Several maids in the room held their breath. That name—Dedy—was no ordinary name in this house. Dedy was the personal bodyguard of the Virellano family, rarely seen, but his presence was legendary. He stood over two meters tall, his skin a deep, dark brown, his body chiseled like a statue—muscular, solid, and intimidating. His bald head gleamed under the light, and a faint scar on his cheek made him resemble a gatekeeper of hell.
Dedy was more than just a bodyguard. He was a former international bodybuilder and martial arts practitioner who had fought in underground championships across Malaya. In combat, few could last more than three minutes against him.
David, though still wearing his usual calm smile, swallowed subtly. Even to him, Dedy was someone best not provoked.
Meanwhile, Sandra—Al's biological mother—looked visibly shaken. Her eyes reflected unease. She wanted to speak, to object, to cancel the punishment. But she knew Edward Virellano was not a man who changed his mind after giving a command. All she could do was clutch her hands together, lower her head, and exhale quietly.
Al remained in the same spot, his posture relaxed. One hand casually brushed cobwebs off his head while the other covered a yawn. There was no fear in his eyes, only a blend of fatigue and confusion.
Hufft... it hasn't even started yet, and there's already drama. I just want to rest.
When heavy footsteps echoed from the main entrance, the room fell completely silent. Even the ever-confident Sarah looked visibly tense.
The door opened wide.
A giant man stood in the doorway. He towered over two meters, his bald head reflecting the chandelier's light. His dark brown skin looked like steel, and his muscles bulged even under the Virellano family's custom black bodyguard uniform. His eyes were sharp, stormy gray, and devoid of any trace of human emotion. He was Dedy.
With slow, deliberate steps, he entered the room and stopped directly in front of Edward. He pounded a fist against his chest in salute.
"Dedy, reporting for duty, Sir," he said, voice deep and powerful.
Edward gave a small nod, then glanced at Al. "You know what to do."
Dedy turned his head, locking eyes with Al, who had now become the center of attention. His footsteps echoed as he walked toward the 17-year-old boy.
At 175 cm, Al was tall for his age but still had to look up at the towering man. The pressure radiating from Dedy seemed to crush the air in the room.
Sensing the intense atmosphere, Al didn't feel fear—but he quickly realized it would be odd to appear too calm. So he decided to act a little. He shifted uneasily, took a deep breath, and looked at Dedy with a worried expression.
"Um... isn't this a bit much?" he said, glancing at his father with a deliberately shaky voice. "I mean, yes, I was wrong... but maybe don't go too hard on the punishment?"
Dedy didn't respond. He simply pointed at Al's torso.
"Take off your shirt. The blows will be hard. If you wear that, it'll tear. This is standard procedure."
Al paused, confused as to why he needed to undress, but not wanting to drag things out, he sighed, looked down, and began pulling off his shirt slowly, like a child afraid of punishment.
But as the shirt lifted and his upper body was exposed, the room's mood shifted drastically.
Al's skin, though generally healthy, was covered in scars. Some looked like old slash marks, others resembled bruises, long scrapes, and cuts from sharp objects. They had clearly healed years ago but left undeniable traces of a violent past.
Sandra, who had been holding David's arm, gasped. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
"Oh my God..." she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes.
She looked at her husband and quickly stood up.
"Edward... no. Look at his body. He's... he's already been beaten too much. I don't know where he was raised, but this child—"
"Enough, Sandra," Edward interrupted. His voice remained firm, though a hint of hesitation began to show. But Sandra didn't back down.
"If you still punish him, you're not just disciplining—you might kill him!" she cried.
Edward stared at the scars. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. He didn't reveal much emotion, but his fingers tightened around the chair arm slightly more than usual.
He let out a long sigh, then looked at Al. His expression was unreadable. Finally, he turned to Dedy and raised a hand.
"Call it off," he said flatly.
Dedy gave a deep nod and stepped back. "Understood, Sir."
David frowned, barely hiding his mix of shock and frustration. Sarah, too, looked stunned by the decision. She wanted to protest, but Edward's cold stare silenced her. David glanced at her, hoping to spark something—but even Sarah looked too stunned to speak. This only frustrated David more, knowing his plan to humiliate Al had failed.
Sandra rushed toward Al, who had quietly slipped his shirt back on. She tried to touch his arm, but Al stepped back slightly—not rejecting her, just setting a boundary.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Al said softly. His voice lacked strong emotion, but his sincerity made Sandra cry even harder.
Meanwhile, David stood rigid. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Stay calm. It's only the beginning. I will get you out of here... sooner or later.
After the tense confrontation in the family room, the atmosphere began to settle. Edward raised a hand, signaling the end of the discussion. He wiped his tired face and spoke in a low, firm voice:
"Alright. We'll continue this conversation after dinner. It's time we all sat down together."
Everyone paused, then began moving—some to change clothes, others to head toward the prepared dining room. Al followed, walking at a casual pace, face calm, still wondering why David and that maid had lied about him.