I hate Christmas season

I Hate Christmas Season 

Damian

It had been an hour since I finished my meeting, but I was still stuck here in this overly crowded place, festival music playing too loud while I waited for my driver who was stuck in the festival traffic.

And then one would wonder why I hated the Christmas season so much.

I kept my head down as I walked through the crowd, though people instinctively stepped aside, giving way for me to pass. It had always been like that. Something about my presence always seemed to intimidate them.

I preferred it that way, anyway.

I was nearly at the exit gate when I felt something small and solid crash into me. The impact was so minimal, I barely moved—but I heard a soft thud and a tiny pained whimper.

I looked down. It was a child. Not more than five years of age. Beside him was an ice cream that had begun to melt.

I wanted to ignore him and continue to the exit, but then I saw his eyes well with tears, a small tremble in his lower lip. I groaned under my breath and then gently picked him up, noticing how light he felt in my arms.

"I'm sorry for bumping into you, sir," he whispered gently as he looked up at me with wet blue eyes.

Blue eyes. The exact same shade as hers.

FLASHBACK 

Lucas's engagement party, eight years ago. She'd walked in wearing a dress that was nice but clearly not expensive enough for this crowd. Lucas barely glanced at her. Didn't introduce her. I just expected her to stand there and smile.

I'd watched only her the entire night. I watched her flinch when her mother made cutting remarks. Watched her excuse herself to the bathroom, coming back with red-rimmed eyes.

She'd been crying, and Lucas hadn't even noticed.

That was the night I knew I was fascinated by her. That if I looked at her too much, I might just want to possess her for myself.

This woman who smiled through cruelty. Who stood tall even when they tried to cut her down.

I wanted to know what would happen if someone actually protected her.

END OF FLASHBACK 

"You have it too!" The little kid screamed, hijacking my attention.

I looked down. My sleeve was rolled up, revealing the dark brown birthmark on my inner wrist. The same one my father had. The same one Lucas had.

The Cole family mark.

The little boy hurriedly pulled up his sleeve, revealing the exact same mark in the exact same place.

My chest tightened.

So this was him. The child she'd been carrying when she left.

"You're a superhero too!" Jace jumped in excitement, pointing at both our marks.

"What?"

"The mark. My mommy said it means I have superpowers. Do you have superpowers too?"

"What's your name?" My voice came out surprisingly soft.

"Jace Alexander Scarlet!"

Scarlet. She'd given him her maiden name, not Cole. She'd erased Lucas completely.

"I'm Damian."

"That's a cool superhero name!" he said with glee, then began to look around, his excitement dimming. "Um… I can't find my mommy."

Though I didn't do children—they were overly clingy and sometimes annoying—I adjusted him in my arms. "We're going to find your mom, Jace."

"Yayyy!" he broke into a grin.

I started walking, scanning the crowd. "What's your superpower?" Jace asked, playing with my collar.

"I don't have one."

"Everybody with the birthmark has one."

"Your mother is wrong, Jace."

"You know my mommy?" He asked in surprise.

I felt my jaw twitch but didn't answer.

"Is she your friend?"

Friend. No. We'd barely spoken when she was married to my brother. But I'd watched her. Protected her from the shadows. Made sure she survived.

"Something like that," I muttered.

It took me approximately thirty minutes to find her.

She was near the fountain, mascara running down her face, arguing with security guards. Even wrecked with panic, she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

"Mommy!" Jace shouted.

Her head snapped up, eyes colliding with mine—shock, disbelief, relief.

"Baby…" she sobbed.

I stopped a few feet from her. Close enough to smell her perfume—something expensive now, not the drugstore body spray she used to wear.

"Hello, Scarlet," I said quietly.

***

We sat in the corner booth of a café. Jace was asleep within minutes in his mother's lap.

I watched her fingers comb through his hair, watched her stare at him like he might disappear.

"He looks like you," I said finally.

Her hand suddenly stilled.

"Jace. He looks just like you. Nothing like his father."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She turned away, but I saw her hand tremble.

"Why didn't you tell him before divorcing?" I pushed.

"Why would I?" Her voice rose, eyes flashing. "So he could try to take Jace away from me? So he could claim him as some heir without any intention of loving him as a father? No! He's mine!"

The ferocity in her voice was strangely attractive.

"I'm only stating facts, Scarlet."

"Facts you have no business in!"

"Look, I'm not your enemy here. I promise I'm not here to take away your son, nor will I let anyone take him from you."

She stared at me, trying to read my intentions. "If you're not my enemy… then what are you?"

"I just want to make sure you're alright."

She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Why? Why would you care?"

FLASHBACK:

The courthouse, five years ago. She'd been sitting alone on a bench, visibly pregnant, wearing a coat too thin for the weather. Her lawyer was inside, but I could see from her face she knew it wasn't going well.

She looked defeated. Small. Alone.

I'd walked into that conference room where Lucas's lawyers were strategizing. "Gentlemen, we need to discuss how this settlement is going to go."

Twenty minutes later, she had everything she needed to start over.

And Lucas had a black eye.

Afterward, I'd set up an anonymous scholarship fund. Made sure it found her when she applied to medical school. But that was all I could do without exposing myself.

Four years ago, late at night in my office.

My head of security had placed a folder on my desk. "The surveillance reports you requested on Scarlet Hayes. Well, Scarlet Cole. Technically she's still using her married name for legal documents."

I opened the folder.

Photos. They were not many though…I guess she was being careful, keeping her head down. There was one of her leaving a tiny apartment in a rough neighborhood. Another of her at a grocery store, clearly calculating every purchase. One of her at a community college, books under her arm, exhausted.

And one of her with a baby. Jace. Maybe six months old, bundled against her chest in a carrier while she studied at a library table.

"She's working three jobs," my security chief reported. "Night shift at a diner, weekend cleaning crew at an office building, and tutoring pre-med students for cash. She's enrolled in community college, probably pre-med track. I don't know how she's taking a full course load while caring for an infant."

"Alone?" I'd asked him.

“Yes, completely alone. No family contact. No friends that we can identify. She goes to work, goes to class, and goes home. That's it."

I'd stared at that photo of her in the library—dark circles under her eyes, baby asleep against her chest, surrounded by medical textbooks—and felt something crack open in my chest.

She was surviving. Barely. But surviving.

"Set up a scholarship fund," I'd told him. "Anonymous. Make sure she qualifies. Full tuition, books, living expenses."

"Sir, she's not even at a four-year university yet—"

"I don't care.” I had growled at him. “When she transfers, the scholarship transfers. Make it happen."

He nodded and left.

I'd kept that photo. Locked it in my desk drawer. I looked at it more often than I should have.

The rest? The three jobs she worked while caring for a newborn? The sleepless nights studying? The years of grinding through med school and residency?

That was all her. Her strength. Her fucking determination.

I'd just cleared a few obstacles and really she'd done the real work.

END OF FLASHBACK 

"Someone has to care," I said finally. "But you don't really need it anymore. You've done well by yourself, Scarlet. Dr. Scarlet. Chief of Neurosurgery. Youngest in the country, if I'm not mistaken."

Her eyes widened. "How do you—"

"I told you I'd be watching. You seem to have forgotten."

Her expression shifted as memory returned. That day in the courthouse. The card I'd given her.

"You–you vanished before I could tell you how grateful I was," she said softly. "Thank you. For using your connections to help me. For saving my son too. I really don't know how I can appreciate you."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"No, I do. You made the whole thing easier for me. If you hadn't—" her voice caught. "I might still be under their control."

I wanted to tell her the truth. That she would have made it out anyway. That I'd just watched from the shadows, occasionally clearing obstacles, but the real work—the survival, the success, the transformation—that was all her.

But maybe she needed to hear that someone had believed in her when no one else did.

I leaned forward slightly, holding her gaze.

"I think I know how you can thank me," I smirked.

She was here– in my city, after years of watching her from afar. There was nothing that would stop me from getting her now. Not even my bastard brother, Lucas.