Eighteen years later.
The Blackwood villa glittered with wealth. Imported chandeliers bathed the marble halls in golden light, and luxury cars lined the drive like trophies of privilege. Inside, laughter rang from polished dining tables where Damian, Sebastian, and Sophia Blackwood—the rightful heirs—dined like royalty.
At the far end of the hall, Adrian sat quietly, unnoticed. His clothes were plain, ironed but worn thin. His shoes were scuffed, his watch second-hand. To his siblings, he was nothing more than a stain on their perfect image.
"Damian, did you see the look on the dealer's face when you picked the Ferrari?" Sophia giggled, twirling her diamond bracelet. "He probably thought you were a movie star."
Damian smirked, sipping from his crystal glass. "Well, it's only natural for the eldest son of the Blackwoods." His eyes slid toward Adrian, sharp and mocking. "Unlike some people here, who drive around in junkyard scrap. Tell me, Adrian, does your car even start in the morning? Or do you have to pray to it first?"
Laughter erupted around the table. Even Alexander, their father, said nothing to stop it. To him, Adrian's humiliation was as natural as breathing.
Adrian didn't respond. He lowered his gaze, letting the insult pass as he always did. Every cruel word, every mocking laugh—he swallowed them all in silence. But deep inside, each one carved itself into his memory, fuel for a fire only he could see.
Sophia leaned back, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Father, when will you finally cut him off completely? He's an embarrassment. The guests whisper, you know. They think he's one of the staff."
Alexander's gaze shifted to his youngest son, cold and dismissive. "You want freedom so badly, Adrian? Then take it. The nightclub in the west district—it's yours. From today onward, don't expect a single penny from this family. Earn your own keep. Or starve."
Damian clapped mockingly. "Brilliant idea, Father. That club barely breaks even. It'll suit him perfectly—trash running trash."
Even Sebastian, usually the quieter schemer, smirked at the cruelty. "Consider it a gift, little brother. You can play king in your tiny sandbox while we inherit the real empire."
The table roared with laughter again, echoing through the villa like a cruel symphony.
Adrian sat still, his expression unreadable. Inside, however, something shifted. A cold calm spread through his veins.
They thought they had broken him.They thought they had stripped him of everything.But they had just handed him his first weapon.
When the laughter finally faded, Adrian stood, pushing his chair back with quiet grace. He said nothing—he didn't need to. Words meant little in a house where truth was drowned in poison.
As he left the hall, only one thought remained, sharp and silent as a blade in the dark:
Laugh while you can. The day will come when you choke on it.