Zane's POV
"I won't marry a whore like you!" Dante shouted.
My eyes darted everywhere. We were in the middle of the engagement ceremony, and now Dante was declaring he didn't want to marry me.
Even though we were both boys, our grandparents had arranged our marriage in the hope that Dante would take good care of me. He used to care for me — but everything changed when my grandparents died and my parents brought my stepbrother Arin home. He was the same age as me.
He had silver hair and grey eyes. Everyone liked him no matter what he did. My parents never believed me; they only believed him.
"Darling, am I doing anything wrong?" Arin asked, standing between my family and Dante. Dante stood near him, expression unreadable.
"Of course not — that bitch doesn't deserve Dante. He is only wicked." My mother's words hit me like knives, even though I was her biological son. My father looked at me with disgust.
"Dante, why are you suddenly breaking our engagement? We've been engaged since childhood. You loved me, didn't you? That's why I transferred my forty-five percent share of my grandfather's company to your name." I forced the words out, hoping to appeal to the man who used to promise me forever.
Dante stepped forward. I hoped it was some cruel prank — he liked pranks — but when he reached me a sharp slap struck my face and I jolted.
I touched my cheek and glanced up. His eyes were red, glaring.
"I only love Arin. We were just waiting for the right time. And those forty-five percent shares were Arin's — but you stole them and gave one percent to him." His voice trembled with rage.
What was he saying? Grandfather had transferred his forty-five percent to my name because I was his biological grandson; Arin had been adopted.
Grandpa never liked Arin, yet he had given him one percent in front of me. When Dante asked for those shares before, I had given them to him because I loved him. I thought he loved me too. But no — he used sweet words just to get my shares.
"Get out of our house with your bastard sons," my father snarled. "We don't know where you picked them up."
My father's voice was cold; his words cut. He said this to me in front of everyone.
"Dad, don't say that. Even though Zane disappeared for a year and then came back with these two kids — maybe he has a girlfriend — but dad, please tell him to let me use his designs for the fashion competition coming soon."
I have twin sons — but I didn't adopt them. They were mine. I had given birth to them. I'd been different since childhood: when I was born, my mother was unconscious and my father wasn't there; only my grandparents were around. The doctors said I could get pregnant from a man. I felt like a monster who could give birth.
My grandparents had told the doctor not to tell anyone — not even my parents. But Grandma told me when I came of age.
I didn't remember who the man was who took my virginity and made me pregnant; I had been drunk and I remembered nothing. Later I found out I was pregnant, so I ran away — then came back with my twin sons.
Arin had been a big actor. One day he saw my clothing designs, stole them, and presented them as his own. No one said anything. Not my parents, not my fiancé. I thought I should endure; maybe things would change and return to how they were before.
But no — we'd passed a turning point.
I laughed bitterly.
"Like hell I'll give you anything, you bitch." The words shocked everyone. I had never used bad language before; I had never fought back. I had been weak and gentle, a person who tolerated everything.
But that wasn't who I was any longer. I had hidden myself away for too long. The time had come to stop hiding, to take back what was mine.
"Get out of my house right now. There's no place here for the whore who calls his brother a bitch and shows no gratitude. Arin has always been kind and cared for you." My father's voice boiled with contempt.
"I don't want to stay here either." I turned because this wasn't the moment to argue — I would show them. As I glanced back, I saw Arin crying while the whole family and Dante comforted him.
Once I left the party, I went straight to our bedroom. As I opened the door, my son ran toward me and hugged me.
I have twin sons. They are five years old. One is Nilo — black hair like mine, blue eyes. The other is Nico — blond hair and golden eyes like mine, though the hair color doesn't match me.
"Nico and Nilo, it's time. We're leaving today." I tried to keep my voice steady.
"Yesss, Dad. I know it. One day you'll make a good decision," Nilo said cheerfully.
I packed our things, and found Nico fiddling with his laptop. Despite being only five, both of them were genius-level clever.
"Nico, what are you doing, baby?"
"Hehe, Dad, don't worry. I hacked Arin's account. He'll be a beggar." His mischievous grin made me smile despite everything.
As I packed, Dante stepped inside with Arin.
"You're not taking anything that's given by my parents. Go with your little bastards only," Arin sneered, smirking.
"It wasn't given by you, so why are you telling me what to do? Still, you have a point." I picked up my sons' bags, slid their clothes into them, took both their hands, and left.
My sons and I were walking; it was already late at night. Still, I felt confident — I knew exactly where we had to go.
But suddenly, a car screeched to a halt in front of us. Four boys stepped out, stumbling slightly, each holding an empty alcohol bottle.
Their eyes fell on me and my sons. A smirk spread across their faces as they began walking toward us.
"Dad, look — those thugs look like bad news! What should we do? Should I call the police?" Nilo murmured.
By then the men had reached us.
"What have we here? Where are you going with these kids? You look rich from your clothes — give us money right now if you don't want to die." The leader sneered.
I stared at them and said nothing.
One of them lunged forward and grabbed my collar, anger flashing in his eyes because I hadn't answered.
"This motherfucker wants to die right now," the man who'd grabbed my collar snarled.
"Babies, step back," I said, stepping between them.
My sons obeyed without hesitation. I looked up and saw the leader's face — rage, the kind that gives no warning. Without wasting a second I grabbed his hand that was on my collar with one hand and balled the other into a fist. I drove it into his stomach.
He buckled from the first blow, but anger pushed me on. I didn't show mercy. I kept hitting him and the others, raining down blows until they collapsed, groaning and still.
Even though I didn't look strong — thin and small — I surprised myself with how much power I had. After I stopped, I glanced back. Nico was filming me on his tablet, eyes wide with excitement.
"Wow, Dad. You're so cool — you hit them like it was a piece of cake," Nilo said, grinning.
I smiled, knelt, and hugged both of them tight.
From there we walked straight to the city's largest, most luxurious night bar.