Chapter 61

Grayson’s POV

Sixteen years ago

“You’re such a loser,” Liam taunted, tackling me to the ground. Mud splattered around us as we hit the earth, rolling in a chaotic tangle of limbs. I couldn’t help but laugh as I tried to wrestle him off.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” I said, grinning as I tried to get a headlock. We’d been waging this silly war for months, a constant battle over who was stronger, and neither of us could let it go.

Just then, a voice interrupted us. “Hey, dumb meatheads, it’s time to eat!”

I turned to see Elaine standing nearby, arms crossed, watching us with a look of utter disdain. The distraction was all Liam needed; he used the moment to slip out of my grip, pinning me to the ground in one swift move. He looked over at Elaine, triumphant. “Count it!”

She rolled her eyes. “Boys are so disgusting.”

“Elaine!” Liam snapped, grinning like he’d just won a medal, while I continued struggling beneath him, unable to break free.

“Fine. One, two… three. Liam is the winner. Ding ding ding.” She said the words with zero enthusiasm, her arms still folded, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else.

Liam finally let go, throwing his arms up in victory. “Finally! I’ve done it! I am victorious!”

I pushed myself up, laughing. “You’re so weird.”

Elaine scoffed from her spot, waving us off. “Come on, meatheads. Go get yourselves cleaned up. Mom told me to tell you food’s been ready for, like, an hour. And if she asks, I did.”

“What were you doing for an hour, Elaine?” I asked, wiping mud from my arms. She shot me a guilty grin. “Nothing.”

“Elaine, come on!” I huffed. “You promised you’d wait for me. How many movies did you watch?”

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe just Cinderella. And maybe a little Princess and the Frog.”

“You and I—we are not cousins anymore,” I said, giving her a mock glare.

Liam looked at me, rolling his eyes. “You know, sometimes I question our friendship. Because why are you watching Disney princesses with your ten-year-old cousin? Sorry, really annoying ten-year-old cousin.”

Elaine’s face twisted into a scowl as she retorted, “You’re the annoying one, and I cannot stand you.”

Liam mimicked her, making his voice high-pitched. “You’re annoying, and I cannot stand you.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “And I’m the one with the problem here.” I pointed toward the house. “Let’s go get cleaned up before Aunt Eloisa decides to explode on us then reports me to my mom. I don’t think I can survive a lecture from both her and my mom.” Something dark flickered in my mind. “I already get enough from my father.”

Liam immediately turned it into a challenge. “First one to get showered and at the table wins!”

“Wins what?” I shouted after him as he darted off. Elaine stayed behind, scrunching her nose in disgust. I grinned, knowing what I was going to do. The moment she saw my mischievous look, she backed away. “Get away from me, you disgusting monster!”

She turned and bolted into the house, shouting, “Aunt Aria, your disgusting son is trying to get me covered in mud! Help!”

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Chapter 61 (Continued)

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“Be careful you two,” my mother called from eachwheeling tenat the warr echoing down the hallway.

“Grayson. Come here.”

I froze.

The laughter died instantly in my throat, and every muscle in my body tensed.

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“Yes, Father?”

He stood by the window, his back to me, the light casting a… (The word is unclear) shadow that made him look even taller, somehow. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and I counted each passing second in my head, trying to remember anything wrong I’d done recently—anything that might set him off. My mind raced.

Finally, he spoke, his tone as cold as ever. "Tax Liam pin you. Jaw him w" (This section is unclear and needs significant revision).

My stomach twisted. I straightened, keeping my voice even. “It was just a game, Father.”

“Just a game?” He turned slowly, his icy gray eyes locking onto mine. "Just a game?" He repeated the words; each syllable dropping like a stone in my chest.

“If others see this, if they see weakness, they’ll come for your throne. Then will it be just a game?”

I swallowed, lowering my head in submission. “I apologize, Father. It won’t happen again.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Kings do not apologize. Kings do not bow.” His gaze darkened, every word heavy with meaning. “Kings do not show weakness because if they do…”

His voice faltered, and I noticed his hands begin to shake. His eyes started to blink rapidly, the coldness in them replaced by something wild and uncontrolled.

It was happening again.

I took a cautious step toward him. “Father, have you taken your medication?” I reached for his pocket, where my mother always kept his pills—just in case—just in case he started to lose control. I reached inside, my fingers brushing against the bottle, when his hand shot out.

Claws extended from his fingers as he slashed at me, catching my face. Pain exploded across my cheek, and I stumbled backward, falling to the floor. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wild, like he didn’t even recognize me.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice was low, dangerous. He looked at me with pure, unfiltered rage.

I scrambled backward, terror rising in my chest. “Father, it’s me! It’s Grayson. Please…”

But his eyes were vacant, lost in some dark place I couldn’t reach. He grabbed me by the ankle, dragging me across the floor as I clawed at the ground, desperate to get away. His voice was twisted, filled with a madness I hadn’t heard before.

“You think you can take everything from me? My throne? Dictate how I live?”

“Father, stop! Please!” I tried to pull free, but his grip was like iron. He kicked me hard in the ribs, and I cried out, feeling the sharp pain radiate through my side. “Please, stop! It hurts!”

He kicked me again, harder this time, his face a mask of hatred. “You think you can destroy my bloodline? Curse us?”

I coughed, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “Father… please… it’s me… it’s Grayson…”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even seem to hear me. Another kick landed, and I gasped, the pain blurring my vision. I could barely hear my own voice now, weak and broken. “Please… stop…”

“Victor!” My mother’s frantic scream sliced the air, her footsteps pounding closer as I lay dazed, the ringing in my head deafening. Through my tear-blurred vision, I saw my father’s eyes snap wide, a glimmer of recognition piercing through his haze. Just as my mother reached me, she threw herself between us, pulling me into her arms, and screamed at him. “I told you to always carry your meds! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He stammered, visibly shaken. “I… I…”

He seemed to struggle, clawing for control, as if he himself was fighting a losing battle against something dark within him. My mother’s voice rose, raw and fierce. “Just go, Victor! Go!”

For a moment, he stood there, his gaze flickering between me and my mother, remorse mingling with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, with one last look, he disappeared, leaving only his harsh breathing echoing down the hall.

My mother cradled me, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the fresh wound on my cheek, her voice breaking as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, my Gray Gray. I’m so sorry.”

The pain throbbed through my entire body, a slow, brutal ache that spread deeper than just my skin. My voice came out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible. “Why, Mom? What’s wrong with him? Why does he hate me so much?”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she murmured, her voice thick with desperation, trying to convince both of us. “He doesn’t. I promise, he doesn’t. It will get better. I swear it will.”

I wanted to believe her. I closed my eyes, hoping that her words could somehow make it true. But even as I drifted into darkness, I knew—deep down—that it was a lie.

It didn’t get better.

My father’s violence only grew, becoming almost routine, his way of “strengthening” me, of breaking me down to build me up into the king he wanted. The excuse of his “episode” that first time was soon irrelevant; he inflicted every blow with a cold clarity, each lesson meant to rid me of weakness, to turn me into something brutal and unbreakable. My mother tried to intervene, tried to protect me as best she could, but she was no match for him.

And with each beating, each dark look he cast my way, the anger in me hardened. It twisted, deepening into a darkness that filled the empty spaces left by my father’s constant attempts to erase who I was.

So I started planning.

Planning how to make it stop, how to end him and end the torment he forced me to endure.

Finally, one night, the opportunity came. The house was silent, everyone asleep. I slipped from my room, the silver dagger in my hand feeling cold and unforgiving. With each step I took, my heart pounded in my chest, but my mind was calm, resolute. I reached his room, knowing what I had to do.

And then, as he lay there, I raised the dagger and stabbed him in the chest.