Don’t be the one who waits.
If you don’t let people in, they can’t turn around and choose someone else.
I stared down at my open palm, the curve of the medallion’s “C” imprinted deep in my skin. My only consolation was that it would fade.
One day,thiswould fade.
Three years, six months, and eight days later.
CHAPTER ONE
ASH
Summer clung to the city. September heat settled into the streets, stubbornly refusing to leave. Tourists still crowded the sidewalks bright with color and sweat as the city eased back into its everyday rhythm.
I navigated through the familiar chaos, sidestepping a stroller, ducking past a sunhat, until I spotted the entrance tucked between two high-end boutiques. The gate was already open.
I stepped through and followed a narrow hallway into a space I hadn’t seen before. When I pushed through the side door, I stopped.
It was raw, but there was no mistaking the potential. Thick stone walls wrapped the room in quiet. Wooden beams stretched overhead, open to the cloudless sky—Madrid blue. Vines spilled from the top, untrimmed but not careless, like someone had told them exactly where to grow. The air inside was still, warm, and scented faintly with old dust and sun-soaked brick.
Of course Henry would find this place. My little brother had a knack for spotting beauty in places no one else would think to look.
“And the prodigal son returns at long last,” Henry announced.
I turned to him with a smile.
He walked my way with arms wide and his signature grin intact.
“Areyouthe prodigal son in this scenario?” I wrapped him in a hug as soon as he came close enough. “We’ve been over this—Oli is the favorite.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not here, is he?” Henry’s laugh echoed across the open space, and I let it settle over me like a warm blanket. It had been too long since we lived in the same country.
Four years.
Four fucking years.
Sure, we’d seen each other often—never more than a couple of months between visits—but the distance, the lack of a shared daily rhythm, had gone on far too long. I was used to Henry the way I was used to a limb. Life felt off without him.
“Finally, a little sanity enters the equation,” came Raúl’s voice as he crossed the room.
“Is he giving you a hard time?” I asked him.
Henry rolled his eyes. “He’s been making budget cuts left and right. He’s supposed to be aluxuryconsultant.”
Raúl raised a brow. “I’m fairly certain that question was meant for me.”
I laughed and reached out to shake his hand. Raúl was helping Henry with this latest opening, though I’d known him for years. As soon as Henry decided to open a club here, I knew bringing Raúl in was the right call—even if things had gotten off to a rocky start.
They were opposites, but in a way that worked. Raúl was a top-tier luxury consultant with years of experience behind him and a sharp, almost surgical eye for detail. He took his workseriously—like cathedral-seriously—and had a reputation for being meticulous, precise, and a little intimidating.
Henry, on the other hand, was chaos dressed in charm. I knew firsthand how hard it could be to take him seriously. He was the most sociable of us brothers, all jokes and playfulness, which often masked just how clever he really was. And how deeply he felt.
Henry was a force of nature. In four years, he’d taken two clubs and turned them into eleven—elevenhighlysuccessful ones. He’d built an empire from scratch, far from the shadow of our father and our family name. And he’d done it by staying hands-on, never stepping back. The travel alone would have wrecked someone else, but not him.
I’d join him when I could—just never in one particular city. New York was still off-limits.
A thrill zipped through me at the thought ofhim—his pale blue eyes, that quiet smile. I shook my head, pulling myself back to the present.
