Page 2 of Embers of Fate
Bram
My stomach churns and my veins run cold. I’m fixated on the electronic display, as if Death himself is mocking me. The flood of incessant ringing and flashing alerts feel like a dire omen.
“What the f...?” I swipe at the screen, my heart pounding with every second that passes. Reluctantly, I lift the phone to my ear and answer the call with shaky hands.
“H-hello?”
2
NIK
“Nikolaas.”
The voice comes through the speaker, cold and detached. And then I know. It’s really him. Bram. Not his lackeys or attorneys. He actually wants to speak to me after all this time.
“Yeah,” I reply guardedly into the phone. I stand up straighter, glancing around my lavish flat. The city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft, warm glow across the elegantly furnished living room.
How long has it been since we’ve had a real conversation? I can’t even remember. Years certainly. But this isn’t a friendly catch-up call in the dead of night; there’s an ulterior motive here.
We tread lightly, our words cautious and calculated as if navigating a minefield. The silence hangs heavy between us, loaded with unspoken tension and unanswered questions accumulated over the years apart.
I hear the dull roar of a crowd in the background—laughter, clinking glasses, snippets of mingled conversations. Some ritzy gala or exclusive soiree, no doubt. Bram always did prefer the company of the elite to family. The sole thought ignites a spark of bitterness in me.
Bram cuts straight to the chase, wasting no time with pleasantries. “Our situation has changed,” he announces abruptly. His voice is clipped and business-like, as if negotiating a deal rather than addressing his estranged brother.
I brace myself against the smooth, polished windowsill. Rain patters against the glass outside, beading and running in rivulets down the pane. I stare into the gloomy street below, steeling myself for whatever revelation is about to come.
“Our uncle died,” Bram continues, his voice devoid of any emotion. “I’m head of the family now.”
Uncle Gert. The bitter man who always resented us, and we felt the same in return. That’s just how it is in our twisted family—it’s all about power plays and politics, nothing is ever truly personal.
I know better than to offer any condolences, so I take a deep breath before responding. “Congratulations,” I force out through gritted teeth, unsure of what else to say or do in this situation. What does Bram want from me? And more importantly, how will I disappoint him again this time?
I wait for him to elaborate on how this impacts me, why he’s made this sudden contact from so far away. Only silence meets my unspoken questions.
Finally, impatiently, he adds, “With the old fool gone and no other heirs, the Draken estate and company fall to me now, you understand.”
My free hand curls into a tight fist, fueled by the subtle condescension in his words. I purse my lips, reading between the lines. So, that’s Bram’s aim—to consolidate even more wealth and power in his hands, while I continue gathering dust out of sight. The spark of bitterness flares brighter. I should be indifferent; this changes nothing for me. Yet somehow, it still stings.
“Oh, and... just so you know, I’m not getting married anymore.” Bram throws the words dispassionately.
My mind reels in disbelief.Engaged?My brother was engaged, and I had no idea? “Bram—” I stammer, but he cuts me off before I can ask any questions.
I hear Bram slipping away from the party crowd, the background noise fading. When he speaks again, his voice is hushed with secrecy.
“Listen, Uncle Gert’s departure from this world was...controversial, to say the least...” he murmurs wryly. “Taking over his estate will surely bring its own set of challenges, as my legitimacy is questioned by those who seek to undermine my rule.”
I can’t restrain a flare of vicious satisfaction at the thought of the great and mighty Bram facing contested power for once. But I force the unworthy feeling down. Now is not the time to relish in his struggles, however tempting.
“What do you need?” I ask evenly, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
“You. Here.” He gives no further details. Of course—Bram expects me to come running from across an ocean the instant he crooks his finger, no questions asked. Resume my role as the obedient younger brother despite the years of silence stretching between us... Typical Bram.
I bristle at his commanding, arrogant tone. “Here?” I ask tightly. Does he mean Paris, London, New York? For a week to prop up appearances? Months mired as a pawn in Draken family politics? As always, he provides no specifics, keeping me blind and pliable to his will. It’s infuriating.
I take a slow breath, tamping down the resentment bubbling up inside me. “Alright,” I reply evenly. Choosing uneasy peace over provoking futile conflict. For now.
“I’m putting you on the first flight to Paris tomorrow,” Bram declares briskly. “I’ll have an assistant courier the details.”
