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Knox,

Leaning against the wall, I stared at the reflection of myself. The mirror didn’t show a man anymore; it showed a hollow shape wearing my skin. I was Knox Silverfang, a grandson of a Mafia leader. A name that once felt heavy and powerful now felt like an empty label pinned to a stranger. I studied the sharp angles of my jaw, the hair pushed back in a way I didn’t remember styling, the faint dark circles beneath my eyes that made me look permanently sleepless. But none of it looked familiar. Nothing fit.

I wasn’t my mother’s son. I wasn’t my father’s biological son. Just a nephew he stole. A pawn he raised. My mother died. My grandparents were nothing but liars wrapped in expensive clothes and false affections.

Every piece of the life I thought I lived had been ripped apart, leaving jagged edges that kept slicing me from the inside.

Now I couldn’t believe anything, anyone anymore. My throat tightened as I dragged a hand over my face, hoping the pressure would ground me.
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