With a groan, I forced my eyes open at the sound of the voice I despised more than anything else in this world.
"What are you staring at?" barked a man in his forties. His face held the same disgust that haunted me for so long.
Before I got a chance to reply, a foot struck my stomach, and I was left kneeling on the ground, coughing, as he unleashed his anger on me.
Pain exploded through my side as the air fled my lungs. I collapsed to my knees, coughing violently.
It wasn't that I was too weak to defend myself. I just chose not to. Resisting would only make things worse.
Why? Because I was afraid of what he'd do—not just to me, but to the ones I cared about.
Looking up, I saw his brown eyes staring down at me, cold and full of disgust. His thick eyebrows were pulled together showing his irritation.
He wore his usual blue and white striped shirt, tucked into his pants in a way that only made his big belly stick out more.
A shiny pair of gold sunglasses hung from his collar, like he thought they made him look cool—or maybe powerful.
This asshole was Robert.
"Didn't I tell you to collect the money? Why did you come back here empty-handed?" he roared, before kicking me right in the face again.
Blood spilled over my lips, but I didn't cry. By now, this was just another part of my miserable routine.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Robert. They told me they had to pay the hospital bills, so—"
A slap cut me off before I could finish.
"Are you dumb? Why the hell should I care? They owe me money, and they need to pay it!" he snarled.
I was at a loss for words, knowing full well that this bastard wouldn't listen to a single explanation.
So, I simply closed my eyes and braced myself for more punishment that was sure to follow.
"Pathetic. No wonder your parents abandoned you," he spat, a milky glob landing an inch from my hands.
Slap!
He struck me again. And again. Three more times, each blow more humiliating than the last.
When he finally stopped, it wasn't because of mercy. It was boredom.
"Idiot!" he snapped, then let out a dismissive scoff before turning his back on me.
I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, trying to vent my frustration somewhere.
Soon, my composure returned to normal.
Rising to my feet, I made my way to the small bathroom.
The mirror reflected a tired face—cheeks a little sunken, skin a bit pale, and dark circles resting under my eyes like shadows from too many sleepless nights.
Ironically, the eye-bugs matched perfectly with my jet-black hair and eyes. Features inherited from my mother, though the shape of my face resembled my father's.
Just thinking about them made my heart ache, not with longing, but with a bitterness.
My story wasn't some tragic drama where the parents had no choice but to abandon their child.
It was far from that.
They were drowning in debt, and when I was ten years old, they left me with the loan shark, promising they would return with the money.
Of course, they never came back.
Eventually, I learned the ugly truth: they were nothing but pathetic gambling addicts who already blown through the fortune they inherited from their own parents.
In the end, I was just another bet they threw away.
"Brother Ren…"
A small, sweet voice echoed behind me.
When I turned around, I saw Nathalie, my childhood friend.
Golden waves of hair flowed down her back, catching the light as she moved. Her eyes, a deep ocean blue, sparkled with concern.
A soft flush colored her cheeks, blending into pale skin. When she pouted, her lips curved like ripe cherries. "Did Uncle beat you again?"
"I'm used to it. And don't just barge into my room. I don't want him thinking there's something between us."
My warning wasn't for my sake, but for hers. She was the daughter of Robert's fifth wife.
Even though we were technically family, that bastard was nothing but trash that beat his own wife.
"But I love you," she rushed and hugged me from behind.
"Stop it, Nathalie. I've told you before—I only see you as my little sister."
"Why?" She started to sob, her tears soaking my back. "You promised me. You told me you loved me when we were little, and that you'd marry me one day. Was that all just a lie?"
I didn't reply right away.
It was just a silly promise I made when we were kids, maybe because we were both broken and found comfort in each other's company.
After I outgrew that stage, I chose to stay away. But she kept clinging to me, unable to move on.
"Listen, this will never work between us. Uncle Robert would kill me if he found out. And what about you? Are you really going to settle for a loser like me?"
Unlike me, she went to school, had real friends, and was popular because of her looks. She never lacked men chasing after her. So to him, her actions made no sense.
"No!" she cried, shaking her head with urgency. "You're the only one I love. Let's just get out of here. I'm coming with you."
My heart pounded. It wasn't because I hated the idea, but because of the trauma I carried from my childhood.
With my own eyes, I had seen what Robert did to traitors. He gutted them and dumped them in the ocean. He was a very vengeful man who wouldn't even blink before killing us.
And even though I didn't have romantic feelings for her, I still cared for her like family. She was one of the reasons I hadn't run away yet—one of the few things keeping me here, despite everything.
I tried to push her back, but she only hugged tighter. Her ample chest pressed against me—and I would be lying if that didn't stir something.
"Quit being so damn clingy! Can't you tell? I don't like you like that. Just leave me the hell alone!" I shouted, hoping it would deter her.