The Billionaire Darkness

Chapter One

I wasn't good at forgiveness. I was stubborn, and I knew it, but as things were, I felt like it was justified in this particular instance. I'd been cast out of my home, and the only city I'd known at eight, sent to the other side of an ocean just because my father had decided it would be more beneficial for me—whatever the fuck that meant.

For six years I had been away from the shining lights of New York, and being reunited with it felt like getting a piece of myself back, however raw that part might be, it had kindled itself into a flame that had been idling since the plane had touched the tarmac exactly twenty minutes ago. It was also directly squarely at the very person who had put me in this.

As of right now I sat in the back of the family Mercedes Benz S63 Sedan being driven towards my parent's penthouse, in Upper East Side Manhattan. It was where I'd grown up, or at least had my childhood. 

To most I also shouldn't even have a complaint about it, that was what the media had said since my first sign of returning home appeared online ten hours ago, and had caused a swarm of articles to appear in kind with not so much as an interview, or an original thought to be found in a single one of the fifteen posted.

Fucking pitiful.

Staring out of the window of the car at the rain-soaked streets of New York City I felt the flush of memories that this place held, the days when I had been able to see my friends nearly every day, when I'd reread the Count Of Monte Cristo for the dozenth time, and my mom had shook her head and smiled from the doorway of the living room, when my biggest problem had been finding a subject I didn't know anything about, or when I'd get to have tea since I'd been too short to climb onto the counter.

All of those were quickly overshadowed in my mind by the one where my parents on my eighth birthday had given me their present by putting me on their damn jet and sent me to Switzerland to attend the Institut Auf Dam Rosenberg, and separate me from my sister Kate for nearly half her life, now she was thirteen and would be fourteen in June, a convenient timeline given I was barely born nine months prior at the end of September.

When the car pulled up to the tower that was crowned by my parents penthouse that bordered several other buildings within view of Central Park, I waited in the back of the car preparing myself for what had become an inevitability as the driver and my parents chauffeur Andrews let me out.

Andrews had been the family chauffeur since my grandfather was a child, the eighty-two-year-old had also had a good life under the Winters Family, though definitely marked by servitude.

"Master Adrian," Andrews says opening the back of the Mercedes and I stepped out into the rainy weather that plagued Manhattan this time of year, honestly not even England rained this much. Besides this city could use some sunshine every once in a while.

I then sighed and walked to the doors of the building my family lived in. As the doors closed behind me, I glanced around an elaborately expensive marble lobby, which was tastefully decorated in art and a fair bit of masonry that I almost forgot where I was, almost. Though I suppose the housing of penthouses and luxury apartments of some of New York's wealthiest would due to justify such an exorbitant display.

Andrews followed after me with my bags something which bothered me tremensely, though because it was what my father paid him for, I couldn't help even though everything in me wanted too. Hell one of these days I'd fucking do it out of spite for him.

Truth be told I didn't have the best relationship with my father hadn't since the age of ten, when I was younger it was better, we were closer, we bonded more, but after being gone six years and only ever seeing my mom, it became apparent who was more likely to be there for me, when even my own father didn't give enough shits to come and see his own son every once in a while. He was either working, or ensuring that I was pushed to my absolute fucking limit to be the best of the absolute best at whatever I was doing—not that it seemed like it had ever been enough.