward. It helped me breathe, though Edward’s presence was still that of a coiled spring. Lunch stretched for an hour, maybe more, before we made our way back through the city streets. Cameras flashed in the distance. Not many, but enough to remind me that our lives weren’t private anymore.

Yes, this was going to be news.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into technology and explanations. We sat in what had once been Dad’s office, a room that still smelled faintly of his cologne and carried the quiet gravity of his presence. Francis and the IT team walked us through the software, an intricate web of systems that tracked every shipment, every client, every delay or success in real time.

It was fascinating. And terrifying.

Numbers pulsed across screens like veins carrying the lifeblood of the company, and I realized how much of Dad’s world had been invisible to me before. He had carried all this weight alone, and somehow made it look effortless.

When the lights in the building flicked off one by one, I startled. It was already five in the evening.

We drove home in silence at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between us. Edward stared out the window, a faint grin playing at his lips.

“That place was a trip,” he said at last, his tone low. Then he turned to me with a familiar glint in his eyes. “Did you see all the p***y in there?”

I chuckled despite myself. That was Edward, unapologetic, reckless, sharp-edged charm wrapped in vulgarity.

“I did,” I admitted, stopping at a red light and fixing him with a firm look. “But we have to keep it clean in there, Edward. It’s business, and we have to do right by Dad. The cameras alone should be enough to scare you straight. This is bigger than us.”

Edward snorted. “Lots of tycoons live messy lives. Look at Trump, guy’s going for president and still headlines scandals. We’re just running a shipping company.”

I shook my head, both amused and bewildered at the comparison.

At home, the air felt different, warmer, softer. Mom had cooked chicken and vegetables, the familiar smell wrapping around us as we sat down together. It was the first family dinner in weeks that felt close to normal. She was pale still, grief written in the faint lines around her eyes, but her smile was strong. She listened as Edward and I recounted the day in vivid detail, nodding, laughing faintly at some of our clumsy mistakes.

But the empty chair at the head of the table was impossible to ignore.

Ann sat quietly beside us, eating in small bites, her eyes distant. She was younger, softer around the edges, still tethered to her books and her studies. She missed Dad in her own quiet way.

“Let me take you out to dinner this week,” I offered, watching her lift her gaze slowly. “Just you and me. We can talk.”

She gave me a small, weak smile and nodded. That was enough.

Later, after dinner was cleared away and the house had fallen into a rhythm of quiet footsteps and closed doors, I slipped into the home gym. The clang of weights, the pounding of my feet against the treadmill, it was therapy. Two hours passed before I realized how late it was.

Passing Edward’s room on the way to my shower, I saw him sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, grinning.

“Who’s your latest victim?” I asked, stepping inside.

He glanced up, unbothered. “Lina. Bartender. Met her the other night.”

I rolled my eyes, moving to the window.

“You work out?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I smirked. “You should try it sometime so you can be as hot as I am.”

Edward laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll leave that to you. I’ve got other priorities.”

“Don’t let them get in the way,” I warned. “We’ll be in the office a lot. This is our life now.”

He grew serious, just for a flicker. “I know. I’ll be a big boy about it.”

“I hope so,” I said softly, stepping out into the hall.

The shower was hot, the water rolling over my skin as I leaned against the tile, letting exhaustion seep into me. By the time I dropped into bed, the weight of the day pressed down like a blanket. I turned to the window, staring at the bright city sky.

I wished I could talk to Dad. Just one more conversation. One more chance to hear his voice steady me, to tell me what to do, how to carry all of this.

But the night stayed silent.

And I stared into it, knowing tomorrow would only ask more of us.