Chapter 6.

Hulio.

Sunday, December 25th – Next day; Christmas Morning.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hulio!”

That voice. Impatient. Sharp. Familiar. I groan, burying my face in the pillow, willing the sound to disappear. But it doesn’t. My head throbs. Wine? Whiskey? Champagne? Maybe all three. Either way, regret’s hammering behind my temples.

I ignore the door and roll toward the warmth pressing against me. Chelsea. Naked, soft-skinned, a sleepy moan escaping her lips as my hand slides over the curve of her hips.

“Hulio!”

Ahh! Helia again. Louder. Unamused.

“Just a minute,” I bark, low and clipped.

Chelsea stiffens.

“He’s going to fire me, if he sees me like this…” she whispers, her voice trembling, laced with dread.

I pull her closer, kiss her shoulder.

“Relax, Chelsea. I promise—he won’t.”

I say softly, teasing. Knowing full well I might be lying.

She bites her lip as I slide out of bed, dragging on a pair of pants. The door flies open as soon as I unlock it. Helia stands there, tension radiating from every line of his body.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he starts, then pauses—eyes narrowing as they land on Chelsea. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, shame written across her face.

Helia’s lips press into a tight line. His face is blank, but his clenched fists betray him.

“Cut her some slack, brother. She’s a woman before she’s your cook.”

I flick the words like a challenge.

He doesn’t take the bait.

“Get dressed. You’re needed.”

His words, colder than ice, slice through the room. And just like that, Chelsea’s gone—like a shadow dissolving at sunrise. What a shame! She was a delight last night. Her every curve melded to me.

“You keep doing this, Hulio. Sleeping with my staff, every time you stay over.”

Helia’s voice is flat, accusing. Not angry. Worse—disappointed.

I light a cigarette, take a drag. Blow smoke between us. It’s fucking rude. Guess what, I don’t care.

“Is that brotherly advice… or a veiled threat?”

He doesn’t blink.

“I’ve got a job for you.”

Of course. The infamous Helia switch. Cut the emotion, focus on business.

“You’re meeting with Elviira Hills this morning. Feedback on an investment proposal she’s been developing.”

“Why not you? You’re her lawyer.” I arch a brow, annoyed.

“I’ve got another client. I can’t be in two places at once.”

He turns toward the door.

“It’s Christmas morning, Helia. Who works on Christmas?” I smirk, but a tug of something pulls at the edges of my voice. Regret. Maybe nostalgia.

We used to play in the snow on Christmas mornings. He used to laugh. He used to live.

“Throw it, Helia! Right at him!”

A snowball fight. I can still hear my laughter echoing through those frozen winters.

“We’re too old to play Christmas, Hulio.” Helia pauses. His voice softer, distant. “Business doesn’t wait for sentiment.”

Then he’s gone, leaving the door open and the past with it.

One Hour Later – Hills Mansion

The last time I stood in here, one daughter crashed the party—and the other shattered my thoughts. Since then, I’ve thought of them more than I’d admit. The younger one—chaotic, awkward. The older one—grace carved into flesh. Ashley Hills. Even her name sounds expensive. I googled her. Successful. Elegant. Senior editor. Face of more than one luxury brand.

The kind of woman you’d ruin your reputation for.

“Ah, Hulio! Finally, we meet. Merry Christmas.”

A honeyed voice draws me from my reverie.

Elviira Hills. Poised. Regal. Every step wrapped in assurance. She extends her hand, and I kiss her cheek, ever the gentleman.

“Merry Christmas. The pleasure is all mine, Elviira.” I say, correcting myself at the last moment.

“I’m sorry we didn’t meet properly at the party.”

She waves it off.

“I only attend those things out of obligation. Dreadful events, really.”

I offer my arm, and she accepts. A graceful link. We walk.

“My thoughts exactly. But Helia compels me to attend them.” I laugh, she joins in.

But my laughter dies the moment I see her.

Alexa.

Dressed in a ridiculously oversized red sweater, her dark hair loose down her back, balancing a canvas almost too large for her frame. She disappears into a side room, unaware of the effect she just had on me.

My throat tightens. Something about her... innocence. The kind that doesn’t belong in this world of liars and masks.

“My granddaughter,” Elviira says, following my gaze.

I swallow hard.

“She loves to paint. That’s her little sanctuary.”

I look away, suddenly ashamed to be caught watching her.

“She’s… talented, I’m sure. I’d love to see her work sometime.”

“You’re welcome to.” Elviira’s tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it.

Amusement? Suspicion?

We move into the living room. She discusses her investment idea—something about sustainable fashion merging with tech. She’s sharp. Brilliant. But my thoughts keep drifting. One sister on my mind, one in my memory.

Pure innocence. Pure seduction. Two flames burning in opposite directions.

Then a heavy crash.

Glass. Extremely loud, suddenly shatters the very still air.

Elviira goes still.

“Did you hear that, Hulio?” she asks, her voice now low and wary.

Oh, I heard it...

And something tells me. We’re not done with surprises in this house.