I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father-Chapter 316: Mother

"I’m going to talk to mother," Brandon said softly, his fingers tracing the edge of a gilded frame. "Don’t miss me too much, Lyse."

He leaned forward and pressed a reverent kiss to the centerpiece, a large, glossy photograph of Lyse smiling at some long-forgotten charity gala. The image had been taken candidly, her head tilted slightly, laughter caught mid-bloom.

It was the most beautiful thing he owned.

His eyes lingered on the wall.

Dozens of photographs.

All paparazzi shots he had purchased quietly through third parties, then enlarged, reframed, curated with obsessive precision. He had turned the entire east wall of his apartment into something sacred.

An altar.

Lyse at charity events.Lyse stepping out of a car.Lyse laughing with children.Lyse beside Levi. that one partially trimmed so Levi’s hand was not visible at the edge.

He had cut him out where he could.

Brandon stepped back to admire the display.

It felt almost peaceful in here.

Outside, the world had become hostile. Unstable. Watching.

But inside this apartment, Lyse was frozen in time. Untouched. Smiling only for him.

Brandon hated that he had to leave the apartment that day.

He hated leaving at all lately.

It felt like someone was following him.

Not physically, perhaps, though sometimes he was certain of that too but energetically. A presence pressing against his spine. Eyes in rearview mirrors. Shadows that moved half a second too late.

So on the rare occasions he forced himself outside, he carried protection.

He moved toward the hallway console and slid open the drawer.

Inside lay a small handgun.

Sleek. Black. Polished.

He picked it up with practiced familiarity, checking the chamber before sliding it into the holster concealed beneath his jacket.

A knife followed, tucked into his boot.

Prepared.

A more religious man might have thought the paranoia was karma.

A sane man might have considered that perhaps the weight on his chest was guilt.

But Brandon did not dwell in those territories.

Guilt was inefficient.

Karma was a story for weak minds.

He had a mission.

And in his mind, it was noble.

If he could just get Lyse back... everything would return to its rightful alignment.

He had been somebody when she was his.

A son of a prestigious family. Admired. Invited. Celebrated.

Doors had opened for him.

People had respected him.

Then he had made a mistake.

A temporary lapse.

He had left her for her sister.

A trivial decision, he had told himself at the time.

A strategic one.

But after that, something had shifted.

The admiration cooled.

The father he had known disappeared, leaving him in uncertainty.

Friends stopped calling.

It was as if abandoning Lyse had triggered a domino effect through his entire life.

Now he was left with the carcass of what once had been his future.

Lyse was the solution.

He believed it with terrifying clarity.

Each failed attempt to reach her only deepened his resolve.

Each rejection was a barrier meant to be broken.

Each obstacle,, Levi, security, distance was a test of devotion.

He locked his apartment door carefully behind him, tugging it twice to ensure it was secure, then made his way down to the underground garage.

The engine of his car purred to life.

As he pulled onto the highway, the setting sun bled across the horizon in streaks of gold and red. The light reflected against his windshield, forcing him to lower the visor.

His gaze flicked repeatedly to the rearview mirror.

A black sedan three cars back.

Too steady.

Too consistent.

His pulse quickened.

He switched lanes abruptly.

The sedan followed.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

He exited suddenly.

The sedan continued straight.

Brandon exhaled slowly.

Coincidence.

Probably.

Still, he took two unnecessary turns before rejoining the main road.

At different points along the drive, he identified possible stalkers.

A motorbike that stayed behind him for too long.

A white SUV that slowed when he slowed.

A pedestrian who seemed to look twice.

Each time the perceived threat dissolved, he allowed himself a shallow breath.

He stopped at a flower shop just off the main road.

The bell chimed as he entered.

The scent of fresh blooms wrapped around him, sweet and cloying.

"Good evening," the florist greeted politely.

"Lilies," Brandon said without hesitation.

White ones.

His mother’s favorite.

The florist wrapped them carefully in crisp paper and tied them with twine.

As Brandon handed over the cash, he glanced at the shop window, half-expecting to see someone watching him through the glass.

No one stood there.

Still, he left quickly.

Back on the road, he drove toward the cemetery.

The sky deepened into violet as the sun sank fully below the horizon.

When he pulled into the cemetery gates, a strange calm washed over him.

The place was orderly.

Quiet.

Predictable.

The dead did not betray.

He stepped out of the car, flowers in hand, and began the familiar walk toward his mother’s mausoleum.

Gravel crunched beneath his shoes.

Statues loomed in silent vigil.

He reached the marble structure and paused.

His fingers moved automatically toward his pocket.

Then stilled.

He had forgotten the keys.

For a long moment, he stood there staring at the locked iron gate.

Irritation flickered across his face.

He considered dropping the flowers on a random grave and leaving.

He could return another day.

But then he imagined it.

His mother’s disappointment.

"Mother will be upset if I miss tea," he murmured softly.

He turned and made his way toward the cemetery office, the lilies drooping slightly in his grasp.

The office light was still on.

A middle-aged man sat behind the counter, reading glasses perched low on his nose.

"Yes?" the man asked as Brandon entered.

"I forgot the keys," Brandon said, attempting a polite smile. "I would like to see my mother."

"What lot?"

"Five seventy-seven."

The man nodded slowly.

"Give me a minute, sir."

He disappeared into a back room.

Brandon shifted his weight impatiently, glancing around the small office. Old filing cabinets. A dusty clock ticking steadily. A security monitor flickering in black and white.

The man returned a few minutes later holding a heavy ring of keys.

"Let’s go, sir."

Brandon followed him back through the dim paths, the cemetery now fully wrapped in twilight.

They reached the mausoleum.

The man selected a key and unlocked the iron gate with a metallic click.

"There you are," he said politely, stepping aside.

Brandon entered slowly.

The interior was cool and faintly scented with stone dust and old air.

His mother’s name was engraved in polished marble.

He placed the lilies carefully at the base.

"I’ll leave you to it," the man said. "Please bring the keys to the office when you are passing by."

Brandon nodded absently.

He did not look back as the man stepped out.

He did not notice the tiny black object the man stuck on the door just before he left.