Chapter 28 – Fractured Bloodlines
BACK TO THE PRESENT
The room seemed to constrict with every breath. The old man's words lingered in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore.
"How could you deceive your family, Zhen Yichen?"
The question was calm, almost casual, but Yichen knew better. His grandfather never asked questions without already knowing the answer.
Yichen's jaw tensed. He said nothing at first, only let the silence stretch until the ticking of the antique clock became a drumbeat in the room. His gaze remained steady, cold, but beneath the surface, a storm gathered.
"You assume much," Yichen finally replied, voice low, threaded with ice. "You mistake rumor for truth."
A faint, humorless laugh escaped the old man's throat. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands. "Rumors? No, Yichen. I don't waste time on gossip. I deal only in what can be confirmed."
The old man's eyes sharpened. "That woman—your so-called wife. She appears at functions when required, smiles when the cameras flash, then have no interaction or intimacy with you. A marriage built on smoke. Do you think the world hasn't noticed? Do you think I haven't noticed?"
Yichen's fingers curled into fists at his side, nails digging into his palm. He forced his expression to remain neutral, though his pulse hammered in his throat.
"And what does it matter to you?" Yichen countered. "The company thrives. The Zhen name is intact. What else could you possibly want?"
"What I want," the old man said evenly, "is an heir born from blood and legitimacy. Not a lie crafted to shield your… sickness."
The word hit like a lash across Yichen's back. He felt that boyhood terror for a split second—the dark rooms, the lectures, the suffocating sermons about duty. But he smothered it quickly, letting cold fury take its place.
"You dare," Yichen said, his voice cutting, "to speak of legitimacy when everything you've ever done was built on control and fear? You robbed me of my childhood. You robbed me of Mu Yu." His voice cracked briefly on the name, but he pushed forward. "You think I will let you decide my future now?"
The old man's mouth thinned into a hard line. "That boy was a distraction. A weakness. You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Yichen's laugh was sharp, bitter. "For tearing apart the only piece of innocence I had left? For chaining me in darkness to fix what was never broken?"
The old man's eyes narrowed. "You speak boldly now. But you forget, Yichen—your blood is mine. Your position exists because of me. Without me, you would be nothing."
Yichen stepped closer to the desk, his shadow falling over the old man. "No. Without me, the empire you covet would crumble. The board trusts me, the world respects me. You are nothing more than a relic, clinging to a throne that's no longer yours."
For the first time, his grandfather's composure faltered. His knuckles whitened around the armrest, and though his voice remained steady, there was a tremor beneath it. "You think you've won because you sit in the president's chair? A single whisper from me, a single truth revealed, and everything you've built will turn to dust. Investors will pull out, the media will feast. Do you think your reputation could withstand the truth about who you are?"
Yichen's eyes blazed. "Try me."
The air between them pulsed with years of hatred, with wounds that had never healed.
Then the old man leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper meant to pierce deeper than a shout. "Tell me, Yichen. When the cameras are gone, when the world is asleep—whose eyes do you think of? Whose warmth keeps you from shattering? Surely not that woman. Surely not your lie."
Yichen's breath hitched before he could stop it. Andre's face flashed in his mind—dark eyes, unguarded, steady in a way that made him feel seen. The one place he found rest, even if he refused to name it.
The old man saw it. His smirk was slow, cruel. "Ah. There it is. You haven't changed, after all. Still the same disease, still clinging to shadows that will never give you an heir."
Yichen slammed his palms against the desk, the sound thunderous in the study. Papers scattered, the brush his grandfather had been holding clattered to the floor. "Enough!"
The word reverberated through the room. For a moment, Yichen's mask cracked—his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a mix of rage and something dangerously close to despair.
The old man didn't flinch. He merely looked at his grandson with something like triumph. "You can't run from what you are, Yichen. You can only choose how it destroys you. Either through defiance… or obedience."
Yichen straightened, forcing control back into his spine. His voice, when it came, was low and lethal. "No. I will choose neither. I will choose myself."
The old man's lips curved into a cold smile. "Then you have already chosen war."
"So be it," Yichen replied, turning on his heel. His hand gripped the doorknob, the weight of his grandfather's gaze burning into his back.
But as he opened the heavy black door, the old man's final words followed him like a curse.
"Remember, Zhen Yichen. The moment your secret is exposed, everything you love will be dragged down with you. Even him."
Yichen froze. His grip on the door tightened, veins standing out in his hand. He didn't turn back, didn't let the old man see his face, but his entire body went rigid.
Andre.
The old man didn't know the name—but the threat was clear.
Without a word, Yichen stepped out, the door slamming shut behind him. The echo rolled down the marble corridor, but inside, the storm only grew.
He walked swiftly, each step heavy, each breath tight in his chest. The mansion's portraits seemed to glare down at him, the ghosts of his ancestors sneering. But for the first time, Yichen didn't bow under the weight of their judgment.
Instead, he thought of Andre—those eyes, clear and unafraid, the only place where silence wasn't suffocating. He thought of how, in Andre's presence, he found something he had never found anywhere else: rest.
Perhaps that was why sleep came easier with Andre nearby. Why the nightmares quieted when Andre's shadow lingered in the room.
It was a dangerous truth. One his grandfather would destroy if he ever uncovered it.
But as Yichen stepped into the waiting car and the mansion receded into the distance, one resolve burned brighter than his fear:
He would never let his grandfather touch Andre. Not with his words, not with his schemes, not with the poison of the past.
If war was what the old man wanted—then war he would get.