Chapter 1: The Day My World Shattered

[This old CEO is seriously clueless. Has he not noticed his own son can’t stand him? The day he signs over the company is the day he signs his own pink slip.]

[Who thought it was a good idea to marry your son’s ex? Bet he doesn’t know his wife and his son are playing house in the guest room every night.]

[He’s lasted this long? Man, should’ve retired ages ago. With this kind of judgment, how did he ever become CEO? Time to let someone with a clue take over.]

I froze, pen hovering above the paperwork to transfer my company to my oldest son, when these snarky, too-real comments flashed through my mind like angry pop-ups on a bad website.

Without a second thought, I crumpled the freshly signed resignation letter and hurled it into the fireplace.

The heat from the flames licked my face, burning away any trace of doubt. My hands shook—part fear, part adrenaline—as the paper curled and blackened in the blaze.

"Somebody, bring Caleb to me. And make sure he can’t run."

My study—lined with Ivy League diplomas and old family photos—suddenly felt colder, like every deal I’d ever made was watching me from the walls. The fire crackled, mocking my indecision, as I tried to steady my breathing and keep my composure.

1

I stared at Caleb—my son—kneeling, wrists bound, on the polished hardwood floor of my office. The sunlight through the tall windows threw harsh shadows over the walnut shelves behind him, making everything feel jagged and wrong. His mouth was stuffed with a handkerchief, his suit rumpled, eyes burning with disbelief.

Once, I knelt to tie his sneakers before Little League. Now, he’s on the floor in a suit, wrists bound, and I can’t tell which of us failed the other. For a moment, the little boy who once chased the family dog down these halls flickered behind the man glaring up at me.

Since the day he was born, I’d cherished him—afraid to hold him too tightly, terrified he’d shatter if I so much as looked at him wrong. After his mother died, he became my whole world, the last piece of her I had left. I never let him want for anything. Just weeks ago, I promised him the company and my retirement—his future laid out like a red carpet.

But this was the first time he’d ever knelt before me, and it wasn’t for forgiveness or comfort. My heart cracked open, torn between rage and heartbreak.

I remembered the night after her funeral—him curled up in my lap, clutching that old stuffed bear, both of us pretending the world hadn’t changed. Now, with him kneeling before me, the city’s noise outside felt far away, and the walls pressed in with memories I couldn’t escape.

Before Caleb was dragged in, those strange, cutting comments replayed in my mind on an endless loop.

According to them, my entire life was just a story. I was nothing but a supporting character, existing to clear the way for the so-called protagonist—my own son. Once the company was his, I’d be just another casualty in his rise to power.

That idea stuck in my head like a bad radio jingle I couldn’t shake. Caleb—my golden boy—painted as the villain in someone else’s script? Every missed birthday, every proud hug, every late-night deal—I saw them now as scenes in a drama I never meant to write.

I raised my hand, signaling for someone to remove the gag.

Caleb gasped for breath, spitting out the handkerchief. His voice trembled with fury and grief as he blurted, "Dad, what the hell is this? Did you forget what Mom would think?"

He sounded so raw and desperate, like a kid cornered by the world. It always worked before—invoking his mother. It always melted my resolve, but today, it just twisted the knife.