Fort Brothers

0003– Edmund

For certain, I didn't like surprises—especially not this kind.

I'd expected an older lady. A nurse... someone in uniform. The type who'd spent decades taking care of people and decided caregiving was the closest thing they had to breathing.

Someone like Margret who'd walked in wearing pressed scrubs and sensible shoes. Hair pinned back neatly—clipboard in hand.

This one? Too young. Too sloppy. Too jumpy. I wonder if I gave her a heart attack.

She’d wrangled her dark hair into a bun, but still curls were pulling free, framing her face and falling wherever they felt like it.

Clothes were all wrong for the job. Brown carpenter pants, a white cropped top, and a black leather jacket thrown over it like she was heading to a gig after—not a caregiving shift.

It was offensive.

Not her personally. Her dressing. The way she looked.

"Hi—"

“You really don't look professional at all,” I said, bluntly enough that most people would've mistaken it for an insult. It wasn't.

She opened her mouth. Ended up letting out a nervous laugh instead.

“I’m a CNA,” she said, clearing her throat. “Nobody mentioned uniforms. I figured casual was fine. Didn’t expect—”

Her voice trailed off. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, landing on the cluttered counters, the unwashed dishes, anything except me. After a moment, they reluctantly flicked back to my face.

“...Wasn’t expecting to find anyone else but Mr Bryan.”

I caught it then—reddish-pink smudges on her chin. Faint, but there. I pulled the fridge open beside me and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Edmund,” I said simply. “My name.”

"Isa. I'm with—"

"Carr Care. I know. Margret had requested a caretaker from there. "

She gave a slow nod, lips pulling inward. Tiny dimples dented her cheeks before disappearing again, but it was the mark on her chin that had me staring a beat too long.

“Bryan’s my older brother,” I added.

I lifted the bottle and took several gulps—too cold, biting harder than I expected. I rolled my jaw once, easing the sting, then looked back at Isa.

“His last caretaker left yesterday. I’m just here until they send someone new.”

She nodded again, turning her head slightly as if already looking for the exit. “I should... um... I should probably get going. I should be tending to Mr. Bryan by now. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Edmund.”

“Edmund,” I corrected automatically, “Makes me sound less like I'm about to ask if you've renewed your insurance policy."

A small laugh escaped her — soft, surprised, and genuine. It hit me like an unexpected jolt in the chest, something warm and inconvenient I had no interest in naming

I just stood there and watched her go—watched those chunky trainers carry her out the door.

Only then did it properly land—like a slow return to something heavier.

Back to reality.

Back to what today actually was.

Thursday.

Fucking Thursday.

Thursdays had simply developed a habit of trying to ruin my life. I'd been stuck in endless negotiations chasing one deal.

A Chinese development corporation wanted in. We wanted investors. 10,000 hectares of land. An entire city project. Not just houses. Schools. Hospitals. Shopping districts. Roads. Drainage systems. Power infrastructure. Estates. Enough development to drag thousands of families out of overcrowded neighbourhoods and put a dent in the country's housing shortage.

Real estate development was one of the few businesses under the Fort Empire still breathing. The rest of the empire was taking on water faster than anyone wanted to admit.

And I wondered sometimes what big brother would think if he woke up and saw what was left of the empire. How disappointed he'd be.How he'd look at me and see failure. Not that I'd ruined it. Not entirely.

People loved blaming whoever sat in the chair when things fell apart. Easier that way.

Truth was, Fort Empire had already been taking on water long before the accident that nearly cost him his life. By the time everything landed in my hands, the ship had already been sinking.

And if this deal failed?

I could stop pretending I was steering the ship. I'd just be the i***t standing at the wheel while it went under.

***

I shoved through the door at 8:47 PM. I know because I’d been watching the watch like it owed me something.

Tie was half-undone, hanging loose around my neck. Jacket was slung over one shoulder. In my right hand, a chilled bottle of champagne was sweating cold against my palm. Left hand had two crystal glasses.

Bryan and I toasted for everything. No reason needed. A good coffee, a Tuesday, a contract that didn’t blow up in our faces.

I still keep our ritual alive. I’d pour two glasses. One for me. One for him. I knew he couldn’t drink it. But I also knew he heard me.

So I’d ramble. Negotiations. Blueprints. Contracts.

Everything that made up the part of his life that mattered most to him

We’d toast.

To the small wins. The ones nobody else would call wins.

Then I’d drink mine.

And I’d drink his too.

Someone had to.

But I wasn't expecting her to still be here, seated, legs crossed, a book open in her lap, turning pages slow, like the story mattered more than the clock.

And when she realized someone was standing there. The book closed with a soft thud. Isa was on her feet like staying a minute past clock-out was an inconvenience she needed to erase.

"I was waiting for Mr. Bryan’s eyes to close and for him to settle. Since you've arrived, I’ll leave now, Mr. Edmund."

Formalities again. I didn’t like it. Not by a long shot. Correcting her for the second time felt like slapping the glass between us back into place.

So I let it slide.

What I really wanted was for her to stay. I wanted to ask what book had held her so completely that she’d lost track of time. I wanted to tell her I’d been an asshole earlier — for writing her off the second I saw her

“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out slightly hoarse. I dragged a finger across my brow, buying a second. “He sleeps whenever he wants to. Could be eight, could be twelve. Depends entirely on him.”

“Then I guess I should head out now."

I watched her drop the book onto the chair she was sitting on and go for her purse.

"Rain hits while you’re walking to the bus stop, and what then?” I ask.

“I get wet,” she said, completely-matter-of-fact.

The words hit me like a spark on dry tinder. Something twitched hard in my pants at the innocent double meaning she clearly hadn’t intended.

I stayed ice cold. In complete control.

I was the same man who had just closed the biggest deal Fort Empire had ever seen. I wasn’t about to lose the iron discipline I’d spent years forging. Not here. Not now.

None of it was going to unravel because of her — not her cute little laugh, not the defiant spark in her eyes, and certainly not because I wanted to hear her scream to God and every other name she worshiped while I f****d her senseless.

I've had my way with plenty — Pants on, release, gone. At one point my own brother thought I was a w***e for it.

My jaw clenched. Not Isa. She’s none of that polished office doll clicking down the hall in heels, ready to bend on command

Still, I wanted to punish that pretty little mouth for casually dropping “wet” like it was nothing.