Bullshit Son Reborn as an Octomillionaire Tycoon

CHAPTER 2

The silence in Frank's hospital room was suffocating. Harry remained frozen in the doorway, still wearing his wedding tuxedo like a cruel reminder of the day that should have been his.

Terry Solomon's cold eyes swept over his eldest son with undisguised disgust. "Look at you, standing there like a statue. Your brother nearly died while you were playing dress-up."

"I wasn't playing—" Harry began weakly.

"Shut up," Melissa Solomon snapped, her voice dripping with venom. "Frank had chest pains so severe he could barely breathe, and where were you? Worried about some stupid ceremony."

Sarah Solomon, Harry's younger sister, crossed her arms with a smirk. "Did you really think anyone would choose your pathetic wedding over Frank's life? How delusional can you be?"

"Sarah's right," chimed in Emma, the youngest Solomon daughter. "Frank is actually important to this family. You're just... here."

They're right, Harry thought, his chest tightening. I am pathetic. Maybe if I just apologize, maybe if I show them how much I care about Frank too...

Harry stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I should have come immediately. Frank, are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Frank's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Harry grovel. "It's fine, Harry. I know family isn't really your priority."

"That's not true!" Harry protested desperately. "You're my brother. This family means everything to me."

"Does it?" Terry's voice was arctic. "Because your actions today suggest otherwise. You made us all worry sick about Frank while you were having your little tantrum at some church."

Mona finally spoke, her voice flat and emotionless. "Harry, stop making this about yourself. Frank needs support right now, not your guilty conscience."

She won't even look at me, Harry realized, his heart sinking further. On what was supposed to be our wedding day, she can't even look at me.

"I just want to help," Harry said, his voice cracking. "Please, just tell me what I can do. I'll do anything."

"You can start by not being such a selfish brat," Melissa hissed. "Look at Frank—he's suffering, and all you care about is your wounded pride."

Emma laughed mockingly. "Pride? What does Harry have to be proud of? He disappeared for sixteen years and came back expecting to be treated like some returning hero."

"I was eight years old when I went missing," Harry whispered, the words tasting bitter. "I didn't choose to leave."

"But you chose to make today all about you," Sarah shot back. "Frank could have died, and you were worried about wedding cake and flowers."

Frank coughed weakly, immediately drawing everyone's attention back to him. "Please, don't fight because of me. I hate being a burden."

"You're not a burden, sweetheart," Melissa cooed, rushing to his side. "You're our precious boy."

Our precious boy. The words stabbed through Harry like a knife. When have they ever called me precious? When have they ever called me their boy?

Suddenly, the door opened and Dr. Martinez entered, his expression grave. The family immediately fell silent.

"I'm afraid I have some concerning news about Frank's condition," the doctor began, his voice heavy with professional sympathy.

Terry stepped forward. "What is it, Doctor?"

"The tests show that Frank has developed a serious cardiac condition. His heart is severely weakened, and..." Dr. Martinez paused, his eyes filled with compassion. "I'm sorry, but the prognosis isn't good. We're looking at months, possibly weeks."

The room erupted in gasps and sobs. Melissa collapsed into Terry's arms, wailing. Sarah and Emma immediately rushed to Frank's bedside, tears streaming down their faces.

"No, no, this can't be happening," Melissa cried. "Not our Frank. Not our baby."

Frank's face had gone pale, but his eyes remained calculating. "So I'm... dying?"

"We'll get second opinions," Terry said firmly, his voice shaking. "The best doctors, the best treatments. Money is no object."

"Frank, darling," Melissa sobbed, gripping his hand. "Tell us anything you want. Anything at all. We'll make it happen."

"Any final wishes," Sarah added through her tears. "We'll do whatever it takes."

Frank's eyes moved slowly around the room before landing on Mona. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, weak and trembling.

"I... I've been carrying a secret my whole life. Something I never had the courage to say."

"What is it, son?" Terry asked gently.

Frank's gaze fixed on Mona, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I've always loved Mona. From the moment I first saw her. If I could marry her... if she could be mine before I die... I would have no regrets."

The room fell into stunned silence. All eyes turned to Mona, who stood frozen near the window.

No, Harry thought desperately. This can't be happening. Not again. Not like this.

"Mona," Melissa said softly, "Frank is dying. Could you... would you consider it?"

Mona's voice was gentle when she spoke, her eyes finally meeting Frank's. "Frank, if that's what would make you happy in your final days... then yes. I'll marry you."

She said yes. The words echoed in Harry's mind like a death sentence. She said yes to him. On our wedding day, she said yes to him.

Frank began to cry, tears rolling down his cheeks. "But I've been so selfish. Harry would never agree to this. I can't steal his fiancée, even if I'm dying."

The family's heads turned toward Harry like a pack of wolves sensing weakness.

"Harry's opinion doesn't matter," Mona said coldly, her voice cutting through the room like glass. "Whom I marry is my choice alone."

Terry's voice was dangerous and low. "Harry, your brother is dying. Are you really going to stand in the way of his dying wish?"

Harry's hands trembled as he tried to find his voice. "But we... we were supposed to..."

"Supposed to what?" Emma snapped. "Have a wedding that nobody wanted anyway?"

"I... I just..." Harry's voice broke completely.

Terry stepped toward him, his face twisted with rage. "I am ashamed to call you my son."

The slap came without warning, the sound echoing through the hospital room like a gunshot. Harry's head snapped to the side, his cheek burning with pain and humiliation.

"You immature, selfish little boy," Terry snarled. "Your brother is dying, and you're thinking about yourself."

Harry stood there, his head bowed, his cheek throbbing. He could feel everyone staring at him, judging him, hating him.