“Why are you holding a knife?” Benton asked, his voice steady despite the unease crawling up his spine. The elevator hummed softly as it descended. Old Charles stood closer than before, the confined space amplifying every movement. Benton’s heart pounded. No witnesses. No escape. Just steel walls and a blade glinting beneath fluorescent light. For a split second, Benton genuinely thought this was it. Then Charles reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a small, transparent polythene bag. “Lady Lisa is a cautious woman,” he said calmly. “She instructed me to collect a DNA sample.” Relief hit Benton so fast his knees nearly buckled. Before he could respond, Charles lifted the blade and, with one precise motion, sliced a few strands of hair from Benton’s head. The hair was sealed immediately, the knife disappearing just as quickly. Benton exhaled, shoulders slumping. “For a moment,” he muttered, “I thought you were going to kill me and dump my body between floors.” Charles allo

Benton turned. His eyes locked with hers. Her gaze softened. “Benton,” she said, her voice warm and unmistakably proud. “My son.” Felix staggered back as if struck. Old Charles turned to him, his expression glacial. “Next time you try to throw out a Lloyd,” he said coldly, “make sure it isn’t in his mother’s building.” Benton stood frozen, questions crashing through his mind—too stunned to voice a single one. “Let’s go inside,” Madam Lisa said, gesturing forward. She took two steps—then stopped directly in front of Felix. Felix’s knees buckled. His lips trembled. “I—I’m sorry, Madam Lisa. I didn’t know. I thought he was just—” She moved closer. Slow. Controlled. Predatory. “You dared look down on my son,” she said quietly. The temperature in the room dropped. She had seen it all—the humiliation, the bullying. Not just today, but years ago. History didn’t disappear simply because time passed. Without looking away, she tilted her head. Old Charles understood immediate

Avery rushed forward, her expensive heels faltering against the polished floor, Tyson close behind her—breathless, shaken, stripped of authority. They stopped in front of Benton. He stood still. Composed. Unreadable. Avery’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor. “Benton…” Her voice broke. “We’re sorry. We didn’t know you were a Lloyd. We didn’t know you mattered.” The words tasted hollow even as she said them. Tyson swallowed hard, clinging to the last shreds of his pride. He stepped forward, voice cracking under desperation. “Benton, listen… we’re family. You ate at our table. You were married to my daughter. That has to count for something.” He hesitated, then added, almost pleading, “We fed you. We clothed you.” Benton didn’t respond. His gaze didn’t soften. Didn’t flicker. It passed through them like glass. The door behind him opened. Old Charles walked in—immaculate, confident, a thick file tucked beneath his arm. He stopped beside Benton and rested a hand ligh

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then the laughter returned—louder, sharper, like knives wrapped in velvet. “What, did the loser finally snap after rotting in the ghetto?” someone scoffed. “Feeding us?” a man near the drinks table snorted. “Benton, please. You couldn’t feed a stray cat without taking a loan.” Another voice chimed in from the back. “What’s next? You own the building too?” That set off another wave of laughter. Glasses clinked. Someone wiped tears from his eyes. “You’ve always been a dreamer, Benton,” a tall woman in a glittering dress said, sipping champagne. “High school, now here. Still making up stories to feel important. Cute—but sad.” Benton stayed still, hands in his pockets, letting them laugh. “Didn’t he get caught stealing back in school?” “Yeah. Maybe that’s how he’s paying for tonight.” “Relax. He’s just here for free drinks.” Benton’s lips curved slightly—a smile no one noticed. He didn’t argue. Didn’t raise his voice. He let them pile the

Charles hurried after Benton, his face flushed—half excitement, half something closer to shame. “Benton, that was incredible,” he said breathlessly. “You shattered him. Clinton won’t recover from that humiliation.” Benton stopped. He turned slowly, his gaze cold enough to silence Charles mid-step. “You’ve had your entertainment,” Benton said quietly. “Now step back. I don’t want to see you again.” Charles forced a laugh. “Come on… it’s been years. You don’t have to—” Benton tapped his shoulder once. Light. Final. “Drop the act,” he said through clenched teeth. “You were never my friend.” He didn’t wait for a reply. The Bentley’s glossy black body reflected the lights as Benton slid inside. The engine purred—smooth, effortless. He drove away without looking back. Behind him, the laughter died completely. No one spoke. The Bentley disappearing into the night was the last reminder of how badly they had misjudged him. The city lights streaked past as Benton leaned back against t