Travis Villaflor (The Possessive Husbands Club Series 1)

Greek Village. Even the name still makes me smile.

It’s one of those things we built out of nothing but audacity, money, and stubborn loyalty. Twenty bachelor friends, deciding, half-drunk and fully serious, that adulthood would be lived on our own terms. No cramped condos. No boring subdivisions. No neighbors complaining about noise. Just a private village carved into the larger empire that is Black Village - owned by the Montifierro.

Our village.

I stood near the entrance of Black Village’s enormous party hall, watching the lights shimmer against polished marble. The decorations were exactly how I liked them. Elegant but loud in that subtle billionaire way. Gold accents, crystal chandeliers with soft black and champagne tones. Nothing tacky and nothing excessive.

Well… maybe a little excessive. But it was my birthday, so who cared?

Twenty-five.

Some people panic at that number. I don’t. I’m filthy rich, heir to Villaflor Empires, owner of Villaflor Industries, self-made billionaire. Food productions, telecommunications, even businesses that practically print money. Life has been generous. Still, birthdays have a strange way of making even the most confident man reflective.

Inside the hall, the energy was already buzzing. Friends, families, acquaintances, residents of the sub-villages and everyone mingling, laughing, drinking. The Lethal Team occupied one corner like they owned intimidation itself. The Diablos looked dangerously relaxed. The Seven Deadly Sins radiated their usual chaotic magnetism. Villareal Heirs, Billion-Heirs, the Montifierro Brothers…

Black Village gatherings were never small affairs.

My eyes drifted toward our table.

Eighteen seats filled with two empty seats.

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath.

The Montemayor twins. Missing, as always.

I barely had time to roll my eyes when Vaughn suddenly elbowed me hard enough to break my train of thought. “What?” I asked, already annoyed. He tilted his head subtly, nodding across the room. “Earlier, I saw the Montemayor prince staring at you.”

I followed his gaze. And there he was. Raine, the prince of Montemayor, treasure of the Montemayor twins, well as they always say and flaunt in front of us. Seated quietly, looking like he didn’t belong in a room full of predators disguised as heirs. Soft features, nervous energy, eyes that carried too much emotion for Black Village standards.

And yes… he was staring.

The moment our eyes met, he snapped his gaze away so fast it was almost painful to watch. A faint blush crept up his cheeks.

Cute. He was dangerously cute.

I sighed. “Oh, and so,” I said flatly. “He already confessed his feelings to me.”

Vaughn’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” I shrugged. “I cleared it with him. Told him we can’t be together. I have Cathy.”

“And besides,” I added, “he’s our friends’ brother. I just see him as one.”

Vaughn smirked slightly. “Still. Kid’s got guts.”

“I’m straight as an arrow,” I replied, bored.

That statement had become my personal defense mechanism. Not because I needed to prove anything but because Black Village loved assumptions. One look, one rumor, and suddenly you’re the topic of twenty different theories. Well it's not that bad but I'm not gay. That's just all.

Vaughn nodded casually. “Cool, aderfos. But speaking of Montemayor… where are the twins?”

“Do we even need to ask?” I muttered.

From across the table, Lance mumbled through a mouthful of cake, “And who’s this Cathy?”

Before I could answer, Klaus smacked the back of Lance’s head.

“Hey, idiot! Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

Lance swallowed dramatically.

“And Cathy,” Klaus continued, “is Travis’s girlfriend. For a month now.”

Lance blinked. “Sorry. I didn’t know Cathy.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “The only saying I know is ‘Don’t eat when your mouth is talking.’”

I stared at him.

Vaughn stared at him.

Klaus stared at him.

Our other friends stare at him.

Eighteen simultaneous sighs.

Lance, realizing he had once again embarrassed himself, suddenly stood up.Oh hell no. I already knew where this was going.

“IS IT WRONG TO EAT?!” he shouted.

The entire hall went silent. Heads turned and my jaw tightened. Here he goes, again.

“WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?! BASILIO! CRISPIN! FREE THE PHILIPPINES!”

For half a second, there was stunned silence.

Then the hall erupted into laughter. Because of course it was Lance. He flashed a peace sign like an absolute idiot and sat back down, red-faced.

Leviathan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “There he goes. The idiot.” I even laughed.

Well can't help it. That’s Lance. A walking disaster and endless entertainment. Well, he can be normal, only in front of Stavos. Moments like that reminded me why Greek Village existed. Why brotherhood mattered. Why money meant nothing without people who could laugh at you, and with you without fear.

The laughter hadn’t fully died when a sudden commotion near the entrance drew our attention. Two familiar figures. Tsk, finally.

“Oh, there they are,” Heaven said, voice dripping with meaning. “Why are you so late?” Samuel and Rafael Montemayor walked in like nothing unusual had happened. Which automatically meant something unusual had definitely happened. Considering I saw bite marks on Samuel's neck. 

“Why are you looking at us like that?” Samuel asked, narrowing his eyes as he sat down.

“Like what?” Stavos replied, already smirking.

Rafael pointed accusingly. “Like that.”

Lance leaned forward, grinning like a devil preparing chaos.

“Tsk. Aderfos, why do you always make things awkward?” He rested his chin on his hand. “I’ll just ask.”

Then, a pause.

“Is it painful or pleasurable, Samuel?”

The twins froze.

Samuel’s eyes widened. “What?! Idiot! We didn’t do anything!”

“We didn’t do anything!” Rafael echoed.

Lance blinked innocently.

“What did you do?” he asked.

Then he grinned wider. “I meant the food you ate.”

Dead silence.

Samuel looked ready to commit murder.

“Wh—fuck—, you—”

“Another what, Samuel?” Lance asked sweetly.

“Asshole.”

Samuel leaned back, exhaling sharply. Then he turned to me. “Oh, and Travis.” Then he smirks.

“Happy Birthday, fucker.”

I laughed. And everyone laughed.

That’s us. Relentless teasing with zero boundaries and absolute loyalty. We could insult each other like enemies and still stand together like family when it mattered. Because beneath the chaos, beneath the arrogance, beneath the wealth…

We’re brothers.

Eventually, the laughter faded as the coordinator stepped forward. I walked toward the stage, adjusting my jacket slightly. The lights felt warmer up there, brighter. The crowd blurred into a sea of familiar faces.

I took the microphone and spoke. “Friends, families, fellow colleagues, residents of this Village…”

A hundred eyes locked onto me.

“I, Travis Villaflor, am very happy and thankful to all of you.”

A small murmur of approval rippled across the hall.

“Although I’m not very religious—”

“Hahaha, Aderfos, you’re not religious at all!” Lance shouted.

The hall burst into laughter again. I shook my head.

“Hey, asshole,” I said into the mic. “It’s not your opinion I asked for.”

More laughter followed.

“Is it your birthday?”

Lance grinned proudly.

“Tsk.”

I cleared my throat dramatically then continued my speech. “Even though I’m not religious… I’m thankful to all of you.”

And I meant that. For the friendships and for the loyalty. For the madness that somehow became my normal. “I’m content.”

My gaze found Cathy. She's beautiful. Smiling and somehow radiating warmth. “I hope Cathy and I will be together forever.” A few whistles and cheers followed. “I love you, Cathyrine.” The words felt natural.

I stepped down from the stage, bouquet of roses in hand, Ferrero Rocher chocolates tucked neatly beside them. Cathy’s eyes widened slightly and the hall exploded into cheers. And somewhere in that noise, that laughter, that chaotic symphony of brotherhood and celebration…

I realized something.

Twenty-five didn’t feel like aging. It felt like standing exactly where I was meant to be.