5. Alistair

~ ALISTAIR ~

I squint my eyes, focusing hard on the words, trying to grasp them before they flicker and disappear before I can pin them down, my brain scrambling to make sense of them.

Is it ‘from’ or ‘form’? ‘B’ or ‘D’? ‘Was’ or ‘saw’? The harder I try, the worse it gets. Like a cruel joke dumb me couldn't grasp.

This is not helping.

I have a secret. One that if let out will tarnish the family name.

I'm dyslexic.

The Moranos are supposed to be brilliant. Ruthless. Untouchable. A fucking legacy.

But me?

I'm the broken link in a perfect bloodline. The failure no one talks about.

They saw it. They knew. But instead of helping me, they buried it like it was some shameful disease. Moranos don't need help from doctors for a weakness like this. They don't need help. They just… win. It runs in the blood. And if they can't… They pretend.

Like me.

I zoom the words in, adjusting my glasses on the bridge of my nose as I try to read the whole sentence while trying to push back a looming headache.

Then, I lean against my backrest and dig my hand into my scalp, pulling hard. Maybe if I pull tight enough, the words will snap into place and I can force my brain into working like it's supposed to.

But nothing happens. Nothing changes. I'm still the same pathetic kid who can't even fucking read right!

The scream rips out of me before I can stop it as I pull my hair.

They couldn't tell any doctor nor could they tell my class teachers. Sacrificing me to keep the family name from any stain is more than enough.

So here I am, twenty-two years in, diagnosed with dyslexia on my solo-vacation to Mauritius, paid results all my life, tried so hard to read but keeps failing miserably, and now, I have to try to read about a hundred slides for a project.

Good. Just good.

I scream in frustration again before using my desk as a momentum to push myself back.

At that moment, the door swings open. A head peeks in and my brows raise in confusion. It's father's head.

His eyes land on me before he enters the room fully, clad in a deep blue suit.

Don't be surprised. He wears suits as casual clothings.

“I heard you screaming.”

“Yes?”

His eyes darted from my face to the tablet on my reading table. “Were you trying to read again?”

I move my swivelling chair closer to my table and press the power button, shutting the screen.

“You have a problem with that?” I snap,

He sighs like I'm some petulant child throwing a tantrum. “You could have just told AI or Brandon to read it for you.”

Like I'm not a grown man. I should be okay with someone spoon-feeding me words because I'm too fucking slow to read it myself.

The worst part? I know he's right.

I turn to him with a glare, angry. “You mean they would have the time to read an entire hundred pages to me just because you couldn't pay the lecturers and professors for my degree?” I ask incredulously, lips raised in irritation.

He dusts invisible dirts on his pristine suit. “Unfortunately, the board had voted. A payment can't be made for the degree. You have to work for it just like your brother worked for his.”

I pick up a textbook and hurl it at him as I spring to my feet. “Fuck you! You want me to work for it but you didn't arm me prior! You know what? I'm getting a doctor. I don't care anymore! I can't keep preferring calls over texts when it annoys the living—”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“I will!”

“You wouldn't, Alistae.” He says with finality in his tone before he pulls the door to my room open. “And yeah, your mother is back with Asher now.” He adds, glancing at me over his shoulders before stepping out.

My hands shake by my sides as I fall back to my seat, lips quivering.

Asher is back.

It's an underlying message. One I'm not supposed to know.

Asher is back now… but with a PhD at twenty five. Meanwhile, I'm twenty-two, drowning in unread textbooks, pretending I'm not a lost fucking cause.

But no matter how hard I try, it's not enough. I'll never be enough.

No one said it sucks to be a middle child, stuck between an overachieving elder brother and a brilliant younger brother. Two golden sons.

Asher is what a Morano should be. Brandon is already getting there.

The only thing I excel at… is violence.

And unfortunately, it can't help me in bagging my degree.

Something has to change. I can't keep living like this.

Calvin fucking Rutledge.

The name slips into my mind like poison, corroding all my thoughts, leaving only one – desperation. My chest tightens just by thinking about him. If I ask him for help, it's like admitting I can't do this on my own. But if I don't, I will never get it done. Never.

I press my palms into my eyes, trying to stop a looming headache before I double tap the screen of my tablet, checking the time. Then, I spring to my feet.

I hate him. I hate how he stares at me like I'm nothing. But I fucking need this.

He should be waiting at the library by now. But today, I'm not going for the project study sessions. I need to strike a deal.

And if he tries to use it against me… I'll make him regret it.