prologue
The Matsuda Foundation had taken root in the most sensitive corners of the globe.
From the lands of Latin America to the war-torn deserts of Africa, and across the strife-ridden Middle East, it presented itself as a haven of peace amidst ceaseless conflicts and human suffering.
Financing hospitals, establishing schools, providing emergency aid—its actions seemed to embody hope in worlds drowned in darkness. Yet, behind these charitable deeds, a single man stood in the shadows, his influence both secret and omnipresent.
Kenji Matsuda, an ordinary man in appearance, was nonetheless a name spoken with admiration, even reverence, in these war-scarred regions. He was regarded as a god, his power unquestioned, his name resonating with a respect that bordered on the sacred.
That said, a god knows neither beginning nor end.
As for Kenji, old age loomed ever nearer, and the time had come for him to make a choice: to pass the reins of his cherished foundation onto one of his three sons.
Alejandro Matsuda, the youngest of the three brothers, was on his way, settled into the back seat of his prized Benz — a vehicle he cherished like a beloved child.
Born of a Japanese father and a Colombian mother, the thirty-two-year-old entrepreneur absentmindedly scrolled through the month’s stock market results, a hint of boredom shadowing his features.
“Sir, are you certain you don’t want me to pick up your wife? The rain is coming down hard, and the roads are treacherous,” The driver offered, casting a glance at the rearview mirror.
“She’s a big girl. She’ll figure it out,” Alejandro replied without tearing his gaze from his phone.
His brow faintly furrowed, a shadow of fatigue clinging to his sharp features. The steady drumming of rain against the windshield filled the silence, a background noise he barely noticed anymore.
He, along with his brothers, had been summoned to a family dinner — an invitation their father had made impossible to refuse. The entire family had managed to clear their schedules for the occasion, which bore far more resemblance to a council of war than to a simple evening meal.
Though he told himself it was just another evening, Alejandro couldn’t quite shake the uneasy feeling that something far heavier awaited them behind those familiar doors.
The electric blue of the sky clashed vividly with the dazzling light of the Matsuda estate’s grand reception hall.
Esteban and Santiago, the two other brothers, along with their wives, were already seated across from each other at the long rectangular table.
At the head sat their father, Kenji, presiding with silent authority. At the opposite end, his wife, Paloma — a Colombian woman nearing her sixties — faced him with a gaze as steady as his own.
“You sure love making an entrance, don’t you?” Santiago, the middle brother, teased.
“Did you come alone? Where’s your wife?” Esteban, the eldest, asked.
Alejandro answered with a heavy, irritated sigh.
One of the house staff promptly pulled out his chair, allowing him to sit and letting the dinner finally begin.
“Alejandro, answer your brother. Where is your wife?” Kenji pressed, his tone sharper now.
“She’ll get here when she gets here. I already sent her the address,” Alejandro retorted without looking up from his phone.
“Shame on you for dodging your wife,” Santiago mocked with a smirk. “Do you two even sleep in the same bed?”
Santiago’s wife discreetly nudged him under the table, signaling him to stop with his crude remarks.
A palpable discomfort settled over the room.
Everyone knew Kenji Matsuda hadn’t summoned them so insistently without a reason.
This wasn’t just a simple family dinner — something far greater was at stake.
“I’ve waited long enough,” Kenji’s voice was low, but the sharpness in it cut through the room. His patience was slipping, his eyes flicking briefly to the old clock in the corner, its ticking louder than usual in the silence that surrounded them.“Let the meal begin.”
The house staff moved in unison, as if they were all synchronized machines, fulfilling their duties with an air of impassive precision.
Kenji and Paloma sipped their wine, their calm contrast stark against the increasing discomfort that settled among the guests. No one seemed to want to touch their food, the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on their appetite.
The empty seat for Alejandro’s wife grew more conspicuous with each passing minute, a silent accusation that seemed to hover over the table like a storm cloud.
“Maybe something happened to her,” Santiago’s wife whispered to her husband. her voice laced with concern. “Should I try calling her?”
With a sharp, irritated grunt, Santiago reached for his wine and threw a glance across the table at his younger brother. The comment was out before he could stop it.
“Maybe you should call your wife, instead of pretending like nothing’s wrong,” Santiago sneered. “Imagine if she had an accident on the way here. You’d just let her lay in the rain?”
Alejandro’s cold gaze flicked up for the first time, his voice as sharp as a blade. “What’s it to you? Do I poke my nose in your miserable marriage?”
The insult hung heavy in the air, and the tension seemed to crackle.
“Be a man,” Santiago shot back, his tone dripping with derision. “You should’ve stayed with her. You call yourself the head of a family, and yet here you are, showing up alone to a dinner that’s supposed to matter. What kind of joke is that?”
Paloma’s fingers tightened around her glass, a barely perceptible sign of her growing irritation. Her sons had never been able to stand each other for long, but this… this was beyond childish squabbles. It was as if their father’s authority was no longer enough to keep them in check.
“Alejandro,” Esteban’s voice cut through the air, softer but firm. His eyes flickered between his younger brother and their mother, sensing the growing unease. “I know your marriage was arranged, but it’s time you started making it work. You can’t just walk away from everything, from her.”
“Thanks for the heartfelt advice, Esteban, Alejandro drawled, slicing into his meat without even glancing up. Let me know when you finally say something remotely interesting.”
His knife met the plate with a sound that seemed to echo in the stillness, a deliberate act of defiance, a refusal to engage with the genuine concern on his brother’s face.
“What a lunatic,” the two brothers thought simultaneously.“Mom spoiled him way too much.”
“That’s enough,” their father said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I didn’t summon you here just to watch you bicker like children all evening.”
The three brothers straightened in their chairs, directing their full attention to him — though Alejandro kept chewing heavily on the piece of meat in his mouth, indifferent to the shift in atmosphere.
“As you know,” Kenji continued, his voice steady but weighted with meaning, “the Foundation celebrated its twentieth anniversary last month. Since then, there’s been something very serious I’ve been considering.”
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,”one of the housemaids said gently.
All heads turned toward the slightly plump woman in her forties who stepped forward looking as apologetic as possible.
“Mr. Alejandro’s wife has just arrived,”she announced simply before discreetly retreating.
The sound of heavy heels echoed through the air, growing louder as they approached the reception hall—until a completely soaked woman appeared at the entrance.
Mouna Dueñas, Alejandro’s wife, had just made her entrance—one of the most memorable, in fact.
Her hair curled from the rain, and both her lace tank top and pencil skirt were drenched, prompting a grimace of shame from her husband.
Alejandro massaged his temple with visible discomfort at the sight, while Santiago’s wife quickly stood up to offer Mouna her cardigan.
“Please excuse the delay,”the young woman said, attempting a smile to lighten the mood.“I’m still having trouble with that car—I can’t quite manage to drive it properly yet.”
She awkwardly took her seat beside her husband as another maid brought her towels. Mouna thanked her and began drying off slowly. Noticing the meal had already started, she quickly tried to join the conversation, turning her gaze to the Matsuda patriarch.
“Now that we’re all here, I can continue,”said Kenji, unfazed by the clumsiness of his son’s wife.
The sixty-something-year-old man extended an arm toward his eldest, Esteban.
“First of all, I want to thank my son for his unwavering support of the foundation. He and his team of lawyers fight every day to defend our name and our reputation.”
The rest of the guests applauded, including the father himself. Esteban smiled shyly but proudly, visibly hungry for any recognition his father might give.
“Next, Santiago—my second son, who never holds his tongue. But who also managed to land on the Forbes list of the most influential millionaires in Colombia.”
Once again, everyone clapped. Santiago, far less reserved than his brother, beamed with pride and immediately embraced his wife in a show of gratitude—she, too, deserved praise, as she remained his rock.
Yet despite her forced smile, Mouna couldn’t suppress a surge of envy as she watched the affectionate, united couple.
“And finally…”
Kenji rose from his chair, his smile so wide it almost seemed unnatural.
“To Alejandro, my youngest son, to whom I’m passing on the reins of the foundation. Congratulations.”
A suffocating silence settled over the room, so heavy it could be felt in the air.
The guests sat frozen, shock etched on their faces. Alejandro himself went rigid, his eyes wide with disbelief. In his daze, he unconsciously let go of his glass, which fell to the floor in a soft, agonizing arc, shattering into sharp, glittering pieces across the pristine marble.
The echo of the glass shattering violently snapped the guests back to reality. Santiago, about to react, froze when, unexpectedly, it was Esteban who fired off first, his eyes burning with anger.
"You’re leaving the foundation to the youngest?! Esteban exclaimed, his voice trembling with fury. I’m the eldest!" He straightened up, his tone sharp like a slap.
"And does that make you more competent than your brothers?" Kenji replied cynically, his unflinching gaze locking with his eldest son’s.
A heavy silence settled over the room, Kenji’s words hanging in the air like a cold declaration.
"Darling, you could have shown more tact", Paloma murmured in a low but firm voice, casting a reproachful glance at her husband.
Alejandro, frozen, shot a confused look at his wife. Mouna met his gaze, equally lost, unsure of what had just happened and even more bewildered by her father-in-law’s choice. She felt the pressure building, and though she had sat beside her husband, her mind wandered.
The other guests remained frozen, the shock of Kenji’s announcement still hanging in the air. None of his sons seemed capable of reacting appropriately to what had just occurred.
Without another word, Kenji rose from his chair, indirectly forcing his son to take the reins of his foundation, signaling that he was not willing to debate. His two other brothers, along with their wives, stared at Alejandro with a look that was both dark and confused.
“I hope, for your sake, that you will refuse Father’s offer,” Esteban remarked, his voice sharp, before hurrying to catch up with his father, eager to engage him in a conversation.
Santiago, too, departed, his wife pulling him by the arm. He reluctantly gave in, fearing he might say something he would regret.
Mouna, still seated, gazed at her husband with growing concern, noticing that, to her surprise, he had yet to speak a single word.
“Are you truly going to refuse your father’s inheritance?” she asked, her tone laden with apprehension.
“I don’t know... I need time to think,” he murmured, lost in contemplation.
The silence that settled between them spoke volumes, and Alejandro knew that this decision would mark an irreversible turning point in his life.
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Hello guys ! It's my first story on this plateforme I am so excited, sorry for the mistakes, English isn't my first language. Let me know if there is anything I can do to improve my writing.
Thank you so much for reading my story I hope you enjoyed it.
