Being the oldest, I bore the brunt of it. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, because it meant Max and Levi were somewhat spared. Though “spared” is relative. After two years of living in that hell, we were removed from our father’s custody. Not that we had a choice, but I still don’t know which would have been worse: staying or leaving. Three boys, three teenagers between eleven and fourteen years old—what foster family wants that?
More than you’d think, but just as many suddenly didn’t want us shortly after. Maybe we were truly a bunch of troublemakers, or maybe we just had bad luck. Either way, we were forced to move from one foster family to another, much to our frustration. That lasted until I turned eighteen. From then on, we were on our own.
I found a job, rented a small apartment, and took custody of Max and Levi. I didn’t exactly earn my computer science degree by attending classes religiously. Instead, I relied on other students’ notes and online resources. Levi was fifteen at the time, a teenager who adapted quickly to everything. Thanks to the stability I managed to provide, he turned out well. He’s now a thriving landscape contractor with a flourishing landscaping company and living life to the fullest. If I’ve done one thing right in my life, it’s raising that kid. You wouldn’t think he’d been through anything. As for me, taking responsibility at such a young age taught me ironclad self-discipline and determination, which proved invaluable in my career. At twenty-five, I founded B-Tech, my very own, very successful tech company.
B-Tech develops software solutions for businesses. Our systems are now fully optimized and sell themselves. Anyone who buys our software packages can automate their entire accounting. In five years, I’ve turned it into a multimillion-euro company with fifty employees. Professionally, I’ve always kept a firm grip on the business, but outside of work I indulged in everything success seemed to demand: power, women, alcohol, and the occasional drugs. After a life of poverty and sorrow, it was finally our time. Our time, because my brother Max shared the same hedonistic lifestyle as me since he joined B-Tech about three years ago. Max had a rebellious adolescence but eventually followed the same studies as I did and also became a computer scientist. Working together, partying together—we were finally free together. At first, it was like a fairy tale, but Max got too caught up in the temptations of success, met my bad influences which ultimately cost him his life. A cocaine overdose on a wild night about six months ago, and I lost my brilliant brother. Dad’s still alive; Max is dead. It’s hard not to be terribly angry at the world and at myself. This should never have happened. I lost all control, made the wrong decisions, and Max’s death was the result. I should have seen it coming, but I did nothing. Worse, I just went along with it. That’s done now, back to work and self-discipline.
Since my brother’s death, I’ve become a radical workaholic. It helps me avoid having to think. Aside from the ongoing lawsuit against one of those bad influences, I’m now solely focused on the future. Professionally, with the ever-increasing demand for new software solutions, it looks very promising. The growth of the company is my top priority. A clear, controllable goal gives me something to hold onto. Temptations of any kind are not welcome.
When Bertrand sent me the listing for this house, I was sold immediately. Villas like this in Bruges don’t come on the market very often. The materials are exclusive yet warm, the location ideal. It boasts plenty of rooms and bathrooms. A pool with a wellness area and a gym. The entire house is built in one large L-shape so that every room, with floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooks the garden. A garden with a wide view, several football fields of grass, and partially bordered by shrubs and trees at the back. Where the trees end, the garden opens up to the Bruges polders. The view is unobstructed, and in the distance, you can see the city’s iconic towers. It’s a place where I can breathe. Unless the photos are wildly deceptive, this house is about to be mine.
I’m twenty minutes early for the house viewing, but apparently, I’m not the only one who’s punctual. Typical of female real estate agents to drive around in a brightly colored Fiat. I don’t want to think in stereotypes, but they’re not making it easy for me. My preconceived thoughts come to an abrupt halt when I see the female real estate agent in question standing there. I only have a view of her backside, as she’s clearly still fetching various items from her car. Her tailored suit accentuates her delightful curves. Seeing a woman in that bent-over position, including high heels that give her backside just that extra lift, I can’t remain indifferent to that. My crotch lets me know that my primal instincts are still working. After months of self-imposed abstinence, this is the first time I fear I might have to walk around with a certain… discomfort. I park next to her and step out of the car. I quickly grab my phone from its holder and turn around. The moment I look her straight in the eyes, I know my fear was justified. She’s so fucking beautiful. This is going to be a long, physically uncomfortable tour.
She addresses me as Bertrand. For her, I’d be whoever she wants me to be. She looks momentarily thrown off. That’s nothing new; I know the effect I have on others. On women. She tries to hide her reaction. This is going to be fun. I can’t help it; she makes me smile for the first time in a long while. My facial muscles need time to adjust.
I follow her to the house. Nora maintains a professional, almost distant demeanor. She’s well-prepared and gives me all the details of the house. She does her real estate agent thing as it should be done. However, you can’t fool me; her body is also reacting to me, and she’s doing everything she can to hide it. It’s not working. Her voice quickens, her breathing is shallow, and a faint blush colors her cheeks from the moment we locked eyes. I know the effect I have on women, and Nora is no exception. Still, I can’t resist pushing her buttons a little, testing her. I position myself in the doorway, close enough to catch her scent—a mix of fresh shampoo and light floral perfume. I never miss a scent. She smells divine. As I lean in slightly, I notice goosebumps trailing along her skin, her nipples subtly visible beneath her white blouse. Bingo.
She shakes off the discomfort, wriggles free from her “precarious” position, and positions herself a few steps away by the counter. After I admit I hardly ever cook, she smoothly resumes her pitch about the house.
“So much love and attention to detail went into this house that it absolutely deserves to be lived in. The previous owner couldn’t make much use of it, and that’s a shame for a house like this. It’s not just an investment piece or a collector’s item,” she says. As if that’s for her to decide.
“Is that a warning?” I ask sternly.
“Not at all! That wasn’t my intention. Whoever decides to buy this house is, of course, free to do with it as they please.” I notice her hesitation.
“I sense a ‘but’,” I interject.
“It’s just, when I see this house, I see what a privilege it is to be able to live here. The idea of it not being used for what it was meant for feels like such a waste. Imagine waking up with the sunrise flooding this kitchen with light, sipping coffee at the breakfast bar. Or working from home in the library, it’s secluded enough to focus but still connected to the rest of the house. I’ll show you in a bit. And for entertaining? This house is perfect. The pool and bar area practically beg for parties. But it’s also ideal for quiet evenings, curling up by the fireplace in the living room or reading a book in the back lounge while the sun sets. For a family with kids, this house is a dream. Despite the luxury finishes, it’s incredibly practical and child-friendly. There are no dangerous stairs or railings, and the materials are durable and low maintenance. Plenty of bedrooms and bathrooms, too, for a typical family.”
As she speaks, vivid images form in my mind: summer evenings, parties, children running across the lawn. Nora knows how to weave a compelling story, selling not just a house but a vision of a life. And yet, I sense there’s something more behind her words. It’s as though she’s painting a picture of a life she’s imagined but doesn’t have. There’s a faint trace of sadness when she talks about the family with kids.
“Is your client someone with a family or single?” she asks.
“My client is single.” And determined not to change that anytime soon. I add that thought spontaneously.
I can’t picture myself with children. What I can vividly imagine, though, is Nora in this house. I could step up to her right now and trap her between the kitchen counter and myself. She’d widen her eyes in shock and surprise, but she wouldn’t push me away. She’d be too caught up in the moment, too overwhelmed by excitement and desire to say a word as I undo the buttons of her blouse one by one, letting it slide off her shoulders to the floor. With a longing, intense gaze and a soft moan, she’d give silent permission to go further. She wants this as much as I do. I place my hands on her neck and let them glide gently over her shoulders. As I move downward, I take the delicate straps of her white balconette bra with me. I kiss her bare neck and take in her intoxicating scent as if it’s the last time I’ll ever have my sense of smell. I place one hand on her exposed lower back while the other cups her breasts. My hips press firmly against her, my arousal unmistakable against her abdomen. I can feel the rapid thrum of her heartbeat and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickens. My fingers tease the smooth curve of her breast, coaxing another soft moan from her lips as I let them graze her nipple through the lace. Her reaction ignites a fire in me so intense I have to stifle my own groan. My arousal grows unbearable, the need for release overpowering, and she’s the only one who can grant it. Her body arches into mine, seeking her own satisfaction as fervently as I seek mine.
“Please follow me to the living room,” Nora says kindly.
What? My inappropriate fantasies are mercilessly interrupted. Fortunately, Nora is unaware of my illicit thoughts and continues the tour as if I hadn’t almost taken her against the counter. She walks a few steps ahead of me, and I immediately feel the distance she’s created. Trying to close the gap—both physical and otherwise—I hasten to catch up, battling an erection that’s determined to bridge the divide between my daydreams and reality. Nora is beautiful, and no matter how much I might want to deny it, she stirs something in me. I don’t know what it is exactly, but she’s the first woman in a long time who reminds me that I’m a human being of flesh and blood. She reminds me that I, too, have desires and needs beyond work. As if her presence anchors me in the present moment. Still, she’s not my type. She’s too real, too pure, maybe too normal. If I’m in the mood for a quick fling, it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be Nora. I may have a reputation, but you don’t ruin innocence like hers. Along with needs, I also have boundaries.
“The living space is exceptionally warm and inviting. Here, you see the fireplace framed by a marble column reaching up to the ceiling, and next to it, custom-made, open wooden shelves. In this room, textiles were key to creating the intimate atmosphere—a thick, plush, cream-colored rug anchors the space, complemented by a large dark-gray L-shaped sofa. Light-green wool throw pillows and soft, dusty-pink cushions add just the right touch of color. The furniture and decor aren’t included in the price, but that’s negotiable. Your client is bound to fall in love with this unique space,” she says enthusiastically. Her eyes sparkle.
Should I tell her? It’s not like I did it on purpose. She immediately assumed I was Bertrand. She could have asked my name, or maybe she didn’t know I was tagging along as the buyer? I could have introduced myself, of course… but I didn’t. This is too much fun, a rare distraction in an otherwise monotonous day. I haven’t felt this inner grin in so long. I’m allowing myself this little pleasure, though guilt creeps in right behind it. I shouldn’t feel this good, and I shouldn’t be teasing Nora. Max was reduced to ashes, and here I am, laughing. That can’t be right.
Chapter 3
Nora
I can’t quite gauge what Bertrand is thinking. He’s quiet, but his intense and watchful gaze follows me constantly. I feel self-conscious under his scrutiny. If I had more confidence, I’d say he’s looking at me more than at the house. But that seems like wishful thinking, so I focus on the task I came here to do.
The buzz and hum of my phone disrupt the silence hanging in the room. Not very professional to answer it here, so I excuse myself and pull it out of my back pocket. I intend to decline the call and put it on silent. Instead, I stare at the screen in disbelief and confusion.
“Uh… how is this possible? I’m getting a call from you?”
I look up and see a wide grin spread across the face of the man I’ve just spent the last half hour showing around. What’s so funny about this? I don’t get it, and he doesn’t offer an explanation. Maybe I saved the wrong number under Bertrand’s name in my phone? Triggered by curiosity, I answer.
“Hello?” I’m on guard.
