Don Juan

Brian Patrick, a humble delivery boy, was falsely accused of siphoning $15 billion dollars by his ruthless boss, Morgan Harris, sent to jail for fifteen years and finally released as a poverty-stricken, boy. He re-united with his family only to be informed he had been an adopted son and a bastard all the while. Family despised him to the path he threaded; friends tagged him a total loser, a failure, a poverty-stricken nobody and a nuisance that shouldn’t be associated with. Those he worked for refused him his paycheck for the sake of his history as an ex convict and his ragged looks and he ended up scavenging dustbins for survival. Because of his poverty, his father-in-law, Fanny Luis, the richest tycoon in Rio Hondo, divorced him and betrothed his wife, Melissa in an arranged marriage, with the son of a billionaire, despite saving her with his kidney, when she was down with a kidney failure. “I promise you some day, you and your family will bow before me and hail me the world richest man,” he had told his wife when she divorced him… Later, about taking his life, he was called “Boss” by tycoons, big wigs and billionaires, who knew his true identity. Soon his true identity was revealed to him; the true heir to the Saint Don Group, the richest oil and gas conglomerate in the world. Everyone that saw him bowed at his feet, his wealth and charming looks pulled the most beautiful girls and his net worth commanded more than thirty trillion dollars. He became god of wealth. If only his haters had known he was the world richest man, perhaps they wouldn’t have underrated him. But now he would be taking his revenge on those that treated him like a piece of rag.

On the day their daughter died… Lyra chose to comfort another child. Brandon spent seven years loving a woman who slowly stopped loving him back. He endured the coldness, the humiliation, and the pain of watching another man and his son replace him and his daughter inside their own home. Still, he stayed. Because he believed that even if Lyra no longer loved him… she would always love Maggie. He was wrong. On Maggie’s sixth birthday, Lyra abandoned her sick daughter to celebrate another child instead. When Maggie collapsed in Brandon’s arms, Lyra still refused to believe the truth. “You used your own daughter to manipulate me!” she screamed in disgust. Meanwhile, Maggie’s tiny body trembled violently as her failing heart slowly gave up. “Lyra… please…” Brandon begged brokenly. “I’ll kneel if I have to. Just take us to the hospital…” But Lyra looked at her dying daughter with cold disappointment. “I’m ashamed of both of you.” Then she abandoned them on the side of the highway. As Brandon desperately carried his little girl toward the hospital, Maggie smiled weakly through her tears. “Daddy… don’t cry anymore. When I reach Heaven, I’ll ask God to send someone who will love you better than Mommy did.” Moments later, her tiny hand slipped away forever. That was the moment Brandon Hale died too. The gentle husband who forgave everything disappeared forever, replaced by a man driven only by grief, revenge, and the truth behind his wife’s betrayal. But when Lyra finally realizes the horrifying mistake she made… It’s already too late. “Brandon… I’m sorry…” she sobbed at his feet. “I never wanted Maggie to die…” Brandon stepped away from her trembling hands, his eyes empty and cold. “It’s too late.”

Silence. Like a nice bucket of shhhhhhhhh. Everyone shut the effing fudge UP! That's all I've ever wanted. *Sigh.* But silence comes in different flavors. There's mint - the peaceful kind that wraps around you like a blanket. The kind I chase at 2 AM. I've cried once. Just once. With a bucket beside me, watching heroes with super suits and impossible strength tear each other apart. Somehow that feels less broken than my reality. Then there's the suffocating silence at school. Not an ice cream flavor. This one tastes like metal and shame. High school is my personal hell. Empty wallet, empty lunch tray, empty seat beside me like I'm radioactive. Empty soul on Wednesdays because middles are always the worst. *The usual.* But Emily made the silence bearable. Mint-flavored again. Until she broke something between us. *Snap.* One moment she's whispering secrets with me, the next she's weaponizing them. She scattered my private thoughts, added her own twisted lies. The betrayal burns hotter than the stares drilling into my back. I went from invisible to spectacle. Being a ghost feels like luxury when you're dodging spit balls and "accidental" lunch trays. But somewhere between my third panic attack and contemplating switching schools... *Something shifted.* Like in those games you play, when your character suddenly glows and the screen flashes: "New Skill Unlocked" And it wasn't just in my head. I tested it. Small things at first – a pencil moving across my desk when I focused hard enough. Then books. Then someone's lunch tray right as they walked past Emily. *tap tap tap* I used to think rock bottom was the end. *Well ladies and gentlemen,* it's just a really messed up spawn point. And now? I don't stumble from cliffs anymore. I swim in gravity, and dive head first.