Grandma's Golden Boy

"Boys need to eat more meat if they want to grow strong."

As she spoke, my mother dropped an entire drumstick into Ryder Cavallaro's plate, watching him eat until his mouth was slick with grease, the wrinkles on her face blooming with satisfaction.

The scene of being poisoned in my previous life was still vivid in my mind. Staring at the table full of rich dishes, I found myself unable to pick up my cutlery.

Ryder noticed I had not touched my food and paused, sneaking glances at me, worried that I would be upset like before when he only ate meat. I pretended not to notice and simply sighed. "The weather's crazy hot, Mom. I don't really have an appetite."

My mother immediately shot me a disapproving look. "Be grateful for Ryder! If he hadn't come back with you, you think you'd get a feast? Deadweights don't deserve anything nice in life!"

At that, she did a one-eighty and dotingly piled more meat onto Ryder's plate.

I just smiled and said nothing. I had long since gotten used to her blatant favoritism toward boys in my previous life.

Seeing that I did not intervene, Ryder buried his head in his plate and continued eating.

In this life, I had no intention of managing him anymore. At first, he still held onto a bit of restraint. But after testing the waters a few times, doing things I used to forbid, and realizing I no longer got angry, he quickly let himself go.

Without my discipline, and with my mother's indulgence, the change was immediate. In just two months, the once good-looking Ryder had been fed into a pudgy boy. Every meal was packed with rich meat dishes, and he wouldn't touch a single vegetable.

But the change in his personality was even worse.

Ryder used to be quiet but polite, always greeting the neighbors when he saw them. Now, he had become the neighborhood's little menace.

That afternoon, I had just returned home after wrapping up a project when I saw Lauren dragging her daughter over in a fury. A crowd of curious neighbors trailed behind them, completely blocking the entrance to my house.

"Joanne King! Get out here and see what your precious grandson has done!" Lauren shouted, her face flushed with anger.

Her daughter, Mia, hid behind her, crying so hard she could barely catch her breath. Her little dress was wrinkled and disheveled.

Hearing the commotion, my mother came out. The moment she saw the scene, she immediately pulled Ryder behind her and snapped with her hands on her hips, "What are you yelling for? You're about to shake my door off its hinges!"

Lauren pointed at Ryder, her hand trembling from anger. "Ask your precious grandson what he did! He lifted Mia's skirt in public! And he even called her a deadweight!"

Instead of showing any guilt, my mother let out a cold laugh. "What did my grandson say that was wrong? Girls are deadweights, are they not?"

As she spoke, she sized Mia up, making the girl shrink further behind Lauren.

Then she withdrew her gaze and sneered. "And don't get me started on your slut of a daughter. Has she no shame, making a fuss about being seen? I can't imagine any decent guy would want a slut like her!"

The words sent a chill through the crowd, and several neighbors gasped.

Lauren's face turned red with fury, and she lunged at my mother. The two of them began to fight.

Some people tried to break them apart; others called the cops—it was chaos.

I simply stood in the corner, watching it all in silence.

In the end, the matter escalated to the police station. The officers sternly criticized my mother and made her apologize to Lauren and Mia. She did not dare argue with the police. But the moment we stepped out of the station, she was still indignant, going on about how Ryder had done nothing wrong.