Burdens
JAMES
The moment I laid eyes on her, it felt like I could finally breathe after a lifetime of holding my breath.
She awakened something deep within me. Something raw and dangerous that I thought I’d buried long ago. She was a spark in the darkness, an undeniable pull. She stirred desires I’d abandoned, yearnings I’d tried to forget. And what did she make me feel? It was nothing short of lethal.
She was dangerous.
I knew she would be the death of me the second she walked into the room. Hell, I think I was damned from the moment I set eyes on her.
I told myself I’d be a fool not to have her. But now, having tasted her. Her bitterness, her sweetness, her anger, her pain. I’ve become something worse than damned. I’m ruined. Completely and utterly damned.
She’s a woman trapped in her shadows, drowning in secrets she keeps hidden from the world behind that steady gaze. I caught glimpses of her pain in those rare moments when she let her guard slip, like shards of glass in a pool of water, sharp and hidden.
She’s ice and fire, and somehow, she’s ignited a vicious fire within me. I want to burn with her, to feel the heat and the chill of her, even if it consumes me.
I hate her for it, yet I crave her because of it. I can feel that she’s hiding something. Something dark and twisted, a truth I’ll never fully grasp.
But I have my sins, my burdens, and scars, things I’ve hidden from the world, from myself. She has her cross to bear, and I have mine. And yet, I can’t let her go. She’s become an escape, a dangerous solace I can’t resist.
She warned me and told me to stay away. Said there’d be consequences. But I refused to listen.
Now I’m more broken than I ever was before she walked into my life, more damned than I thought possible.
***
The wind whipped across the balcony, stinging my face and slicing through the silence with the bitter chill of a Parisian night. I gripped the banister, my fingers white around the railing as I stared out at the glittering city below. Paris was beautiful, timeless, and taunting in its decadence.
Donovan’s voice cut through the quiet, slurred around the rim of his half-empty glass. He placed a hand on my shoulder in what he probably believed was sympathy.
“Christ, James. This worrying. It’s eating you alive.”
I didn’t respond. I kept my eyes on the boats gliding down the Seine, their lights smearing through the mist. Donovan leaned closer, his words drifting over me like stale smoke.
“I’ve been where you are, you know.”
I shot him a sidelong glance, letting him feel the weight of my disbelief.
“Have you?” I muttered. In thirty-one years, I had never seen him with a woman. He was a perpetual bachelor lost to his vices.
“Wish I could say otherwise.” He took another gulp.
“Did Dimitri send you here for a pep talk? Or is this just your latest attempt at being the concerned uncle?”
“No one sent me,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “It’s not just Dimitri. We’re all worried about you. You can’t keep punishing yourself like this.”
The name hit harder than the wind. Dimitri. My father. A man who used affection and power like sharp knives, who barely acknowledged me unless it benefited him. We hadn’t exchanged more than cold glances in years.
“Worried,” I scoffed. “That man wouldn’t worry if the world was burning around him.”
“Give him some credit,” Donovan insisted. His expression hardened into that stubborn look he wore every time he defended Dimitri.
“Credit,” I repeated, bitterness searing my throat. “I’ll give him credit when he deserves it. When he stops treating everyone like pieces in whatever twisted game he’s playing.”
My voice echoed sharply against the stone walls. I drained my whiskey, letting the burn anchor me. Donovan watched with pity that scraped along my nerves.
“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” he said. “And I’m not taking his side because he’s my brother. But he’s not a monster, James.”
He was. And he had made me one too.
“I don’t care what his intentions are,” I said tightly. “And I don’t want to discuss him.”
Donovan’s jaw clenched. He swallowed the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a thud.
“Well, your mother is worried too. You’ve avoided her for over a year. She deserves better than that.”
A different ache flared at the thought of her. But another ache overshadowed it, sharp and unforgiving. Elizabeth. My only love. My chest tightened at the memory of her laugh, her warmth, her smile. All destroyed by my own hand.
“Liz has a million things to worry about,” I whispered. “I don’t intend to add to it.”
Pain flickered across Donovan’s face before he masked it.
“I loved her,” I said, my voice cracking. “With every piece of me. And I ruined everything.”
The confession dropped heavily between us. Guilt wrapped itself around me like barbed wire. I slammed my fist onto the railing, the crack slicing through the night.
Donovan let out a humorless laugh and looked away.
“At least your wounds came from love,” he said quietly. “Some of us were betrayed by the people we trusted most. That pain doesn’t fade.”
I shot him a sharp look, resentment rising like a tide.
“We’re all scarred, James,” he murmured. “Moore is more than a family name. It’s a curse. We were damned the moment we were born into it.”
A hollow laugh escaped me. “Talk about mysterious ways.”
My father, the successful cynic. Donovan, the genius drowning himself in whiskey. Damien, the charming criminal. And me. A man who destroyed everything he touched.
I waved for Lucas.
“Monsieur?” my driver asked.
“Take Donovan home. Make sure he actually arrives.”
I didn’t wait for Donovan to argue. I left them both on the balcony, poured myself another drink, and took it to my room. Alone, I drank in silence before collapsing on the bed.
Two years, and I still wore the ring. A relic of a love I’d buried and a reminder of every mistake. Sleep, as always, refused me.
I woke early, the hangover dissolving like second nature. After a cold shower, I dressed in my usual armor of tailored fabric and quiet power. My reflection stared back with cold, sharp eyes.
Dimitri’s eyes.
I strapped on my helmet and revved my Panigale, letting the engine roar through me. Dawn washed Paris in pale light, and the fog clung to the streets like ghosts. Riding through the empty alleys was the closest thing to peace I ever found.
By the time I reached Moore Prestige, my mind was already bracing for the storm ahead.
Inside the boardroom, tension coiled in the air. When the last person left the room, only Dimitri remained.
“Dimitri,” I said stiffly.
“Son,” he replied. His voice held the same sharpness that had once cowed me as a child. I wasn’t that boy anymore, but the memory lingered.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, James?” he demanded once the door closed.
“Showing up to work. As you asked.” I let the sarcasm curl deliberately through the words. His jaw ticked.
“You showed up late,” he snapped. “An hour and a half late.”
“Yes, Dimitri. I’m aware.” I gave him a slow smile. It aggravated him beautifully.
“When will you stop undermining me?” he growled.
“I’m not undermining you. You made me Chief Executive Adviser,” I reminded him. “Not that I asked for the position. I’m doing the job you forced on me.”
His glare sharpened.
“You’ve barely shown up these last few days. I need you to run this company with me.”
“There it is,” I murmured. “You don’t need me. You have Donovan, Damien, and Marco. You’ve always managed without me. Admit it. You want me here so you can keep me exactly where you want me.”
“Yes, I could give everything to Marco,” he said coldly. “But he isn’t my son.”
“And neither am I.”
Silence sliced cleanly between us.
“Show me some respect,” he said finally.
“Respect works both ways,” I said. “Start treating me like your son, and maybe we can start somewhere.”
He laughed. Low. Cruel. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”
Something twisted painfully in my chest.
He pushed a folder toward me. “Your mother’s charity gala. She wants you to attend.”
I flipped it open. Names. Photos. The polished crowd my mother thrived in.
I shut it with a thud. “Why does her dress-up party concern me?”
“Because you’re going in her place. She isn’t feeling well.”
I scoffed. “Is that her excuse of the month?”
“I would go,” he said, “but I’m overseeing an important merger. As you already know.”
“Ask Naomi. I don’t do favors for Liz.”
“Naomi is out of the country,” he said. “We don’t have a choice.”
“You should have thought of that before burning every bridge,” I muttered.
“And,” he continued, “you need to be in Chicago anyway to close the deal we’ve been working on.”
“Fine,” I said. I hated that city, but there was no avoiding it.
He stood. “Your mother wants you at dinner tonight. Show up this time. Do not disappoint her again.”
“Tell Liz I’ll think about it,” I said. “And tell her I send my greetings.”
