chapter seven: Broken Family

Drew's pov ….

The Sterling mansion looked exactly the same as it had my whole life—immaculate, cold, and lifeless.

A monument to power, and a graveyard for everything else.

The black iron gates swung open as I pulled in. Even the gravel beneath the tires seemed to crunch in quiet judgment. Every time I came here, the air got heavier, like the walls remembered every shout, every slap, every unspoken thing that had rotted in this house.

I killed the engine and sat for a second, staring at the mansion. I shouldn’t have come. But when my father said the word mother, I didn’t have a choice. He knew exactly how to drag me back.

The front door opened before I could knock. Eleanor stood there—my stepmother. Her blonde hair was pinned neatly, her smile practiced, but her eyes… her eyes were tired. Always tired, I could see the purple bruise blooming on her cheeks.

“Andrew,” she said softly, almost like she wasn’t sure if saying my name would anger someone.

“Eleanor,” I replied, stepping past her into the marble hallway that smelled faintly of polish and pain.

“Your father’s in the study,” she murmured. “He’s been expecting you.”

Of course he has.

Before I could answer, two blurs shot out from the staircase—laughter, feet pounding, the only bright sound in the whole damn house.

“Drew!”

I barely had time to brace before Aiden and Aria, my fifteen-year-old siblings, crashed into me. Aiden’s hair stuck up in all directions, Aria’s braids were half undone. I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips as I ruffled their heads.

“You two growing taller every time I blink?” I said.

“Maybe you’re shrinking,” Aiden teased, earning a swat from his sister.

For a moment—just a moment—the mansion didn’t feel so suffocating.

Then his voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

My father stood at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, wearing that same smug expression that made my blood boil. Richard Sterling, founder of Sterling Enterprises, self-proclaimed king of every room he walked into—and the reason I’d built walls so high no one could climb them.

“Father,” I said flatly.

He looked me up and down, his lip curling. “You look tired, boy. Overworking yourself again? Or still trying to prove something to a woman who’s been dead ten years?”

The words hit their mark.

They always did.

I felt my jaw tighten. “Say what you want about me, but leave her out of it.”

“Oh, you mean your saintly mother?” he sneered. “The woman who ran this house like a shrine and made the rest of us miserable with her dramatics?”

Eleanor flinched, glancing at me in quiet panic. I saw the faint bruise peeking beneath the sleeve of her silk blouse. Fresh.

My fists curled. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Richard laughed—low and cruel. “Still can’t handle the truth, can you? That your mother wasn’t perfect? That she broke the family before you ever could put it back together?”

“Enough,” Eleanor said quietly, stepping between us. “Richard—”

The back of his hand struck her before I could move.

The sound echoed.

A sickening crack of skin against skin.

“Stay out of this,” he hissed.

Eleanor stumbled, her cheek flaming red. My control snapped.

I lunged forward, grabbing his collar, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the portraits. “You ever touch her again—”

“Andrew!” Eleanor’s voice cut through, sharp and terrified. She pulled at my arm, tears in her eyes. “Please. Don’t.”

He laughed in my face, breath sour with whiskey. “Go ahead, hit me. Prove you’re still the weak, sentimental fool who lets his emotions run everything.”

My hands trembled. Every cell in my body screamed to punch him.

To break him.

To make him feel what he’s made everyone else feel.

But then Aiden’s voice broke through the rage.

“Drew… stop.”

I turned. The twins stood there—wide-eyed, frozen in fear. Aria was shaking. Aiden clutched her hand.

And just like that, the fight drained out of me.

I let Richard go, stepping back like the walls themselves had caged me in. He smirked, straightening his tie as if nothing had happened.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, voice dripping with triumph. “You’ll always be her boy. Always chasing ghosts instead of growing a spine.”

I stared at him, breathing hard, chest burning. “You’re not a man. You’re a coward hiding behind your money.”

He chuckled. “And yet, my money is the reason you have your empire. Don’t forget who funded your first investment.”

“I paid every cent back,” I spat. “With interest.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you did. That guilt complex of yours—such a delightful inheritance from your mother.”

I turned on my heel before I did something I couldn’t take back. Eleanor tried to reach for my arm, whispering my name, but I couldn’t stop.

Not now.

If I stayed another minute, I’d break something—or someone.

I grabbed my car keys off the console and stormed out the door, the twins’ worried faces burned into my mind.

I drove without thinking, the city lights blurring past in streaks of gold and red. The radio was off. The silence roared louder than any music could.

By the time I stopped, I was parked outside Obsidian, the private club I sometimes used to drink the memories away. The kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone pretended not to care who you were.

Inside, the air was thick with perfume and smoke. The bass from the music thrummed through the leather seats. I ordered a drink. Then another. Then one more.

But no matter how much whiskey burned its way down my throat, it couldn’t drown the images replaying in my head—

Eleanor’s tear-streaked face.

My father’s laugh.

Aiden and Aria standing frozen like shadows in that cursed hallway.

I’d sworn I’d get them out one day. Away from him. Away from this legacy that poisoned everything it touched.

And I would. Whatever it cost me.

But beneath all that fury, another image flickered.

Brown eyes. Soft skin.

Lily.

The one person who hadn’t known who I was, who hadn’t wanted anything from me except the night itself.

And I’d ruined even that.

I slammed my glass down, the sound sharp enough to make the bartender flinch. “Another.”

As he poured, I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar—cold, hollow, nothing like the man I pretended to be at work.

Maybe my father was right. Maybe I was chasing ghosts.

But if I couldn’t save my siblings, if I couldn’t protect the only good left in that house…

Then what the hell was all of this power for?

I took another drink, letting the burn settle in my chest.

Somewhere between anger and exhaustion, my phone buzzed. A calendar reminder flashed on the screen: Investor Presentation — Tomorrow, 9:00 a.m.

Perfect.

Another day of pretending everything was fine.

I pocketed the phone, tossed a few bills on the counter, and leaned back in the booth.

The lights blurred. The music pulsed.

And for the first time in years, I let myself feel it—

the weight of it all pressing down.

The rage. The grief. The loneliness.

Tomorrow, I’d go back to being the untouchable CEO everyone feared.

But tonight?

Tonight, I was just Andrew Sterling—broken son of a broken man, drinking his ghosts away.