The Blind Boxes Were Rigged

I stood by the restroom door, my fingers clutching the hem of my shirt.

After a while, my father, Thomas Sullivan, walked out of the restroom with my brother, Edward Sullivan.

Thomas was stunned when he saw me. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes.

Beside him, Edward spoke in Franich. "Don't worry, Dad. That country bumpkin doesn't know a single word of Franich."

Thomas visibly relaxed.

As he turned toward me, the guilt in his eyes melted into impatience.

"What are you standing around here for? Hurry up and use the restroom if that's why you're here. We've made a reservation at the restaurant and will be heading over soon."

I remained where I was and said nothing.

For the first time, I didn't immediately do as he said.

Thomas' expression turned grim. Losing his patience, he grabbed me by the arm and shoved me into the restroom.

He did so with such force that it left red marks on my arm, which instantly throbbed with pain.

However, none of this was new to me.

Thomas always had immense patience for Edward, but he'd readily lose his temper with me.

When I'd first arrived, I paused at the entrance for a few seconds because I didn't know which room was mine.

When I didn't move, Thomas shoved me into my room with tremendous force. I fell, my knees scraping against the floor and bleeding from the wounds.

He gave me a lame apology, saying that he didn't do it on purpose.

He said he was simply used to being rough with boys and promised to be more careful in the future.

However, during the past few days, I noticed he'd been attentive and gentle with Edward.

As it seemed, he wasn't careless with men as he claimed; he just couldn't care less about me.

Keeping silent, I entered the restroom.

Outside, Thomas was still grumbling about me.

"How taciturn. I wonder what kind of upbringing he received from his adoptive father when he lived in the countryside. He's nothing like you, Ed. You're smart and outgoing!"

Thomas always griped about how quiet I was.

Little did he know, I was lively around my adoptive father, Howard Jordan.

I only kept quiet around them to protect myself because I didn't feel loved.

When I was done using the restroom, my biological mother, Abigail Lawson, and my ex-girlfriend, Zoe Ludwig, were already waiting downstairs.

Abigail seemed to be very impatient. She barked at me, "Taking your own sweet time in the restroom, were you? I knew your adoptive father failed to raise you right. What a dawdler!"

She directed her anger solely at me, even though Thomas and Edward had used the restroom too. In fact, they were in there longer than I was.

Zoe got up and walked over. Looking straight ahead, she walked right past me toward Edward and linked her arm with his.

She was so distant and arrogant, as though we were nothing but strangers, even though we'd been deeply in love not so long ago.

However, since the Sullivans brought me home yet treated me like a reject, she had changed.

Not only did she willingly choose to marry Edward, but she even dismissed me as though I were thin air.

We arrived at the restaurant by car.

There were exactly five seats in the private lounge. One of the seats was near the door through which the waiters would serve us food.

The others naturally took the seats away from the door, leaving that seat vacant.

Edward turned to me, a look of smug satisfaction in his eyes.

"You should take that seat. You can help the waiters out when they serve the food."

Thomas and Abigail laughed.

"You're used to helping out with household chores when you lived with your adoptive family, anyway, Chester. Sitting there makes it easier for you to help the waiters."

Even Zoe chuckled into her hand as she cast me a scornful look.

My family was worth billions of dollars and employed ten household staff, yet they were asking me—their biological son—to help the waiters.

That spoke volumes about how unwelcome I was.

When the waiter was serving us the first course, Edward abruptly got up from his seat, saying that he needed to use the restroom.

As he walked past me, he deliberately stumbled in my direction.

Crash!

Startled by the impact, the server lost his grip on the dish.

The entire plate of piping-hot food spilled over me.

The scalding food covered my skin, and an intense burning pain immediately tore through me.