---
At that moment, Putra sat weakly on the edge of his bed. His eyes were bloodshot, the corner of his lips bruised, and a trail of dried blood stained his temple. His breath came heavy, chest rising and falling, while his trembling hand clutched a photo frame tightly.
Tears dripped one by one, falling onto the glass surface. Inside the frame was the image of a beautiful woman holding a small child in her arms. Her face resembled that of a goddess—sharp nose, delicate cheeks, and wide, enchanting eyes filled with warmth.
Putra's voice cracked, so faint it was almost inaudible.
"Mom… I'm sorry. Even now, I still can't fulfill your wish… I haven't become the son you wanted me to be. I still can't accept… that man… as my father."
His tears flowed harder. The only person he could call home was long gone, leaving him with wounds that never seemed to heal.
---
A Few Hours Earlier
A car stopped in front of the house. Putra stepped out, his footsteps heavy, his face expressionless as he entered.
In the living room sat a middle-aged man, posture straight and imposing. His muscular frame exuded authority, yet his sharp features gave off a terrifying aura. He looked no older than forty-five or fifty, though not a single strand of gray marred his hair. A fitted black suit clung to his body, highlighting the strength that age had not diminished.
A golf club rested firmly in his hand. His cold gaze pierced the air, and when he spoke, his voice carried like a chilling whisper.
"Is this really the only way… for us to talk?"
Putra scoffed, turning to meet his eyes with disdain.
"So this is all you can do to get my attention? Pathetic."
Earlier that day, a phone call had shattered Putra's calm. It was from his father, the very man now in front of him. His words had been like chains.
"If you don't come home right now, don't blame me when that orphanage you've been hiding in is reduced to rubble."
That threat was enough to drag him back here. Not out of fear, but to protect the children at the orphanage—the only family he had left. Since his mother's death, the orphanage had become his sanctuary. It was warmer than this cold mansion ever could be. The caretakers had known him since childhood, even before his mother's marriage. They understood the scars he carried, the ones he brought home every time he returned from this house.
His father stood abruptly. Heavy steps carried him forward before—
CRACK!
The golf club struck across Putra's face.
Blood trickled from the corner of his lips, yet he remained still. His eyes were void, and on his lips curved a faint, chilling smile.
"Even animals don't harm their own children," Putra murmured, voice trembling but sharp. "But you… you're worse than an animal."
The words ignited his father's rage. Another blow landed.
THUD! WHACK!
Putra's body reeled from the force, but he neither fought back nor dodged. He could have. He was capable of it. Yet one vow kept his hands tied.
His mother's final words:
"No matter what happens, never raise your hand against your father, Putra. Promise me."
And he had promised.
His father's voice thundered again, angrier than before.
"Why can't you just obey me, even once? I only have you! You're the heir of this family! Everything I've done—it's all for your own good!"
Putra's eyes blazed, though his voice was steady with contempt.
"For my good? Don't make me laugh. This is all about you. Just like when you sacrificed my mother!"
His father shook his head violently.
"It was an accident, Putra! How many times must I say it? It wasn't my fault!"
Putra turned away, stepping toward the door. But his father's grip latched onto his arm.
"Wait! There's something important I need to tell you. This is serious!"
"I've told you a hundred times—I don't need you in my life. Stay out of it! Handle your own damn problems!" Putra snapped free of his grasp.
That was the breaking point. His father's fury erupted. His body trembled with uncontrollable rage, fists and club striking over and over again. Each hit heavier, more vicious than the last. Bruises blossomed across Putra's body, blood dripping from his temple. Yet he endured, silent, unyielding.
Until—
Those words spilled from his father's lips, words sharper than any weapon.
"Useless child! It was a waste for your mother to give birth to you!"
The world froze. The voice echoed in his skull, tearing apart the promise he had clung to for years.
Putra's vision burned red. His clenched fist moved on its own, a reflex he could no longer contain. In one swift motion—
BANG!
His punch crashed into his father's face, sending the man sprawling to the floor, unconscious.
Putra froze. His chest heaved violently, his blood-stained hand trembling.
For the first time… he had broken his mother's final wish.