The six-year-old son of my housekeeper found me crying alone in my wheelchair and asked the one question every adult around me had been too scared to ask

With ten days remaining before the crucial board meeting, Marcus made an unexpected visit to the mansion.

I was in the middle of a grueling physical therapy session, attempting to support my own weight between two parallel bars. My legs trembled violently, sweat pouring down my face, every fiber of my being screaming in pain.

"Ethan, my dear cousin! You really shouldn't overexert yourself!"

Marcus’s slick, condescending voice echoed through the high-ceilinged gym. He walked in wearing a tailored three-piece suit, a faux expression of brotherly concern plastered across his face.

I signaled to Dr. Aris to step back, lowering myself carefully back into my wheelchair, breathing heavily. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a towel and met Marcus's gaze with absolute stillness.

"Marcus," I said smoothly, keeping my voice calm. "You usually call before dropping by."

"I was just in the neighborhood, checking up on my favorite cousin," Marcus smirked, glancing around the room. His eyes briefly flicked to Sammy, who was sitting on a bench in the corner, holding a wooden toy car that Julian had carved years ago. Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the boy, a subtle flicker of recognition or suspicion passing over his features.

"Who is the kid?" Marcus asked nonchalantly, though his tone had hardened.

"This is Sammy. Rebecca's son," I replied easily. "He keeps me company."

Marcus took a step toward Sammy. "Rebecca's son, huh? Strange... he has a very familiar look about him. The eyes, specifically."

Before Marcus could get any closer, I rolled my wheelchair directly into his path, blocking him off. The message was unmistakable: Do not step any closer.

"Marcus," I said, my tone dropping an octave, cold as winter ice. "You came here for a reason. What is it?"

Marcus straightened his tie, forced a chuckle, and pulled a stack of legal documents from his leather briefcase. "Well, as you know, the annual board meeting is next week. The board is... concerned, Ethan. About the stock stability. About your health. I’ve brought over the paperwork to temporarily transfer your voting rights to me until you make a... full mental recovery."

I took the documents from his hand, casually flipping through the pages. Page after page of legal traps designed to strip me of everything I owned and declare me permanently unfit.

"And if I refuse to sign?" I asked, looking up at him.

Marcus's polite smile completely vanished, replaced by the sinister reality of his true nature. He leaned down, placing both hands on the armrests of my wheelchair, invading my personal space.

"If you refuse, Ethan, I will be forced to present medical reports to the board proving you are mentally unstable," Marcus whispered maliciously. "You're a broken man, sitting in a chair, crying over spilled milk. You can't run a multi-billion dollar conglomerate from a sickbed. Sign the papers, live out your days peacefully in this big empty house, and let me handle the hard work."

I stared into the eyes of the man who had tried to murder me, the man who had helped keep my brother hidden in obscurity. A deep, burning fire ignited in my chest—not of hatred, but of absolute power.

Slowly, deliberately, I ripped the documents in half.

Then I ripped them again, dropping the shredded paper into Marcus’s expensive leather briefcase.

Marcus gasped, stepping back in shock. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm telling you to get out of my house," I said, my voice resonating with absolute authority. "And I'll see you at the board meeting next week, Marcus. In person."

Marcus stared at me, his face turning pale before flushing with pure rage. He looked at me, then at Sammy, and finally spat out, "You're making a catastrophic mistake, Ethan. You won't even make it to that meeting."

"Is that a threat, cousin?" I asked quietly.

Marcus didn't answer. He snapped his briefcase shut, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the gym.

Rebecca rushed in from the adjacent hallway, her face pale. "Ethan... he knows something. He looked at Sammy like he knew."

"Let him suspect," I said, my heart pounding with adrenaline. "Vance is monitoring his every move. Marcus is desperate now, and a desperate predator makes mistakes. We have him right where we want him."

I turned to Sammy, who was watching me with admiration.