He let out an exaggerated sigh, “What a shame. No matter how an old guy struggles, he’s still the same, long hated by his wife.”
“Next time I’ll stream something even crazier, just wait and see me teach this kind of kept pretty-boy how to act.”
The video stopped.
I actually laughed from anger.
Fritz Porter.
A name I gave him myself.
Five years earlier, during a charity school visit to the hills, I found him inside a leaking mud hut.
A sixteen-year-old boy curled on straw bedding, skin bruised deep purple from beatings.
Face sallow and thin, eyes packed with shame and despair, he couldn’t hide.
Back then, he didn’t even have a name.
He grabbed my sleeve and said, “Brother, I want to learn.”
I took him back to Nashville and named him Fritz, meaning “proud under the wide sky.”
I sent him to the finest art school and opened his tattoo shop with a ribbon cut when he finished.
Now he used the skill paid for by my money to carve these words into my skin, shame me online, and even set his sights on my woman.
But what stunned me the most was that Rosalie truly stood up for him.
Heavy steps snapped my thoughts apart.
Rows of guards in black stood straight.
Two of them hauled Fritz in and slammed him onto the floor like waste.
He fought to raise his head, eyes red.
“Keagan! Other than using your family’s strength to crush people, what else can you do?”
His face shifted fast, a smug smile sliding onto his mouth.
“If you treat me this way, Rosalie will never forgive you!”
“When she gets sick of you one day, do you think your family will want someone tossed aside by hers? You’ll be nothing!”
I looked down at him, smiling faintly.
“When Rosalie chased after me back then, she knew nothing about my family.”
The smile locked on his face.
I looked down at him from above, tilting his jaw up with the tip of my shoe.
“True, you’re twenty now, still young.”
“Your face skin is smooth and soft, just right to swap in for the marked patch on my chest.”
His pupils tightened fast.
“As for using power to press others down…”
I relaxed my hand, took the cleaning cloth passed over by the servant, and slowly wiped my hands.
“You’re wrong about one thing.”
“In Nashville, I am the power.”
The second the surgery light turned on, the sharp scent of cleaner made me dizzy for a brief moment.
I suddenly saw eighteen-year-old Rosalie clearly.
She always sat in the front row of the classroom, spine straight like a ruler.