Charlotte stood frozen at the door, heart pounding in her chest.
The young man before her radiated charm, but it was a rehearsed, almost surgical kind of charm. His presence felt familiar—uncomfortably so.
"I'm Julian," he said, offering his hand. "Julian Lu."
She didn't take it. "Ethan never mentioned a brother."
Julian chuckled. "I imagine he wouldn't. Our father made sure I stayed a well-kept secret."
Her breath caught. So it was true. Ethan had a half-brother.
Julian tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You must be Charlotte."
Her name on his lips made her skin crawl.
"How do you know me?"
"I've been watching," he said simply. "Much like our father. We've all been watching Ethan. Waiting."
"For what?" she asked.
"For him to crack," Julian replied, stepping inside uninvited. "And when he does… I'm the one who'll pick up the crown."
Charlotte stepped in his way, eyes cold. "Ethan's not the kind of man who breaks."
Julian leaned in, voice velvet-smooth. "Everyone breaks, Charlotte. Especially the ones who pretend they never will."
When Ethan returned to the penthouse, he immediately sensed something was wrong.
Charlotte was quiet—too quiet. She sat curled on the couch, a glass of wine untouched on the table. Her arms wrapped around herself like armor.
He dropped his coat. "What happened?"
She looked up slowly. "He came here."
"Who?"
"Your brother."
Ethan froze. "Julian?"
She nodded. "He knows everything. About us. About your father. He's not just watching. He's here to take your place."
Ethan clenched his jaw, the name burning in his mind. Julian. The bastard child his father had hidden. Raised in secret. Trained in silence.
"I should've known he'd send Julian."
Charlotte stood. "He said something else. That your father believes you'll break. And when you do, Julian will take over."
Ethan's silence spoke louder than rage.
Then, quietly: "Let him try."
The next morning, Ethan stood in the executive boardroom of Lu Corporations. The council sat before him—twelve of the most powerful, cunning individuals in the company.
And at the far end of the table sat Julian.
He wore a navy-blue suit tailored to perfection, posture immaculate, hands folded with rehearsed humility.
"Julian," Ethan said, his voice like ice. "You don't belong here."
"I'm as much a Lu as you," Julian replied smoothly. "Father's blood runs in my veins too."
"Blood doesn't entitle you to this seat."
"No," Julian said, leaning forward. "But competence does. And I've been preparing for this my entire life, brother."
The word was a weapon.
The room shifted, tension crackling like lightning.
Julian smiled politely at the board. "I only ask for a fair chance. Let me prove myself. Side by side with Ethan. Let the company decide who leads better."
Several members exchanged looks. The idea had merit.
Ethan slammed his hand on the table. "This is not a game."
"No," Julian said softly, "but it is a legacy. And I intend to claim mine."
That night, Ethan found himself standing once again in the secret vault, staring at the journal left behind by his father.
Each page now felt like a challenge. Like his father had foreseen every move—including Julian.
He flipped to a folded page in the back. A single sentence, scrawled in bold red ink:
"If you can't kill the past, it will devour your future."
He didn't need to guess what that meant.
Back at the penthouse, Charlotte took a long, hot shower. The steam was thick around her, but her thoughts were thicker.
Julian unsettled her. Not just because of who he was—but because of how much he reminded her of the man Ethan used to be. Cold. Calculated. Untouchable.
Had Ethan changed? Or was the softness she'd seen in him just temporary?
She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, only to find Ethan standing at the window, shirtless, eyes storm-dark.
"Your brother wants a war," she said.
Ethan nodded. "Then I'll give him one."
He crossed to her, brushing damp strands of hair from her cheek. "But there's something I need from you."
Her breath hitched. "Anything."
His hands slid around her waist. "Don't let me become him."
She looked into his eyes, searching for the man who had kissed her like he was drowning in emotion—not just lust.
"You won't," she whispered. "Not as long as I'm here."
He kissed her then. Deep, hungry, but with something new: desperation.
Clothes fell. Skin met skin. But it wasn't just sex—it was control. It was reclaiming power in the only place he still had it.
And Charlotte let him.
Because this wasn't about dominance.
It was about holding on—to her, to sanity, to the version of himself that hadn't yet been corrupted by legacy and blood.
Later, as Charlotte lay in his arms, she whispered, "What if he's better than you?"
Ethan's voice was low. "He might be."
A pause.
"But he'll never be me."