Chapter 3

**Morning**

A ringtone shattered my sleep.

I groaned, reaching blindly for my phone on the nightstand. My fingers found it, and with a sluggish swipe, I answered the call.

"What?" My voice was rough, still heavy with sleep.

[ Boss, sorry for disturbing you. Is the deal still on for tonight?] Pluto’s voice came through, steady and businesslike.

I let out a slow exhale, rubbing a hand down my face as I tried to shake off the haze of sleep.

"Of course, it’s still on. Mr. Torres is waiting for his supply—écstasy, côke, whatever his spoiled clients are begging for. You know how impatient he gets."

[ Understood. I’ll take care of it.]

With a faint click, the call ended, leaving me in the dim glow of my bedroom.

I sat up, rolling my shoulders before running a hand through my hair. My body still ached from exhaustion, but sleep was long gone now. With a quiet sigh, I pushed myself to my feet and stretched, then made my way toward the window. I pulled the curtain aside.

Outside, the estate was busy with activity. String lights hung across the garden. Staff moved around, setting up tables, and decorations, and making sure everything was perfect. It looked like there's having a grand celebration.

My brows pulled together.

"What the hell is all this?"

The door creaked open behind me. The familiar scent of honey and warm tea drifted into the room before I even turned around.

Lucelle, the senior housemaid, stepped in, balancing a tray in her hand. She took one look at me, standing there in nothing but a towel.

"Dios mío, hijo!" she muttered, shaking her head as she set the tray down.

"Would it kill you to put on some clothes?"

I smirked.

"Depends. Who am I supposed to be dressing up for?"

She gave me a sharp glare but ignored my teasing. Instead, she poured the tea, the soft clink of ceramic against metal breaking the silence. I reached into the wardrobe, picked a fresh set of clothes, and put them on easily.

"Your father is throwing a party for Marcus," she finally said.

"A farewell to his bachelor days before the wedding,” she added.

Ah.

A wedding.

I hummed, stepping closer and picking up the warm teacup. I took a slow sip, letting the sweetness settle on my tongue.

So Marcus was tying himself down. Settling into the life our father wanted for him.

I smirked, my fingers tapping idly against the rim of the cup.

Well… that just made things more interesting.

Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was taking what I wanted.

And I wanted her. I wanted Marcus' fiancée under my possession.

~~~

**Evening Party**

The Sylvestre mansion was full of people, business partners, family friends, and a few of Snow’s acquaintances. Laughter and polite conversations filled the air, but I stayed on the sidelines, sitting with my father’s associates. Their talks didn’t interest me.

No matter how hard I tried, my eyes kept going back to her.

Snow stood beside Marcus, gladly talking with the guests. Her soft laughter mixed with the lively atmosphere, and her smile was warm and welcoming. I tightened my grip on my glass, feeling a hint of irritation.

Why did she pull my attention so easily?

A low chuckle broke through my thoughts.

"When’s your turn?"

Wrent appeared beside me, whiskey in hand, smirking as he looked towards Marcus.

"Feels like just yesterday your brother was a skinny kid playing with your old dog. Now, he’s getting married."

I remained silent, eyes still locked on Snow.

Wrent followed my gaze and let out a knowing hum.

"Careful, amigo. Desiring what belongs to someone else never ends well."

I finally turned to him.

"She’s… different," I admitted, almost absently.

Wrent raised a brow, then chuckled.

"Right. And you? You’ve always had a thing for bitches, haven’t you?"

He wasn’t wrong. My preferences had always been clear—casual, no strings attached. Yet Snow is different from the women I flirted with and fúcked before. She had an innocence, a quiet grace that set her apart. Especially the way her dimples appeared when she smiled it felt like heaven.

Before I could dwell on it, my phone buzzed. Pluto’s name flashed on the screen.

I excused myself to Wrent and stepped inside the house to take the call.

"Talk."

[ Boss, we’re en route to Mr. Torres’ location. Are you coming?]

I exhaled, rubbing my temple.

"I’d like to, but my father wants me to stay tonight. Handle it carefully."

[ Understood, boss.]

The call ended, and just as I pocketed my phone, Feurene walked in.

"Where’s Ninong?" she asked, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek.

"Upstairs. Probably getting ready."

She stared at me for a moment before smirking.

"It’s been a while. Too busy to visit?"

I shrugged.

"Too busy with my business."

She sighed, shaking her head.

"I’ve been swamped with filming too. Snow and I flew back together yesterday." She shared to change the mode of awkwardness between us.

That caught my interest.

"She’s an actress?"

Feurene chuckled.

"A rookie actress. She’s not well-known yet." Her voice lowered slightly.

"Honestly? She’s got nothing but her looks. No real talent." She added.

Something about her words irritated me, but I let it slide.

Before I could respond, my father’s presence at the top of the staircase silenced the room. He descended with measured steps, his usual authoritative air intact.

Feurene greeted his godfather warmly, but his sharp gaze landed on me.

"I overheard your business talk earlier," my father said coldly.

I stiffened. Here we go again.

"What business could you possibly take pride in, Demetri?"

His voice was low but sharp, each word filled with disappointment that hurt more than any blade. He took a slow step forward, his piercing eyes narrowing, locking me in a place like I was a stain he couldn’t erase from his life.

"Illegal gambling? Drug smuggling? Human trafficking?" He scoffed, shaking his head.

"Is that what you call success?" He added.

The weight settled in my chest again, it's suffocating. No matter what I did, no matter how much I built, how much I bled, I would never be enough for him. Never be the son he wanted.

I forced a smirk, masking the way my pulse hammered beneath my skin.

"Bars and restaurants, Father. My businesses in Palermo are all legal."

A cold chuckle slipped past his lips. "Legal?" He echoed the word like it was filth like it didn’t belong anywhere near me.

"The same bars and restaurants your mother and I built from the ground up? The ones we let you run out of pity?" He exhaled sharply, disappointment thick in the air between us.

"You can lie to yourself all you want, but I know exactly what you’ve been doing in Italy."

I said nothing. There was no point in arguing. His mind had been made up long before this conversation began.

He eyed me for a moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his temple.

"Why don’t you just stay here in the Philippines? Let Dina Dahlia handle your businesses in Sicily. Learn to live simply." His tone softened, but the mockery remained, sharp and cutting like a jagged knife.

"Take after your brother, Marcus. He’s a respectable businessman. He expanded our family’s empire the right way without disgrace. Unlike you."

I clenched my jaw so hard. Not because his words were new. But because they were the same ones I’d heard my entire life.

Marcus. The good son. The golden boy. The one my father always praised.

And me?

The disappointment. The mistake. The shadow he wished didn’t exist.

I let out a slow breath, forcing my expression to remain unreadable. The years had taught me to build walls so high that even I sometimes forgot what was buried beneath them.

Noticing the heavy tension, Feurene spoke up to ease the strain between me and my dad.

"We should head outside. The party is about to start."

My father didn’t move immediately. He kept his gaze locked on mine for a moment longer before stepping forward and placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

"I just want you to change, Demetri," he said quietly.

"I don’t want to die knowing my eldest son is still walking the wrong path." He continued.

And with that, he turned and walked away, Feurene trailing behind him.