“Xavier,” he said weakly, “don’t blame yourself. Ordinary people like us can’t win against the rich and powerful. Just give up the appeal. I don’t want you to end up in danger too. I couldn’t bear it.”
But I couldn’t accept it. I refused to accept it. And yet, there was nothing I could do to touch Alaric.
As I walked out of the hospital, I heard people gossiping, cursing my mother, saying she’d tried to extort money and had gotten herself killed. They said she deserved it.
I lost control and lashed out, arguing back—only for them to recognize me as her son.
They all backed away from me, sneering.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Maybe he’s just here to extort money too.”
Two days later, I took my father out of the hospital and held a funeral for my mother.
Halfway through the ceremony, a loud commotion erupted outside.
Flower wreaths were kicked over and the white funeral banners were torn and shredded.
I rushed out in fury, only to be tackled to the ground. Alaric had ordered his men to pin me down and force me to kneel.
His mother walked up, grabbed my chin and slapped me hard across the face.