Chapter 2: BACK HOME🛬
871 Words
CHAPTER TWO: Jordan’s POV
Four years.
That was how long Jordan Bronks had been away from everything he once called home.
Four years of distance that did not feel like time passing… but like something being slowly erased from his life.
The United States had not been freedom for him—it had been exile.
A carefully arranged distance from a family that no longer knew where to place their trust.
Or perhaps… a family that had already decided where he belonged.
Outside of it.
He stepped out of the airport, suitcase rolling behind him as the wheels clicked softly against the polished floor. People moved around him in hurried motion—laughter, greetings, reunions—but none of it reached him.
His expression remained calm.
Controlled.
Distant.
No smile.
No excitement.
No hesitation.
No sense of return.
Only silence.
A silence he had grown used to carrying everywhere he went.
And deep down, he already knew why he was coming back.
It was not just a return.
It was a duty.
A tradition in his family—where marriages were often tied to business alliances, negotiations, and power.
He was coming back to get married.
Not for love.
Not for choice.
But for business.
Four years ago, he had been sent away to study Business Administration in the United States.
Not as a reward.
Not as an opportunity.
But as a removal.
A decision made quickly enough that it left no room for argument, but heavy enough to change everything that came after it.
The memory still lingered.
It always did.
It had started with an accusation.
His stepbrother had stood in the family meeting room that day, surrounded by people who had once watched Jordan grow up, and claimed he had stolen confidential company documents—documents that allegedly ended up in the hands of a rival company.
The words had been spoken with certainty.
Too much certainty.
Jordan still remembered the exact moment.
The way the room had gone quiet after.
Not the shocked kind of silence.
But the kind that comes when people are deciding what to believe… and who to stop defending.
His chest had tightened back then, but his face had remained still.
Because even in that moment, he had expected someone to question it properly.
To ask for proof.
To ask him directly.
But no one did.
Only his mother spoke.
As she always did.
His mother had always been the only one who believed him completely.
The only one who never hesitated to stand on his side, even when the rest of the room turned silent or uncertain.
She had stood up immediately that day, her chair scraping slightly against the floor as she did, her voice shaking but firm as she defended him. She insisted her son would never do something like that. That there had to be another explanation. That something about the accusation didn’t sit right.
For the first time in that room, she fought for him without hesitation.
But belief, as strong as it was, had limits when it stood alone.
And it was alone.
The decision was still made.
“Send him abroad. Let him study. We will deal with this later.”
Later never came.
Jordan was sent away a week after.
No proper investigation.
No trial of truth.
No real chance to clear his name in a way that mattered.
Just distance.
And a quiet kind of exile dressed as opportunity.
A way to remove him without calling it removal.
After he left, something in his mother changed.
Not toward him.
Never toward him.
But toward his father.
She became colder.
Quieter.
Less willing to speak without restraint.
Because she had begged.
And been ignored.
And that kind of pain did not fade—it only settled deeper with time.
Jordan exhaled slowly as a car pulled up in front of him. The sound of the engine cut through his thoughts, pulling him back into the present.
The driver stepped out immediately, bowing slightly.
“Welcome back, young master.”
Jordan didn’t respond at first.
His eyes stayed forward, distant, as if the word “welcome” didn’t belong in a place like this anymore.
“I didn’t come back for them,” he said finally.
The driver hesitated slightly. “Sir?”
Jordan reached for the car door and opened it without another word.
“I came back because I’m done being far away from what they took from me.”
He got in.
The door closed with a quiet sound that felt heavier than it should have.
As the car pulled away from the airport, Jordan leaned back against the seat, his gaze drifting out of the window.
The city moved past him in blurred fragments of light and motion.
He had once believed trust was something natural.
Something people protected instinctively.
Something that stayed once given.
But life had corrected that belief without mercy.
Now he understood better.
Trust was not something people protected.
It was something they used.
Until it became inconvenient.
And if this marriage waiting for him was another arrangement disguised as duty…
Then he would treat it the same way he treated everything else now.
Carefully.
And without trust.
- Writer
