âRyland.â Wade turned, his tone becoming steadier. âThey are your blood relatives, after all. If you want to reunite with them, I wonât blame you.â
âEnough,â Ryland said.
Wade ignored it and continued, âLiving with Adrian and his family will give you a better life.â
âI said enough!â
Ryland drew his revolver, and a deafening bang shattered the tense air.
Wade frowned. âDonât use a gun here.â
âDad, donât worry,â Ryland replied, his fist trembling. âI will never accept them as family. Theyâre the ones who killed Uncle Chris.â
Wade hesitated, his tone softening. âRyland, about the pastââ
âYou donât have to say it,â Ryland cut him off, his voice thick with restrained emotion. He took a deep breath, his hands curling into fists as he fought back tears. âIâll never forgive them.â
The sudden gunshot had startled the butler. He rushed over, colliding with Ryland, who was storming out in anger.
âAre you alright?â
Ryland paused, regaining his composure, and handed the butler a stack of bills.
The butlerâs chest tightened with unease, but he was relieved Wade didnât see the exchange. Back then, the butler had let Ryland escape on purpose. Ryland hadnât needed much effort to sway him. Wade had only one son, Ryland, and the butler knew the Potter familyâs empire would one day be his.
âSir, are you alright?â the butler repeated.
âGet lost.â
Ryland shoved the butler aside, striding away without a backward glance.
The butler, left bewildered, looked up in time to see Wade standing in the doorway. The dim lighting in the hall left his face shadowed, making the darkness behind him even more ominous.
With one foot resting on the threshold, Wade smiled faintly and motioned for the butler to come closer.
The butlerâs legs trembled uncontrollably, but he forced himself to step forward.
Before he could utter a word of greeting, Wade reached out, seized the butler by the ear, and dragged him inside.
Moments later, screams echoed through the corridor, sharp and unrelenting.
Meanwhile, Ryland sat near the lake, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Unable to find a lighter, he flung the pack into the water.
Lying back on the grass, he stared at a photograph in his hand.
It was of his mother, Katie.
Since she didnât want him, he resolved to shut her out of his life. He crushed the photo in his hand, wanting to toss it, but couldnât bring himself to do it in the end.
Later that night, Wade entered Rylandâs room quietly. His eyes fell on the crumpled photograph, now smoothed out and placed carefully on the bedside table.
.
.
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