Chapter 2: The Silent Scream
The days that followed were a blur for Dorian. It was as if time itself had frozen, its passage only marked by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the now empty mansion. A heavy silence had descended on the once vibrant home, and every room, every corner, seemed to echo with the ghosts of what once was.
Dorian had been in a state of numbness, unable to process the events of that fateful night. His father's death, the betrayal of someone he once trusted as a second father, it all felt like a cruel dream—one that he couldn't wake from. But every time he looked around, reality struck him like an iron fist.
The funeral had been a cold affair. People came, dressed in black, offering hollow condolences, their eyes darting away from Dorian's gaze, too uncomfortable with the truth to look "im in the eye. They whispered, they stared, and they pitied him. But none of them truly understood. None of them could know what it felt like to lose everything in a single night. They saw a boy who had lost his parents, but Dorian knew it was more than that. He had lost his trust in the world, his faith in everyone who had once claimed to love him.
He had lost his innocence.
The mansion felt like a tomb now, a place where even the air seemed dead, suffocating him with its unrelenting stillness. The walls seemed to close in on him, the once familiar halls now foreign, as if he no longer belonged there.
Dorian roamed the mansion aimlessly, his footsteps echoing through the vast, empty spaces. The house that once held the laughter of a family, now stood as a cold monument to his grief. His mother's absence was a constant ache, a deep, hollow void that seemed to stretch endlessly inside him. He could almost hear her voice calling to him, but when he turned, no one was there.
The worst part wasn't the death of his father—it was the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at him from the inside. His father's closest friend, the man who had been a second father to him, had been the one to take everything away. The realization that someone he had trusted could cause such devastation was more than Dorian could bear. The man's face haunted him, and every time Dorian closed his eyes, he saw the cold, merciless eyes staring back at him.
And then, there was the fact that his family's wealth was now his inheritance. He hadn't asked for it. He didn't want it. But it had been thrust upon him, a burden he didn't know how to carry. The mansion, the estate, the riches—none of it meant anything without the people he had loved. His heart had already been shattered, and the wealth only served as a reminder of what he had lost.
But with the inheritance came something else—something Dorian hadn't anticipated.
The vultures began to circle.
People who had once turned their backs on him now appeared from the shadows, their smiles thin and insincere. They spoke of investments, of securing his future, of building his empire. They offered hollow gestures of support, pretending to care when all they were interested in was his money. The world that had once seemed so inviting now felt like a twisted game, and Dorian was the pawn being manipulated by those who sought to profit from his tragedy.
It was during one of these meetings that the true nature of the people around him revealed itself.
Sitting across from him was a man, tall and well-dressed, a shark in a suit. He spoke with a smooth, rehearsed voice, making promises Dorian knew were empty. His smile was a façade, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. Dorian had seen too much to believe in the words that spilled from the man's lips.
"Dorian," the man said, leaning forward with an air of false sympathy, "I know this has been a difficult time for you. But you're young, and there's so much potential in this estate. Think of what we can build together. Think of the future."
Dorian stared at him, his gaze unwavering. He could feel the man's greed radiating from him, thick and suffocating. He didn't trust him. Not for a second.
"I don't need your help," Dorian replied, his voice cold and sharp. "You don't care about my future. You only care about my money."
The man's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "You're wrong, Dorian. We're just trying to help you. It's what your father would've wanted."
Dorian's fists clenched at his sides. His father's name was being used as a shield, a weapon to manipulate him, and he couldn't stand it. His father wasn't here anymore, and no one had the right to speak for him.
"Don't ever speak his name again," Dorian spat, standing abruptly. "And don't ever come near me or my family again."
The man's eyes narrowed, but Dorian didn't care. He wasn't afraid of him or any of the others who would try to use him. The more they tried to manipulate him, the more Dorian's resolve solidified. He wouldn't let them turn him into a puppet.
Dorian didn't need them.
He had only one goal now—revenge.
He had seen how quickly people could turn on him when he had nothing left to give. But now, with the wealth of his family in his hands, he had power. The power to destroy the people who had destroyed him. The power to make them suffer.
He would make them pay for their betrayal.
But it wouldn't be quick. It wouldn't be obvious.
It would be slow, deliberate, and devastating.
And when it was done, he would be the one standing amidst the ruins, smiling.