Carson simply nodded, said nothing, and stepped into the car. It was one seriously decked-out luxury ride, fitted like a high-end suite-elegant lights on the ceiling, plush leather seats, privacy curtains, and a tea set right in front of the sofa. Sitting there felt like lounging at home, only way more extravagant.
Kayden Scott sat in silence, his face expressionless, fists clenched and unclenched, over and over.
Was he finally going back home?
But… was that place even “home” anymore?
No! That place was no home; it was hell-a prison he’d rather never see again.
But why was the Scott family so dead set on dragging him back to relive that nightmare? To make him reopen all those scars?
Did Jason Scott honestly think he could just summon Kayden at will?
No! Jason was so naive, so full of himself, thinking that dangling the family head position would lure Kayden back like a carrot on a stick.
Ha! Jason Scott was a complete fool. In his eyes, power might be everything.
But did he really think Kayden need his pathetic power? Not at all.
Kayden’s influence alone was stronger than a hundred of the so-called “heads of the family.”
If Kayden wanted, he could crush the Scott family with just a word, any time, any day.
Kayden lifted his head, looking out with cold, bloodshot eyes, pure hate simmering inside him.
The hatred for the Scott family overwhelmed him, rising up and bursting forth.
Suddenly, the car began to shake, the lights flickering as if jolted by his fury.
The driver gripped the wheel tight, terrified, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The car tilted, trembled for a few seconds, and then settled. Though it was over in seconds, it felt like an eternity for the driver.
Kayden unclenched his fist, suppressing the rage that had surged within him.
His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead, brow furrowed, thoughts racing.
Jason Scott didn’t just want a power match-up; he was trying to leech off Kayden’s influence. The guy was a snake, pure and simple. Spotting Kayden’s status now, he’d decided to reel him in, hoping to boost the Scott family to the top of the big leagues.
But had he ever thought about what those past deeds had done to Kayden?
Had he ever realized that his actions nearly destroyed him?
Kayden’s mind flashed back fifteen years.
He’d only been ten, an age when most kids were basking in love, under the care of their parents, enjoying a carefree childhood. But that was stolen from him, replaced with burdens no ten-year-old should ever face.
He remembered that mild afternoon. His parents had just returned from a trip, barely setting foot in the house before being summoned to a family meeting.
In that room, he saw Jason Scott’s condemning face and heard the family’s endless scorn. In an instant, the once-revered Ambrose Scott had become a pariah, the target of everyone’s venom.
And all because he’d somehow crossed family interests.
Jason Scott? He didn’t even let Ambrose breathe; he forced him to his death.
They say even a tiger doesn’t eat its own cubs, but Jason Scott was colder than a beast, turning his back on his own son to save his precious “interests.”
Kayden could still hear the sound of his father’s blood dripping onto the floor, see his mother collapsed, weeping in despair. He’d wanted to die with them but didn’t even have that right.
He was left to watch, forced to imprint that memory deep into his mind.
That day, his world shattered, plunged into darkness.
And he hated-oh, he hated Jason Scott, he hated every single person in the Scott family. If just one person had stood up forAmbrose, maybe he’d have lived. But no, they all turned on him, pushing him to his death.
After his parents’ deaths, he was imprisoned, reduced to a puppet for the Scott family.
They threw him into a windowless room barely big enough to move. No sunlight, only endless, suffocating darkness. At an age when he should’ve been basking in the sun, he was drowning in shadows.
Ten years old! At ten, the Scott family planted an indelible seed in his heart-a seed of bitterness toward the family that was supposed to be his pride. Instead, they’d turned it into his personal hell.
He’d wanted to die back then, but not even that release was allowed.
Desperation consumed him as he watched his soul slowly swallowed by darkness, his heart hardened by hate.
For five years, that room became his life. But then, a twist of fate brought him to the Battlefield, where he unleashed that festering rage on anyone who dared cross him.
In battle after battle, he carved his name in blood, building a legacy not for fame, but for the sheer thrill of taking lives. Killing brought a rush-a twisted glimmer of purpose. Over time, he reveled in having control over others’ fates, in seeing fear in their eyes.
That’s why he rose as the ultimate threat in the Borderlands. His blade alone kept enemies from setting foot near Seclela, his command unchallenged.
Without three years of kindness from Georgia Adams, he might’ve forgotten that anyone cared about him at all; he’d have lost his last shred of humanity.
Her compassion kept him tethered, reminded him of warmth he’d long abandoned.
So he felt gratitude for Georgia Adams, for the warmth she brought into his life.
Those three years were his most precious ones.