The black Rolls-Royce ate up the road, a silent predator hurtling toward the only place that didn't feel like a battlefield. Daniel drove with a controlled fury, his hands tight on the wheel, the city blurring into a smear of grey and glass until it gave way to older, grander streets. The iron gates to the Viggo estate swung open before he even had to slow down, recognizing the dark phantom approaching.
The house emerged like a vision from another century - a sprawling testament to old money and quiet authority. Ancient oaks stood sentinel along the crushed gravel driveway that unfurled like a pale ribbon through emerald lawns. The main residence rose in limestone grandeur, its countless windows watching his approach with dignified silence. This wasn't merely a home; it was a dynasty carved in stone. It felt just as cold and imposing as he did.
He pulled to a sharp halt directly in front of the soaring double doors, not bothering with the garages. Before the engine's low growl had fully died, a uniformed house help was there, opening his door with a silent nod. Daniel slid out, not acknowledging the man, and tossed him the keys without a word, before walking inside.
The grand foyer was a cathedral of silence and polished marble. His footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceiling, a solitary sound in the vastness. The air smelled of lemon polish and old wealth. And then, she appeared.
Olivia. His stepmother. Leaning against the doorway to the main drawing-room as if she owned the very air he was trying to breathe. Her smile was a perfect, venomous thing.
"Dani, you're here," she called, her voice dripping with a sweetness that made his teeth ache.
Daniel didn't stop. His face, which had begun to unclench during the drive, iced over completely. He made to move past her, a force ignoring a pebble.
"Came to see if they were still breathing," he said, his voice cutting through her false warmth. He finally stopped and turned his head just enough to pin her with his glacial stare. "It's Daniel."
The smile on Olivia's face didn't just fade; it shattered. Wiped clean by the sheer, unforgiving cold of his words. She stood frozen as he turned and took the grand staircase two steps at a time, his broad back a dismissive wall. The moment he was out of sight, her perfectly composed mask shattered. Her jaw tightened, her hands clenched at her sides. You arrogant bastard, she seethed internally, the words a silent scream in her mind. One day. One day you'll get what's coming to you. She knew exactly who "they" were—his grandmother and his father. Her husband. The man Daniel believed she was waiting to die.
Daniel didn't bother knocking. He pushed open the heavy oak door to his grandmother's room and found her propped up against a mountain of lace pillows, her silver hair a soft cloud around her head. She was squinting intently at her phone, holding it at arm's length.
He cleared his throat.
She lifted her head, and the transformation was immediate. Where Olivia's smile had been a calculated performance, Grandma Viggo's was pure sunrise, warming the lines of her beloved face. "Oh, my dear boy!" she exclaimed, her voice raspy with genuine delight.
She began to struggle out of the bed, and Daniel was across the room in three long strides. "Granny, don't—"
He reached her, his large hands gently taking her elbows to help her stand. But instead of steadying herself, she enveloped him in a hug that was surprisingly strong for someone so frail. Daniel stiffened for a fraction of a second, his body unfamiliar with the language of embrace, before he reluctantly allowed it, his arms coming up awkwardly to pat her back.
She pulled back, holding him at arm's length, her bright eyes scanning him up and down. The smile vanished, replaced by concern. "What is this? What have you been doing to yourself? You're all angles and shadows! Daniel Viggo, have you been forgetting to eat? Or just drinking coffee? Is the workload too much? You look like a strong wind would knock you over!"
A small smile appeared on Daniel's face. "I'm okay, Granny."
"Fine? You call this fine?" she fussed, pinching the fabric of his suit jacket at his arm. "Skin and bones! This is not fine. This is a tragedy!"
She continued her tactile inspection, and for the first time that day, the cold knot of anger in Daniel's chest began to loosen, replaced by a warmth he only ever experienced here. The memory of Lina's horrified face, the rage—it all receded, muted by the sheer force of his grandmother's love. His father had once provided this, too, a long time ago, before grief had made him weak and he'd let Olivia in. Daniel shoved the thought away. He was here for her. Only her.
Somewhat satisfied he wasn't actively wasting away, Grandma Viggo finally relented, though she continued muttering about his weight under her breath. She rang a small silver bell on her nightstand. Within moments, her personal handmaiden, a woman named Abigail with kind eyes and quiet efficiency, appeared.
"Abigail, this boy is starving. Bring the good chicken broth with the delicate noodles. The warm bread with honey butter. A bowl of those stewed pears with cinnamon he always finishes. And a tall glass of cold apple juice. Go on, now!"
Daniel tried to protest, but it was useless. She threw a playful tantrum, threatening to get out of bed and get it herself until he relented. He ate under her watchful eye, the simple, hearty food tasting better than any Michelin-starred meal he'd ever had. She talked, filling the room with her presence, asking about his life, his work, and then, inevitably…
"And a wife, Daniel? When will you bring a nice girl to meet me? This old woman needs great-grandbabies to spoil, you know. I'm not getting any younger."
Daniel shook his head, swallowing a bite of bread. "Too busy, Granny. The company…"
"Busy! Pah! What is busy? You make time for these things! You're not getting any younger either!" She poked him in the chest.
He gave her a look, the same stubborn one he'd given her since he was a boy. "Granny."
She huffed, but her eyes twinkled. She could never stay mad at him. "Stubborn. Just like your grandfather."
As evening began to paint the sky in shades of orange and purple, Grandma Viggo called for Abigail again. "Prepare the blue room in the courtyard for Daniel. He's staying the night."
Daniel didn't argue. He never did about this.
Together, with Abigail on one side and Daniel on the other, they helped the old woman from her bed and out of the main house. As they descended the grand staircase, a figure materialized. Olivia.
"Let me help, dear," she purred, her smile back in place, though it didn't reach her eyes. She smoothly, insistently, shouldered Abigail aside, taking her place holding Grandma Viggo's elbow. The grandmother exchanged a brief, knowing glance with Daniel but said nothing.
They walked through the back of the house and out into the evening air. The courtyard was another world entirely, separated from the main palace by a high wall covered in flowering jasmine. It was a secret garden. A sprawling lawn, a cobblestone path leading to a charming, smaller stone house that seemed to grow out of the earth itself. It was infinitely warmer, more lived-in than the cold majesty of the main residence. This was her domain.
As they reached the carved oak door of the cottage, Grandma Viggo stopped. She gently but firmly patted Olivia's hand off her arm.
"Thank you, Olivia. That will be all. You can go back now."
The dismissal was polite, absolute, and impenetrable. Olivia's smile tightened into a rictus of frustration. She had been married into this family for years and had never been allowed past this threshold. She had hoped, tonight, to finally cross it.
"Are you sure? I could help you get settled—"
"We are quite fine, dear. Goodnight." The old woman's tone brooked no argument.
A flash of pure, undiluted resentment shone in Olivia's eyes before she masked it. Forced to concede, she gave a tight nod. "Of course. Goodnight." She watched, her hands clenched at her sides, as Daniel opened the door and helped his grandmother into the warm, lit interior. The door closed firmly behind them, shutting her out once and for all.
Inside, the cottage was a cozy, cluttered haven. He helped his grandmother into her favorite worn armchair by the window. She sighed as she sat,the energy she'd maintained for his benefit finally leaching away to reveal the truly frail woman beneath. She was still sharp, still the iron fist in a velvet glove, but if you had two eyes in your head, you could see the weight of her years. She was tired.
Daniel pulled up a footstool and sat beside her, the billionaire brought low, not by force, but by love. For the first time all day, the storm within him was completely, utterly still.