Rise of the Masked King

Chapter 2 :The Price of Goodbye

The nurse’s final words echoed in Anthony’s head like a siren.

He didn’t think—he simply ran.

Outside the hospital gates, he flagged down the first taxi he saw, barely managing to open the door. “Central City Hospital, please—fast!”

The driver glanced at his trembling hands, then nodded and sped off. The streets blurred past, the city lights cutting through the gathering darkness. Anthony’s heart pounded against his ribs, his mind repeating one desperate prayer: Let her live. Please, God, let her live.

When the car screeched to a stop, he threw a handful of cash at the driver and sprinted into the hospital. The scent of antiseptic hit him like a wall, but something was different—eerily quiet.

He turned the corner into the emergency ward, and his world collapsed.

Two nurses were zipping up a white body bag.

Anthony froze. His breath caught, his vision blurring. “No…” He stumbled forward. “No, please, not her. Mom!”

One of the nurses tried to stop him, but he brushed past and grabbed her cold hand through the sheet. “Mom, wake up! Please, you can’t leave me now!” His voice cracked into a scream. “You can’t!”

There was no response. The room was still, save for the faint hum of a machine that no longer mattered.

He sank to his knees beside the bed, gripping her lifeless hand, shaking it as if he could drag her back into his world. “Mom, please, it’s me… Anthony… wake up, please.”

But she was gone.

When the truth finally sank in, his body gave way, and everything went black.

Three hours later, Anthony woke to a dim light and the faint sound of nurses whispering. His throat was dry, his head pounding. One of the nurses, a kind-looking woman with tired eyes, approached him quietly.

“You fainted,” she said softly. “We tried to wake you, but you were completely out.”

He looked around in confusion before his gaze fell again on the covered body beside him. A deep, hollow ache spread through his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse continued. “Before she passed, your mother asked us to give you this.” She handed him a small black phone, cracked along one edge. “There’s a voice message she recorded. She wanted you to hear it.”

Anthony’s hands trembled as he unlocked the phone. The screen flickered once, then the recording began.

“Anthony,” came his mother’s frail voice, soft and full of warmth even in weakness. “If you’re hearing this… it means I couldn’t hold on.”

He bit his lip hard, fighting back tears as the message played on.

“I know your stepfather. I know the kind of man he is. He will never share what belongs to us, and he will make your life difficult. But don’t despair. I have prepared something great for you—something only you can unlock. When the time is right, call a man named Mr. Hudson; his number is saved in this phone. He knows what to do.”

Anthony clutched the phone tighter.

“Never forget, my son,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly, “you are not a nobody. You were born to be great. Whatever happens, promise me you’ll always remain the good man I raised you to be.”

The message ended.

For a long while, he sat still, tears silently running down his cheeks. Every word had pierced through him like light breaking into a dark room.

He turned toward her body, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and whispered, “I promise, Mom. I promise.”

He stayed there until the room grew cold.

When he finally stepped out of the ward, Dr. Kenneth was waiting at the corridor, arms crossed. “Anthony,” he called out sharply.

Anthony turned, weary and pale.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, though his tone lacked warmth. “However, there’s still the matter of your mother’s outstanding balance. $300,000 remains unpaid.”

Anthony swallowed hard. “Please, doctor, just give me some time.”

Dr. Kenneth sighed impatiently. “I’ve already given you time. Listen carefully—if you can’t pay soon, the hospital will be forced to confiscate her body and sell it to organ harvesters. That’s policy.”

Anthony’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me,” the doctor said coldly. “Find a way to raise the money quickly.”

He walked away, leaving Anthony frozen in disbelief.

He fumbled with his phone, opening his bank app—only $405 remained. He sank against the wall, trembling.

Organ harvesters? The thought made him sick.

He stumbled outside, his heart breaking all over again.

As he reached the parking lot, two familiar voices called his name. “Anthony!”

He turned and saw Liora Mael and Fenrick Draven running toward him. Liora’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. Fenrick carried a bouquet that never got to serve its purpose.

“We came as soon as we could,” Liora said, touching his arm. “I’m so sorry, Anthony.”

He could barely speak. “You’re… too late,” he whispered. “She’s gone.”

Liora covered her mouth, tears streaming down. Fenrick pulled him into a brief, firm embrace. “We’re here, man,” he said quietly. “You’re not alone.”

Anthony nodded weakly, then exhaled. “I have to go home. I need to tell my stepfather. Maybe… maybe he’ll help with the bills.”

Fenrick exchanged a look with Liora, both knowing what kind of man Oscar Patrick was. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Liora asked.

Anthony looked down. “He’s the only one left.”

Liora offered to drive. “Come on. Let’s go together.”

The drive to Oscar’s mansion was silent. Anthony stared out the window, replaying his mother’s last words. When they arrived, laughter and music spilled from the gates.

“Is that… a party?” Fenrick muttered.

Anthony’s heart sank. Inside the gates, lights glittered across the courtyard. Guests drank champagne while a live band played. Balloons and ribbons decorated the walls—Oscar was hosting a welcome party for his wife, Rebecca.

Anthony told his friends to wait in the car and walked in alone.

Oscar stood near the fountain, a drink in hand, laughing with a cluster of guests. When he saw Anthony, his smile faltered slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Anthony stepped forward, voice trembling. “She’s gone. Mom’s gone.”

For a brief moment, Oscar’s face softened. The music seemed to fade. Even Rebecca’s laughter quieted. For a second, Anthony thought he saw regret.

Then, suddenly, Oscar chuckled—and began to laugh.

At first, it was low and restrained, but it grew louder until it filled the entire courtyard. The guests joined in, their laughter cruel and sharp.

Anthony stared in disbelief. “You’re laughing?”

Oscar wiped his eyes, smirking. “What else do you want me to do? Celebrate her death with tears? She finally freed me from her burden.”

Anthony’s knees went weak. “You’re heartless.”

Oscar raised his glass. “To freedom!”

The guests echoed him with a cruel cheer.

Anthony’s voice broke. “You have no soul.”

Oscar turned to one of his guards. “Do you know Dr. Kenneth from Central City Hospital?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Oscar said, pulling out his phone. He dialed, waited, then spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Dr. Kenneth? Sell her body. Organ harvesters, I don’t care who. Just make sure I never hear her name again.”

Anthony’s blood ran cold. “You can’t do that!”

Oscar ended the call and looked at him, his smile fading into cold authority. “This is my house. You have no say here.”

Rebecca sneered. “Throw him out.”

Before Anthony could speak, two maids rushed inside and returned moments later with a box—his belongings, packed carelessly. They dumped it on the driveway, scattering books and clothes across the ground.

Oscar raised his hand. “Lock the gate.”

As the gates closed behind him, Anthony stood outside the mansion that had once been his home, surrounded by the scattered remains of his life.

Liora and Fenrick hurried out of the car, gathering his things. Liora’s eyes glistened with fury. “He’s a monster,” she said.

Fenrick clenched his fists. “Let’s go. You can stay with me tonight.”

Anthony didn’t speak. He just nodded faintly, his gaze empty.

At Fenrick’s house, Anthony barely had time to sit before his phone began to ring again. He glanced at the screen—it was his boss.

He hesitated, then answered. “Sir—”

“Where the hell are you?” his boss barked. “I gave you one hour. You’re not serious about this job, are you?”

“My mother just died,” Anthony said weakly. “Please, I just—”

“Spare me the excuses! If you’re not here in an hour, you’re fired!” The call ended.

Anthony closed his eyes, gripping the phone tightly.

Liora looked at him. “You can’t go to work now.”

“I have to,” he said quietly. “It’s all I have left.”

Without another word, he grabbed his bag and left.

By the time he reached the restaurant, his boss was waiting near the counter. “You’re late,” he snapped, slamming an order slip against Anthony’s chest. “Start serving. Now.”

Anthony didn’t argue. He tied on his apron and began serving tables. His body was heavy, his mind elsewhere, but he moved through the motions silently.

Some customers whispered when they saw his red eyes. Others chuckled. A few looked at him with pity.

Then the door opened, and silence rippled through the room.

Darren Frank walked in, his designer jacket gleaming under the lights. Behind him came his entourage—and beside him, laughing softly, was Olivia Carson.

Anthony froze, the tray trembling in his hands.

Darren’s group moved toward a table at the center. Jimmy, Anthony’s stepbrother, smirked as their eyes met.

Anthony’s heart pounded. He walked over, his voice unsteady. “Olivia… why?”

She glanced at him with mock surprise. “Why what?”

Darren stood, his smile fading into arrogance. “Is this guy bothering you?”

Before Anthony could speak, Darren slapped him across the face. “Learn your place,” he sneered.

Anthony stumbled back, anger surging. He shoved Darren with all his strength. The entire restaurant gasped.

In an instant, Jimmy and the others pounced on him. Fists, kicks—blows rained down mercilessly. When they stopped, Anthony lay on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.

Jimmy grabbed him by the collar and spat in his face. “Apologize to him.”

Anthony tried to speak, but only blood came out.

As they turned to leave, his trembling hand reached out and caught Olivia’s leg.

She looked down at him with disgust and kicked him in the head. “You were good for one thing,” she said coldly. “Helping with my assignments. I thought dating me would make you try harder, but you’ll always be trash.”

Her words pierced deeper than any punch.

As they walked away, Darren pulled out his phone. “Elara,” he said into it, grinning. “You won’t believe what just happened.”

The security guards grabbed Anthony by the arms.

And just as they dragged him toward the exit, a woman stepped through the doorway—her presence commanding, her eyes sharp.

“Wait,” she said.

Everyone turned.

The woman’s name was Vionna.

And in that moment, Anthony’s shattered life was about to take a turn no one expected.