"The Weight of Victory"

Smith Jr. sat alone in his office long after the boardroom had emptied, the weight of his victory pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. Outside, the city skyline stretched endlessly, the blinking lights casting elongated shadows across the glass walls. He had fought for this—for his family, for the company, for the legacy his grandfather built.

And now, he had won.

But at what cost?

The silence felt unnatural, thick with something unresolved. The chair across from him—the one Lucas had occupied during their heated clashes—stood empty. No more threats, no more challenges. The battle was over. Or so it seemed.

A quiet knock pulled him from his thoughts. The door creaked open, and Catherine stepped inside, her presence a familiar warmth in the cold room. She didn't speak at first, just stood there watching him, as if waiting for him to acknowledge what they both already knew.

"You're still here," she murmured, crossing the space between them. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, grounding him.

Smith Jr. exhaled, leaning into her touch. "I needed a moment."

Catherine studied his face, searching for something beneath his carefully composed exterior. "You did it."

"I did." His fingers tapped restlessly against the desk. "But it doesn't feel over."

Catherine hesitated before speaking, her voice softer now. "Lucas won't let this go."

Smith Jr. nodded, his expression darkening. "That's what scares me."

A heavy pause settled between them, thick with unspoken fears. Outside, the city thrived, oblivious to the war that had just ended behind these walls. Or perhaps it was only beginning.

Catherine sighed and squeezed his shoulder before stepping back. "Come home."

He blinked, as if remembering that a world outside this office existed. The exhaustion weighed down on him now, a deep ache settling into his bones. He hadn't realized how much adrenaline had kept him going until this very moment.

Smith Jr. finally pushed himself up from his chair, his movements sluggish. Catherine reached for his coat draped over the chair and held it out to him. He took it without a word, slipping it on as they made their way toward the door.

The hallway was eerily quiet at this hour, most of the staff having long since gone home. The polished floors reflected the dim glow of recessed lighting, the once-busy office now reduced to a ghost of itself.

As they stepped into the elevator, the weight of the night pressed down again. Catherine stood beside him, silent but present. She had always been there, his unwavering pillar, even when the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

When the doors slid open to the underground parking lot, the cold air hit him first, sharp and biting. The space was nearly empty, only a few luxury cars lined up in neat rows. Catherine led the way toward their car, her heels clicking softly against the pavement.

The drive home was quiet, the city lights flickering past in a blur of gold and white. Smith Jr. rested his elbow on the window frame, his fingers grazing his temple as he stared out into the night. The victory should have felt sweeter, but the knot in his stomach told him otherwise.

Catherine glanced at him as she drove. "You're thinking too much."

"I always do."

She smiled slightly but didn't push. Instead, she reached over, placing a hand over his. It was a simple gesture, but it pulled him back, grounding him in the present.

They arrived home to the soft glow of porch lights illuminating the grand estate. The familiar sight should have been comforting, but something about it felt different tonight. Or maybe it was just him.

As they stepped inside, the warmth of home wrapped around them—the faint scent of wood and spice, the quiet hum of the central heating, the distant sound of the wind rattling the windows.

Dalian was asleep, curled up on the couch with a book still open on his lap. Catherine chuckled softly as she walked over, gently taking the book from his grasp and tucking a blanket around him.

Smith Jr. watched them from the doorway, a small pang of longing settling in his chest. This was what he had fought for. His family. Their future.

Yet, something in the shadows of his mind whispered that the fight wasn't over.

Not yet.

Catherine turned back to him, her expression softer now. "Come to bed."

He hesitated for only a second before nodding. Tonight, at least, he would allow himself to rest.

But deep down, he knew—this was only the calm before the storm.

Lucas stood in his dimly lit penthouse, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. His hands clenched the counter, knuckles bone-white. The flickering bathroom light cast jagged shadows over his face, distorting his features.

He had lost.

The words burned, acidic and raw.

He could still see the smug confidence in Smith Jr.'s eyes, hear the finality in the board's decision. Every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every calculated move—it had all been for nothing. Smith Co. belonged to his brother now. The realization gnawed at him, hollowing him from the inside.

His breath came faster, ragged. A pressure built in his chest, coiling tighter with every passing second. And then—snap.

With a sudden, violent motion, he swung his fist into the mirror. The glass splintered under the force, jagged shards slicing into his knuckles. Blood welled up, trickling down his fingers in thin crimson lines. The pain was distant, secondary to the storm raging inside him.

From the doorway, Maria's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"You're pathetic, Lucas."

He turned sharply. She stood poised, arms crossed, her gaze devoid of sympathy.

Lucas let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Come to gloat, Mother?"

Maria stepped into the room, heels clicking against the marble floor. "Don't insult me," she said coolly. "I don't waste my time on the weak."

His jaw tightened.

"You let them take everything from you," she continued, her tone sharpening. "You stood there and let them strip you of your birthright. And now what? You're sulking in the dark like a wounded animal?"

Lucas clenched his fists, fresh blood pooling in his palm. "And what do you expect me to do, Mother? He has everything—Smith Co., the board, the family name. And what do I have?"

Maria smiled. A slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine.

"You have vengeance."

The word coiled around him like smoke, seeping into the cracks of his fractured pride.

Maria moved closer, her voice a whisper against his ear. "You've spent your life playing by the rules, hoping to earn your place. But the truth is, Smith Jr. was always going to win. He's the golden child, the one your father truly valued."

Lucas inhaled sharply. It was true, wasn't it? No matter how hard he worked, how much he gave—he had always been second.

Maria's fingers trailed along the shards of the broken mirror, picking up a sharp sliver of glass. She turned it between her fingers, watching the way the light caught its edges.

"He took everything from you," she murmured, tilting her head. "But we can take everything from him."

Lucas exhaled slowly, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

His reflection stared back at him, fractured and broken. But somewhere in those shattered pieces, something dark and resolute took root.

He turned to Maria, his voice steady now. "What do you have in mind?"

Her smile deepened, eyes gleaming. "Something they'll never see coming."

But words weren't enough.

No, Lucas needed something permanent.

Maria's strategy meetings were held in dimly lit, smoke-filled rooms. Expensive wine and expensive company, the air thick with unspoken deals.

"If we can't take the company," Maria had said, her voice rich with venom, "we take everything else. His peace. His security. His family."

Lucas listened intently as she laid out the details. This wasn't a hastily drawn scheme—it was methodical, years in the making.

"You see," Maria mused, tapping a manicured finger against her glass, "Smith Jr. plays by the rules. He believes in fairness, in decency. That's his weakness."

Lucas exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against the mahogany table. "And what do you suggest?"

Maria leaned forward, her voice a dangerous whisper.

"We don't just hurt him. We destroy him."

Lucas considered the weight of those words. A finality settled over him.

There would be no coming back from this.

And he didn't care.

Snow fell thick and heavy, blanketing the Smith estate in an eerie silence. The grand mansion stood adorned in twinkling lights, golden ribbons wrapped around the banister, and a towering Christmas tree glowing with soft, warm light.

Inside, the fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows against the walls. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and roasted turkey filled the air, wrapping the home in familiar comfort.

Diane knelt by the tree, guiding Dalian's small hands as she placed a final ornament on the lowest branch. The little girl giggled, proud of her work, and Diane ruffled her hair.

Catherine poured wine at the dining table, stealing a glance at Smith Jr., who sat back with quiet contentment. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Smith Jr. frowned, rising from his chair. "Who could that be?"

He strode across the room, the warmth of the evening still settled in his chest. But the moment he pulled open the heavy oak door, a rush of cold air stole it away.

Lucas stood on the doorstep, a bottle of wine in one hand, a twisted smile stretched across his face. Beside him, Margaret clutched his arm, her eyes darting nervously.

"Merry Christmas, brother."

Smith Jr. hesitated. Every instinct told him to shut the door, to turn Lucas away before his presence tainted the night.

But he didn't.

Instead, he stepped aside.

"Come in."

Lucas's grin widened.

---

The dining room was warm, golden light spilling across the long wooden table. Plates were already set, silverware glinting under the chandelier. Catherine moved gracefully between them, refilling glasses, checking on the food.

Lucas swirled his wine, watching her with lazy interest. "Always the perfect hostess," he mused. "Tell me, Catherine, does it ever get tiring?"

Catherine barely faltered as she placed a bowl of roasted vegetables near Diane. "I enjoy taking care of my family," she said smoothly.

Lucas let out a slow chuckle, tilting his head. "How… noble."

Margaret shifted uncomfortably beside him. Smith Jr. shot his brother a warning glance but said nothing.

For a moment, everything seemed to settle. Plates were passed, forks scraped against fine china. The conversation stayed light—memories of past holidays, shared laughter at childhood stories.

Then, the doorbell rang again.

Maria.

She stepped inside uninvited, wrapped in a fur-lined coat, her presence suffocating the warmth in the room. Her eyes swept over the house, over the Christmas decorations, the table set for family.

"How lovely," she murmured, voice dripping with mockery.

Catherine stiffened. Diane instinctively pulled Dalian closer.

Smith Jr.'s stomach tightened. Something wasn't right.

Maria took her seat beside Lucas as if she belonged there. She poured herself a glass of wine, taking a slow sip. "You always did love playing house," she said, turning her gaze to Smith Jr. "Pretending you have it all figured out. A perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect company."

Smith Jr. set down his fork with deliberate calm. "If you're here to cause trouble, Maria, you can leave."

She only smiled. "Oh, but I wouldn't dream of ruining the holiday."

Lucas smirked, finally speaking up. "Yes, after all, this is a time for family, isn't it?"

The tension in the room thickened.

Diane dropped her fork against her plate, the sound ringing louder than it should have. Dalian, sensing the shift in the air, stopped eating, her small fingers gripping Diane's sleeve.

Maria leaned forward, her nails tapping against her wine glass. "You always thought you were better than us," she said smoothly. "Didn't you, dear Smith?"

Smith Jr. met her gaze evenly. "I never thought that."

Maria tilted her head. "No? You certainly acted like it."

Lucas set down his glass, his voice quieter now. "Tell me something, Smith Jr. When Father looked at you, did he ever see us? Or were we just shadows in the background?"

Silence.

Smith Jr. exhaled slowly. "This isn't the time for this."

Lucas laughed, shaking his head. "No, of course not. You never have time for us. Not when we were kids. Not when we were fighting for the company. And certainly not now."

Catherine's voice was gentle but firm. "Lucas, let's not do this tonight."

Lucas turned to her, his smile gone now. "Do what? Face the truth?" He gestured around the table. "Look at all of you. Sitting here in your perfect little life, celebrating a perfect little Christmas while we—" He glanced at Maria. "We were never good enough for this, were we?"

Diane swallowed, looking between them. "Lucas, maybe—"

"Don't," he snapped. His eyes burned as they locked onto Smith Jr. "You took everything from me."

"Lucas," Smith Jr. said carefully. "You made your own choices."

Lucas's breath came faster. He pushed back his chair, the screech of wood against tile making everyone jump.

Maria watched, her expression unreadable.

Lucas's fingers curled into fists. His breathing was erratic now, his chest rising and falling sharply. His face twisted, as if the weight of everything was crashing down at once.

And then—

He pulled a gun.

Catherine gasped. Margaret clamped a hand over her mouth. Diane instinctively wrapped her arms around Dalian.

Smith Jr. froze. "Lucas—"

"You took everything from me!" Lucas shouted, his voice raw with years of resentment. "The company, the family—everything! And you expect me to watch?"

Maria's voice slithered through the room.

"Do it."

Lucas's grip tightened.

Catherine moved instinctively, shielding the children. "Lucas, don't."

The first shot rang out.

Chaos erupted.

Smith Jr. lunged to protect his family, but a second shot sent him crashing to the ground.

Diane grabbed Dalian's hand. "Run!"

Dalian clung to her as they stumbled away from the table, feet slipping against the polished floor. Another shot. A scream. The sounds blurred together as Diane yanked open the back door, icy air slamming into them.

"Diane!" Catherine's voice was distant, swallowed by the chaos.

Diane didn't stop. She pulled Dalian against her chest, shielding her as they ran through the snow. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her legs trembling beneath her. Dalian clutched her coat, her small body shaking.

Behind them, the house still glowed with golden light. But it no longer felt warm.

It was a tomb.

Diane didn't stop running until her legs gave out.

The snow had long since stopped falling, but the cold remained. It clung to Diane's skin, settled in her bones, and numbed everything except the raw, searing grief that burned beneath.

Dalian sat quietly on the worn-out couch, her small fingers clenching the fabric of his coat as though afraid to let go. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow—wide, unblinking.

The echoes of that night never faded.

The gunshots still rang in Diane's ears, each one tearing through the fragile illusion of safety. Their father's body had hit the ground first. A second later, their mother's lifeless form collapsed beside him.

The screams. The smell of blood.

She had pulled Dalian away, shoved her toward the door, her only thought to run. The cold air had burned her lungs, but she hadn't stopped. She couldn't stop.

Not when Lucas's voice still echoed behind them.

Not when Maria's laughter had slithered through the chaos like poison.

Not when her mother's final, desperate cry still clawed at the edges of her mind.

Now, here they were.

A stranger's house. A borrowed couch.

Diane stood over Dalian, her hands trembling as she tucked a heavy blanket around her small shoulders. She didn't react. Didn't blink.

Did she even hear her?

"Dalian," she whispered, crouching in front of her. Her eyes stared past her, unfocused.

She reached for her hand, gripping her frozen fingers. "We're safe now," she tried to say, but the words felt like a lie.

Dalian didn't move.

The silence stretched.

Her hands clenched into fists.

Christmas had once been a time of warmth. Now, it was a graveyard of memories.

She had lost everything.

And there would be no justice.

The authorities had arrived too late, their parents already dead. Lucas and Maria had vanished, leaving only blood and devastation behind.

The estate—once their home—had been swallowed by greed.

There was nothing left for them.

A sharp knock on the door made Diane flinch.

She turned, wary.

The door creaked open, revealing a man standing on the threshold. His face was shadowed, his expression unreadable.

A relative. Someone distant, someone who barely knew them. And yet, they were here.

The man's voice was quiet but firm. "Gather your things. You'll stay with me now."

Diane glanced at Dalian, her chest tightening.

They had no choice.

Without another word, she rose, gently lifting Dalian into her arms. She didn't protest.

As they stepped into the cold night once more, Diane made a silent vow.

She would never forget.

And she would never forgive.