Summoned to the Estate

Cruising aggressively through the affluent, jacaranda-lined streets of the Highland Crest neighborhood, Dominic’s internal thoughts were consumed not by his deeply dreaded, impending meeting with his powerful father, but rather by a simmering, hot fury directed entirely at Elena. He was still completely bewildered and highly insulted that the mousey woman had the sheer nerve to use his body, violently brand his neck with a hickey, and simply leave him sleeping alone like he meant absolutely nothing. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of her escape still made his blood boil.

Irritated and tightly wound, he sharply buzzed the massive wrought-iron gate of his sprawling childhood home, aggressively tapping his long fingers impatiently against the leather steering wheel of his Ferrari. A fast-paced dance track thumped loudly from the radio, vibrating the metal frame of the sports car, yet it did nothing to drown out the loud, looping monologue of anger echoing in his mind. His Lamborghini was currently in the garage for maintenance, so he was forced to drive the Ferrari today.

Once the heavy metal gate squeaked open, he eased onto the pristine circular driveway. The immaculate, silent grounds of the estate were surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns that looked just as vibrant in the dead of winter as they did in the middle of summer. An army of professional landscapers saw to that twice a week.

Robert, the aging head butler dressed sharply in his pristine uniform, was already waiting faithfully by the grand entrance.

"Master Sterling," Robert beamed brightly, stepping forward without hesitation and pulling the billionaire into an affectionate, bone-crushing bear hug. The older man grasped his hand in a firm, familiar handshake. Robert had always been an affectionate fixture in the household, but he had grown noticeably more sentimental as the gray hairs on his head multiplied over the years.

"Good to see you again, Rob!" Dominic replied warmly, leaning happily into the effusive greeting. He genuinely returned the embrace, even though they had just seen each other at the mandatory weekly family dinner a few days prior—a dinner he and his two sisters were aggressively required to attend without exception.

Pulling away, the butler chuckled softly, though a knowing glint flashed in his eyes. "You kept your old man waiting," Robert warned, respectfully ushering him inside the grand, echoing foyer. "He's not happy with you."

Actively ignoring his loud, grumbling stomach—which violently protested the fact that he hadn't eaten anything solid since Davis gave him that foul-tasting hangover cure the night before—Dominic caught a delicious whiff of Saturday roast chicken wafting from the gourmet kitchen. Still, he intentionally stalled his march toward the study by stopping abruptly at his mother’s private art studio, located directly opposite the guest bathroom.

Inside, Louise Sterling sat heavily slumped before an entirely blank canvas. Her pale green eyes stared listlessly and emptily out the large glass window, ignoring the easel in favor of watching the colossal spouting fountain in the garden. Her greying black hair floated down her back in a long French braid, a stark contrast to the pale pink satin blouse and delicate ballet pumps she wore. Judging from the severe slump of her shoulders and the terrifyingly pristine canvas, it was glaringly obvious that inspiration was completely absent today.

"There she is!" Dominic announced loudly, intentionally forcing a gentle, teasing smile into his deep voice as he leaned against the doorframe. "The most beautiful woman in the world!"

Startled, Louise turned quickly. A bright, genuine grin split her face the second she saw him, but she hastily and awkwardly brushed away the thick, unshed tears brimming on her cheeks before standing and dancing lightly into his strong, outstretched embrace.

"There he is, the most handsome son in the world!" she replied, forcing a fragile layer of cheer into her voice.

As he held her tight, Dominic kissed her cheek. Her familiar, deeply comforting floral fragrance wrapped warmly around him, instantly tickling his nose. It was the very specific, luxurious scent that defined his entire childhood—the absolute embodiment of warmth and safety. If he had to describe love in one single word, it would undoubtedly be his mother's scent.

Pulling back to look at her face, he immediately noticed the deep, heavy melancholy weighing her down.

"Still struggling to paint?" he asked gently, the playful facade melting away.

Louise nodded, a profound sadness swimming in her gaze. When she sadly and quietly admitted to him that she might quit painting altogether after suffering a miserable six-month creative drought, his heart ached for her.

"Maybe I should quit, take up another hobby," she whispered listlessly.

"Hey, creativity can't be rushed," he consoled her softly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder with deep, fierce affection.

Linking their arms together in a quiet show of solidarity, mother and son proceeded slowly down the long, portrait-lined hall toward the main study at the very end of the corridor.

Inside the massive room, Arthur Dominic Sterling III sat rigidly behind a massive, imposing mahogany executive desk. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed in a tight frown as he peered intensely at a document in his hand. He was entirely bathed in the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the enormous French windows behind him, giving the older man an almost ethereal, god-like quality. Arthur had certainly earned that revered status among his peers.

For Dominic, looking at his formidable father was exactly like peering forty years directly into his own future. The two men shared the exact same towering, heavily muscled athletic frame, fiery red hair, pale coloring, and piercing blue eyes. They were literal mirror images.

Yet, the physical resemblance was absolutely where the similarities ended.

Arthur was universally revered and adored in the business world for his calm, generous, compassionate, and highly visionary leadership style. Dominic, conversely, gave absolute truth to all the loud clichés about redheads. He possessed a notorious, explosive temper that didn't take much to trigger—which perfectly explained why Elena's stunt had pissed him off so intensely.

Despite having built a highly successful, independent career in motorsport by the age of twenty-eight, Dominic's constant, loud tabloid scandals consistently overshadowed his real achievements. He deeply suspected this lack of public decorum was the exact real reason Arthur was so aggressively rushing his corporate succession plan.

"Where are your glasses, why aren't you using them?" Dominic prompted sharply as his mother gently pushed him forward into the center of the intimidating room.

Arthur glared at his son for a fraction of a second, the tension instantly spiking, before he dutifully and silently slipped the reading glasses dangling on a black string onto his nose.

Without asking for permission, Dominic confidently strode across the room and took a seat in a large brown Chesterfield armchair positioned right beside the grand, unlit fireplace. Beside him, his mother propped herself on the matching three-seater facing the hearth. She absently and nervously leafed through a glossy Business Insider magazine, appearing so profoundly listless and entirely distracted that Dominic began to seriously wonder if her heavy, unspoken burdens extended far beyond a simple inability to paint.

Reaching out to affectionately squeeze her trembling hand, his gaze drifted upward to examine the massive mantelpiece. The long wooden shelf was heavily crowded with decades of framed family memories, showcasing the three Sterling children during various milestones. There were first and last days of school, graduation photos, and proud corporate achievements.

Yet, as Dominic methodically scanned the neatly arranged timeline, a bitter resentment flared hot in his chest. He noticed that several defining moments were glaringly absent from the collection—and they all distinctly belonged to him. Every single milestone related to his racing career was deliberately excluded, including the complete omission of his recent, hard-fought seventh motorsport tournament win. It was a perfect visual representation of his father's blatant disapproval.

Resting his muscular arms lazily over his taut stomach, Dominic eased deeper back into the plush leather chair and pretended to casually enjoy the room. He didn't fully realize how incredibly emotionally cold and isolated he had been feeling deep inside until he finally registered the contrasting, physical warmth emanating within the thick walls of his father's study. The physical heat firmly established the tense atmosphere just before the massive, life-altering confrontation with his father began.