CHAPTER 1
CHASE
Fuck!
How much more of this bullshit do I have to take?
I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows, my jacket removed, sleeves rolled up, and my fingers gripping the tablet in my hand so tight. I force slow breaths into my lungs, my gaze fixed on the city’s jagged strokes of neon, sparkling against the black of night.
It’s nearly midnight, and the office floor is deserted. I’d bet most of Barrett Crown Estates’ employees are already half-asleep, dreaming of lives that don’t belong to this building. Behind me, my father’s voice slices straight through my restraint.
“Dammit, Chase!” he barks. “Since when are we a damn charity organization? You’re making us look weak.”
I turn slowly, my jaw locked so tight it aches.
“Would you rather have those activists,” I say, my voice controlled only by sheer force, “with the media backing them, ripping us apart for displacing vulnerable residents from the trailer park? You should be thanking me for saving us from a PR bloodbath.”
My father reclines behind his desk like a monarch on a throne. Immaculate suit. Perfect posture. Not a single gray hair out of place. A man who can build empires out of nothing and has never once learned how to be human.
“They’re just noise,” he says coolly. “You wasted my money buying land to relocate lazy trailer trash. I don’t pay you to get all sentimental.”
Something inside me snaps, and I take a step forward. Then another. I’ve always considered myself a no-nonsense businessman, but my father is something else entirely. He’s cold, calculated, and ruthless. A man with no heart, not even for his own son. I work myself raw chasing his approval, and still, it’s never enough. Never up to his impossible standards.
“Sentimental?” I repeat, incredulous. “Those are families. Elderly people. Kids.”
He scoffs.
“Excuses. If they can’t afford beachfront property, that’s not our problem.”
Is he serious?
My grip tightens around the tablet until I swear I feel the casing creak.
“They were there long before we showed up.”
“And they’d have been gone well before the resort was even built,” he replies. “Progress doesn’t wait for the weak.”
That’s the poison my father’s fed me my entire life.
“Dammit, Dad… can’t you see it was a strategic move? The Paradise Project would’ve stalled if—”
“Bullshit! And don’t speak to me like I’m one of your damn interns.”
Heat flushes through me, prompting me to loosen my tie. I’m thirty-four years old, the damn COO of a multibillion-dollar empire, and yet, standing in front of him, I feel twelve.
“That ‘little sacrifice’ let me sign off on the contractors’ final schedule this afternoon. We’re ahead of our timeline and—”
“I’m supposed to be impressed?” He cuts me off with a lazy wave of his hand. “Because I’m not.”
There it is.
The familiar blade plunges into my heart again.
“You want results?” I step closer to his desk. “I’ve delivered them. You want vision? I gave you that too. So tell me… what the hell do you want from me?”
My father looks up, and what I see on his face is worse than anger.
Disappointment.
“What I want,” my father says casually, “is competence without ego.”
A humorless laugh slips out of me.
“Ego?” I echo. “You really think this is ego?”
“I think,” he replies with his fingers steepled on his desk, “you mistake effort for excellence.”
The all-too-familiar words land exactly where they always do.
“You asked me to take this company further than you ever did,” I say, struggling to maintain a steady tone. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
His lips curve into a contemptuous smile.
“You’re nothing like your brother. He understands restraint.”
Of course… that again.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Unlike you,” my father continues smoothly, “Cooper knows how to listen… and when to stay in his fucking lane.”
A rapid thumping sounds in my ears, mirroring the frantic beat of my quickening pulse.
“Cooper hasn’t taken a single risk in his fucking life.”
“And yet,” my father says calmly, “he doesn’t embarrass me.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs as my hand clenches at my side.
“I work myself into the ground for this company,” I snap, fury boiling in my veins. “For you. I gave up—”
“You gave up nothing,” he cuts in sharply. “Stop playing the fucking martyr.”
A bitter, fractured laugh tears out of me.
“Nothing?” I say. “You really believe that?”
I step closer, my hands shaking now, and don’t bother to hide it.
“I sacrificed the one thing that ever mattered to me,” I spit, my voice unsteady with rage. “I traded it in so I could build your empire, which I didn’t give a damn about.”
His expression stays the same, cold and dismissive.
“You gave up a childish fantasy,” he scoffs. “I did you a damn favor.”
A roiling heat settles in the pit of my belly.
“A fantasy?” I echo, shaking my head. “Right… that’s what you called it the day you trashed my studio.”
I can still see it… paint splattered all over the walls and floor, canvases torn apart, and half-finished pieces violently flung against the wall.
“You didn’t just ruin it,” I go on, my tone softer now. “You made sure I’d never want to touch it again.”
His jaw tightens, but I keep going.
“Funny thing is…” I glance around his office at the modern design, polished surfaces, and lifeless perfection. “Have you ever notice how everything in here is just… empty?”
A bitter smirk pulls at my mouth.
“Exactly what I never wanted to become,” I spit, while jabbing a finger into my chest.
“I had people who saw something in me,” I add, my voice tightening despite myself. “Not because of your name or your damn money, but for what I could create. People who were truly invested in helping me achieve my dream.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“But I chose you, Dad,” I continue, my voice cracking now, fury bleeding into vulnerability. “I chose Barrett Crown. Your damn approval. Twelve-hour days. Becoming everything you wanted… because you made it damn clear that was the only way I’d ever be worth anything to you.”
Silence slams down between us before I continue.
“I wake up exhausted every morning. Not because the work is hard… it’s damn empty. And every time I succeed, you raise the bar. Every time I prove myself, you remind me I’m not Cooper.”
His lips curve up subtly, just a hint of a smile.
“Because you never will be,” he says with malice.
My throat tightens, my eyes burning now.
“Regardless of my efforts… it’ll never be enough… I’ll just never measure up in your eyes, Dad.”
“If praise is what you’re after,” he snorts, “you should’ve been exceptional.”
“I am, dammit,” I explode, slamming the tablet onto his desk, my gaze turning cold. “I brought in millions on my last project. Sold every single luxury condo I had built. I rescued two failing—”
“And still,” my father says, standing now, towering over me, “you are not your brother.”
The words land like a blow to the gut.
“You know what?” I say hoarsely. “One day, you’re going to realize exactly what you’ve done. And there won’t be anything left to fix.”
He adjusts his cufflinks with an infuriating composure, suggesting he’s unaffected by my words.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Go home. Clear your head and try again tomorrow.”
That’s the kill shot. I’ve been trying my entire fucking life.
“Fuck you!”
I snatch up my jacket, fury vibrating through every nerve.
I’m done trying.
I storm for the door. Just before I step out, his voice follows me, almost amused.
“Drive carefully, son. I’d hate for you to miss tomorrow’s meeting. Cooper’s presenting.”
I don’t look back. The anger I’ve suppressed my entire life has finally reached its breaking point.
By the time the elevator doors slide shut, my face burns with rage, my jaw clenching so tight it throbs. Minutes later, the city blurs past as I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles bone-white. I consider making a stop at a bar. Maybe a few drinks would quiet the noise, but I’m heading home to my fiancée. She probably stopped waiting hours ago.
Then, my phone buzzes on the console.
Nikki.
Too angry, drained, and close to snapping to deal with anything else, I ignore it. Whatever it is, can wait until I’m home with a drink in my hand, and far away from work.
The traffic light ahead flickers amber, and instead of slowing, I press down on the accelerator.
Then tires screech. Something hits me hard from the side, the sound of metal folding. The airbag bursts open, knocking the air out of my lungs as my head snaps forward. Blood fills my mouth, and then…
Darkness.
*
I come to slowly, as if I’m forcing my way through thick fog. My body feels foreign, heavy, and uncooperative. I try to move, and pain shoots through my right leg, refusing to respond.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound is steady. Relentless. Footsteps move somewhere nearby.
When I open my eyes, pain explodes behind them. Light spears through my skull, blinding and sharp, and I clamp them shut on instinct. My head throbs in protest.
“Chase?”
The voice is calm. Female. Distant. There’s something familiar about it, but I can’t grasp why. My name echoes strangely in my head. I try to answer, but nothing happens. Panic sparks, but even that feels sluggish, as if I’m wading through thick water.
“You’re in a care facility,” she says gently. “You’ve been with us for a while.”
A while?
That makes no sense. The last thing I remember is driving.
“Chase,” the voice repeats. “Can you hear me?”
I force my eyes open again, and the world around me is a blur. Slowly, the haze thins and awareness settles in, confusion crashing down hard.
An elderly woman stands beside me, watching closely. This isn’t a hospital room. The atmosphere feels much quieter. I try to speak once more. My throat burns, dry and raw, but no sound comes. Instead, I manage a small nod.
The elderly woman—dressed in a nurse’s uniform—opens a bottle of water and lifts it carefully to my lips. Her voice carries a note of excitement as she speaks.
“I’m glad you’re finally responding.”
As the cool water slides down my throat, it soothes the scratchiness. When she pulls the bottle away, I manage a sound that barely resembles speech.
“Wh…” I croak, the sound of my own voice startling me.
“You were in an accident,” she explains gently. “You’ve been in a minimally responsive state for seven months. Not unconscious, exactly—just not really there. Sometimes your eyes opened… and sometimes you reacted to sound. But you never spoke or moved. No one knew if you ever would.”
Accident?
Seven months?
It makes no sense.
*
Days bleed into one another, relearning the basics. Speech comes slowly, words sticking in my throat, and my memories surface in broken fragments. Faces drift in and out of focus, most of them strangers.
Then there’s the pain in my leg—constant and inescapable. A reminder that something went catastrophically wrong. It isn’t until a short woman in a white coat, a doctor, pulls back the blanket during an assessment that I see it for the first time.
A long, jagged scar runs the length of my leg. My stomach drops as the truth settles in all at once. It isn’t going away. The scar’s permanent.
“What happened?” I rasp.
She doesn’t bother softening the answer.
“You sustained severe injuries in the accident, Mr. Barrett,” she says matter-of-factly. “Multiple fractures to your leg. Significant muscle damage. You’re fortunate it was saved.”
Fortunate.
“You’ll require months of demanding physiotherapy,” she continues, calm and practiced. “It won’t be easy. And it won’t be quick. There will be pain, frustration, and setbacks.”
She speaks as if she’s delivered this speech a hundred times.
“The good news,” she says, straightening, “is that you will walk again. The bad news is you may not regain everything you lost.”
Shit…
That’s not good.
I have a feeling this recovery is going to test every last bit of my patience.
*
“Chase… oh my God.”
My sister’s voice cracks as she rushes into the room, grabbing my hand like I might disappear if she lets go. Her grip is tight, almost desperate. Emily looks older, even thinner, and worn down in a way sleep can’t fix.
“Hey,” I rasp.
She lets out a shaky laugh that turns into tears. Her shoulders tremble as she presses her forehead to my hand.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she whispers. “I thought—”
She stops herself, wiping her tears away.
“I’m so sorry for not showing up the day you woke up. My friends took me on vacation in Europe.”
“You’re here now,” I murmur, a sincere smile gracing my lips. “That’s all that matters.”
I’m genuinely grateful, especially since no one else bothered to show.
“Mom’s tied up with a massive case in Chicago,” Emily says. “She’ll be back next week.”
She mentions that she and Mom visited often. That they never stopped believing I’d wake up. I also learned that my car was hit by an overly tired trucker who fell asleep at the wheel.
Then she starts talking too much about work, the company, and people she thinks will anchor me. But I hear what she’s not saying. We’ve always been close, too close for this much dancing around the truth.
She doesn’t mention Dad, Cooper, or Nikki.
“Em,” I say quietly. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what’s going on.”
Her jaw tightens.
“Chase, I don’t want—”
“Just say it,” I snap, cutting her off.
She exhales, slow and heavy, as if she’s bracing for impact.
“When the doctors warned us that you might never wake up… and that if you did, you wouldn’t be the same,” she says carefully, “Nikki said she wasn’t prepared for that.”
The words sink in slowly like poison.
“She moved out,” Emily continues. “Not long after, she and Cooper… uhm… got together.”
My chest tightens.
“She’s pregnant,” Emily adds quietly, her eyes full of pity. “It’s his.”
A wave of dizziness washes over me, and the room seems to spin.
“But that’s not even the worst part,” she says, her voice breaking. “A few days after your accident, Dad gave your position to Cooper.”
I stare at the wall, my grip tightening on the blanket as something cold and heavy settles in my gut.
Seven months.
Seven months while I lay trapped in my own body, and the world didn’t just move on, it replaced me.
“Did Dad or Cooper even visit?” I ask, my voice sounding hollow.
Emily hesitates.
“Only a few times in the first two months,” she admits. “After Dad had you transferred to this long-term neurological facility, he buried himself in work. Said he was too busy to come.”
Too fucking busy.
The weight in my chest grows heavier, as if being crushed with finality. By the time I came back to the world, everything I thought was mine—my job, my fiancée, my future—had already been taken.
And no one bothered to wait.
