The Billionaires Christmas Temptation

Homecoming

✴ Damien ✴

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as the car wound its way along the snow-dusted road leading to Wintervale. The sprawling countryside blurred by, in shades of white and gray, a monochrome painting of memories I had tried to leave behind. Ten years. It had been ten years since I had turned my back on this place and everything it represented. The tall iron gates of Gale Manor came into view, their familiar arch magnificent and daunting. I hesitated for a second before punching in the old code. I wasn’t even surprised that the code hadn’t been changed in all these years. My father would always remain a creature of habit. The gates creaked open with the same reluctant groan I remembered. Some things never changed.

“Home sweet home,” I murmured as the manor came into view. It stood as proud as ever. Its towering stone was draped in a fresh coat of snow. Lights twinkled softly along the attic, a touch of holiday cheer that felt out of place against the cold stillness of the grounds. I pulled the car to a stop and sat there for a moment as I stared at the house. It felt like another lifetime since I had called this place my home. A sudden burst of wind shook the car, which jolted me from my thoughts. With a loud sigh, I grabbed my overnight bag from the passenger seat and stepped out into the crisp air. The snow crunched beneath my boots as I made my way to the door, my breath puffed out in visible clouds. Before I could knock, the door swung open. My father stood there as he leaned slightly on his cane. His eyes were sharp, a mirror of my own, as he appraised me from head to toe.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice roughened by age but no less commanding. “Look who decided to remember his roots,”

“Good to see you too, Dad,” I replied as I forced a smile.

“Get inside before you freeze to death,” he then grumbled as he stepped aside to let me in. The warmth of the house enveloped me as I entered and what I hadn’t expected was the wave of nostalgia that suddenly hit me. The smell of pine and cinnamon filled the air and the faint crackle of a fire somewhere in the house. It was all so familiar and yet it wasn’t. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” my father then remarked as I set my bag down by the stairs.

“I thought I would give myself some time to settle in before the gala,” I replied as I shrugged off my coat. My father’s gaze lingered on me, and it was as if he could see straight through the polished exterior, I had spent years perfecting.

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, Damien. Settling in sounds like the least of your problems,” he muttered as he wandered off. I let out a dry laugh as I followed him into the living room. The fire roared and radiated a warmth that was welcoming. I took in the room, and I was even more surprised that nothing had changed. The leather armchairs had been recently polished and shone under the light from the flickering fire. The shelves were still lined with books my mother had collected and read time and time again. It was then that I realized that I hadn't stepped foot in this room since her funeral. Ten years ago. I took a seat and watched as my father poured two glasses of whiskey from the decanter on the mantle.

“How are you?” I asked him conversationally. He grunted in response as he handed over one of the glasses.

“I’m fine,” he said, but before I could even think of a follow-up question, he beat me to it as he sat down. “How is the business?”

“Thriving,” I replied before I took a sip of the golden liquid. “We closed a major deal just last month. Revenue projections for the next quarter are through the roof,” my father nodded, but his expression was unreadable.

“Yes, well, you always were good at making money,” he said, and I took another sip of my whiskey. The burn was welcomed and distracted me from his condescending tone. The silence stretched on, heavy with everything that neither of us was saying. My father had always been a man of few words, but I could see the curiosity in his eyes.

“Look,” I started as I leaned forward. “I know I have been gone a long time-”

“You don’t say,” he cut in, his tone sharp and disapproving. I sighed loudly as I downed the rest of my drink.

“I have been busy. The business doesn’t run by itself,” I argued.

“And yet, here you are now,” he remarked as he leaned back in his chair. “And only because Greg finally decided that he is too old to play Santa Claus?” I smirked at his comment.

“Something like that. He retired last spring. Now the gala is my responsibility,”

“Good,” he said, which surprised me. “It is about time you start taking responsibility for something other than your bank account,”

“Is this the part where you tell me I have been living my life all wrong?” I questioned as I took a moment to truly take a good look at my father. His hair was grayer than I remembered, and his frame was thinner, but his sharpness hadn't dulled. My father snorted.

“I don’t need to say a word, Damien. You already know it,” once again silence fell between us, and I sighed softly. While I had kept in contact with my father, the past few years had been rather strained between us. Of course, I also knew that it was my fault. “I miss your mother every day, Damien,” my father then whispered, and I swallowed hard. Just the mention of my mother hit me like a punch to the gut.

“It’s not the same without her,” I said just as softly.

“No, it’s not, but life doesn’t stop, Damien,” he said as he gazed over at me. “And neither should you,” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, so I remained silent. “When are you going to stop running?” he then asked as he fixed me with a steady gaze. “You have built an empire. You have made more money than I have ever seen in my entire life. But…what do you have to show for it? No family. No roots. No one to come home to,” I bristled at his words, although I couldn’t deny that they were true.

“I’m not exactly that type of man,” I said as I forced a lightness into my voice that I just didn’t feel.

“Maybe it’s time to change,” he said as he downed his whiskey. “You are not getting any younger, Damien, and this house could use some life in it again,” I didn’t have an answer for him. I had no idea what to say to him. Or maybe I did. I just wasn’t interested in talking to him about it. So, instead, I stared into the fire and let its warmth seep into me. Eventually, he left, and I listened to the sound of his cane tapping softly against the floor, which faded into the distance. This was supposed to be simple. Coming back to Wintervale. All I was supposed to do was host the gala, shake a few hands, and get out before the ghosts of my past could play catch up with me.