A Thrash becomes tyrant

Fate

Before I could say a word, the strange doctor had already inserted the syringe and was taking a sample of my blood. I said nothing but waited till he was done.

“All done, Mr Dan. I will leave you to continue your conversation with Mr Donald,” he said and walked out.

The room grew even more tense.

I wheeled around to get a good angle of this old mystery man. “You want to tell me what that was all about?” I asked.

He looked at me and smirked.

“You don’t look dumb, Dan. I believe you are a smart man. Why don’t you do the guessing?” he said almost immediately.

I watched him walk over to the wine shelf. He turned slightly.

“Scotch?”

“Water is fine,” I replied sharply.

“You are going to need something more than water for what is coming next,” he said again.

His words were making me jumpy, but still, I tried to calm my nerves.

“Why am I really here?” I asked again.

“Because he said you are my son,” he replied.

This was where I felt lost.

“You mean you are not sure if I am your son?” I asked, with my heart beating hard against my chest.

My hope—my plans of revenge—was about to puff out into smoke and dust.

“I have so many young men claiming they were my son. Bastard sons, actually,” he quickly added.

I watched him as he carried a glass of scotch and a bottle of water in his hands.

“Bastard?” I asked, with my eyebrows arched.

“You heard me, Dan. I know what I said.”

I don’t know why a rich man would try and look for a bastard son.

I wanted to ask him why, but I didn’t know if I was the real deal or not.

I grabbed the bottle of water and quenched my thirst. I had been dehydrated for quite a while now.

My life was a K-drama show—something I was not proud of, but there was nothing I could do.

I was homeless.

And now I was going to be without options if I was not the son of this powerful rich man.

“If you don’t think I am your son, then why am I here?” I asked, staring.

Beads of sweat formed on my face, and my stomach made a funny loud noise.

Mac Donald laughed. “Have you eaten today, son?”

I don’t know why he kept calling me that, but I found it awfully good.

I had waited my whole life to be called son.

But Linda’s father never saw me as one. Instead, I was a loafer to him and his family.

“What do you crave?” he asked, getting up.

I was too shocked to say anything. In less than thirty minutes, my fate would be decided, and I would know if I was going to be thrown out of this gigantic house or if I would be the very Young Master I had been called.

“I don’t want to eat,” I said, holding my stomach.

The old man laughed and looked at me. “I must say, you are a bit different from the others.”

He looked at a book in front of him and glanced back at me. “What made you endure all of this?”

His question took me by surprise.

What was he talking about?

Was he talking about my past life or my life with Linda?

His gaze further bored into me.

“You know what I am talking about. The night you took the fall for me. You seemed pretty lost. I could see it in your eyes,” he added.

I let out a slow laugh.

I was not sure if he saw me, or if I was the one who saw a helpless old man and decided to save him.

But still, I wanted to tell my story.

“Love,” I said, with a bit of tears in my eyes. “Love makes us do stupid things.” I looked at him.

“You lost your leg because of a woman who couldn’t give you the life you want?” Mac Donald laughed.

“No. I lost my leg because I tried to save you,” I corrected him immediately.

The room felt silent again.

I watched him gulp the contents of his cup. I carefully studied him, and I could see something was eating him up just like it was me.

We both were fighting our demons—our battles—but the truth was, we were fighting different demons.

I wanted revenge against Linda and her family, but this old man wanted something else, though I could not place my fingers on it.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

He laughed.

“We wait. I can’t help but wonder what he saw in you and why he believed you are my son. You might have a bit of my looks, my zeal, but that doesn’t mean you are the boy I am looking for. I believe he died a long time ago,” Mac Donald said.

I wanted to ask what happened to the boy he was looking for, but I kept my mouth sealed even though my stomach kept making funny sounds.

“You should eat, son. The test is going to be out in a while. I can bet you are going to blame yourself if you leave this house on an empty stomach,” Mac Donald smirked. He had a playful look on his face.

I could tell he was enjoying his moment with me.

“What if I am your son? What if the DNA comes out positive?”

He looked at me for a long time and grinned. “Then you inherit all of this—my name, my wealth, and everything I have worked for. They become yours. But if you are not…”

I gulped down the saliva at the back of my throat. “If I am not…”

“You lose, son. Just like the others before you. You walk out of my home and never return,” he said with a sad face.

And then we heard the clink of the door. We both turned and saw the doctor walking in with a brown envelope.

“It is done. It is ready, Mr Mac Donald,” he said, walking towards us.