The fury in John's chest surged like a beast let loose from the depths of hell, raking its claws through his nerves, urging him toward reckless action.
Mr. Wodehouse, startled by the fire in John's eyes, instinctively reached out to pat his shoulder.
"John, my boy," he said hurriedly, "I only told you the truth so you'd know—I don't want you doing anything rash!"
At first, Mr. Wodehouse had hesitated to tell John the full story, afraid his grandson's temper would ignite. And for good reason: Excellence Real Estate wasn't just a powerful company—they had ties high up the political ladder. No one with sense dared cross them.
But now, the elderly man's wrinkled palm pressed gently against John's face, grounding him.
John blinked as the red haze lifted. "I'm sorry, Grandpa. I didn't mean to scare you."
"My child," Mr. Wodehouse whispered, his voice filled with age and worry. "Promise me. No matter what, don't provoke Excellence Real Estate. You're just one man."
John nodded slowly, the storm in his heart still simmering. "I promise. I won't do anything stupid."
The old man let out a relieved sigh and smiled, a spark of warmth returning to his eyes.
"Good boy... Your sisters—they'll be overjoyed to know you're alive."
At the mention of his sisters, John's face lit up.
"How are they?" he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.
"They've all built their own lives now," Mr. Wodehouse said proudly. "They send money home every month. They've never forgotten you."
He turned to a nearby drawer and pulled out a carefully preserved stack of photographs.
John leaned in eagerly, his eyes wide with longing. His hands trembled slightly as he took the pictures.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years since he had seen their faces.
Each photo revealed a different woman, but all of them were beautiful—graceful, radiant, and strong. The years had shaped them, but in his eyes, they would always be the same sisters who had once held his hands and told him stories under the stars.
"They… they're really my sisters?" John whispered, scanning each image as if trying to etch them into his soul.
Mr. Wodehouse chuckled. "They're not just beautiful—they're exceptional."
John nodded solemnly, a fierce pride welling up in his heart.
But just as the warmth of reunion began to fill the room, a pathetic whimper interrupted them.
"Grandpa… please, just two hundred thousand... I really need it!"
It was Gary. He had finally regained his senses—and fallen to his knees before Mr. Wodehouse.
"I'm begging you… please…"
Mr. Wodehouse's smile vanished. His expression darkened. "You unfilial brat! You dare come begging again?"
"No! Grandpa, I—" Gary stammered, trying to come up with a lie. But the truth came tumbling out.
"I-I racked up debt at a casino… They said they'll take my hand if I don't pay them back in a week!"
"What?" Mr. Wodehouse roared. "A casino?! You worthless—!"
He seized a broom and swung it at Gary in rage. "I'll beat the foolishness out of you!"
Gary didn't even flinch. "I know I messed up! But it's too late! Please, just help me one last time…"
"You… you'll be the death of me!" the old man shouted, his face red with fury.
Suddenly, a voice as cold as ice cut through the chaos.
"Gary. I told you not to upset Grandpa again. Did you forget?"
Everyone turned to the yard.
A woman stood there—tall, graceful, and fierce as a winter storm. Her black hair was elegantly pinned back, her figure flawless beneath a crisp white suit. Every inch of her radiated strength and unyielding beauty.
Queenie.
John's heart skipped a beat. His eyes welled with tears.
It was her—his eldest sister.
Fifteen years had passed, but he would recognize her anywhere. In person, she was even more breathtaking than in the photo.
When their eyes met, Queenie's body stiffened. A flash of shock passed through her eyes—but just as quickly, it vanished beneath a composed exterior.
Turning to Gary, she said coldly, "For Grandpa's sake, I'll help you. But this is the last time. If you cross the line again, I'll break your legs myself."
She pulled out a check for two hundred thousand dollars and tossed it to him.
Gary caught it, grinning like a fool. "Thanks, sis!"
"Don't call me that. It makes me sick," she spat.
Gary didn't care. He had the money. That was all that mattered.
John took a step forward, his voice soft and trembling.
"Sister… it's me."
The battlefield had turned him into a hardened soldier. He had faced gunfire, death, and chaos without flinching.
But now, in the presence of his sister, he felt nervous. Shy.
Even iron men had soft spots. For John, it was his sisters.
Queenie's body tensed again.
That voice—it pulled her back fifteen years. Back to the little brother she thought she'd lost in the fire.
Her head turned slowly, as if resisting the truth.
"You… You are…"
She had noticed him the moment she arrived. The resemblance was uncanny. But she didn't dare hope. Didn't dare believe.
Until Mr. Wodehouse spoke. "Queenie, he's your brother. John has come home."
"John…" she murmured.
John stepped forward with a warm smile and wrapped his arms around her.
Her body stiffened in his embrace. For a moment, her eyes betrayed hesitation—an instinctive resistance.
Then she gently pulled away, smiling politely. "It's good to see you, John."
John was stunned.
Her response… wasn't what he expected.
She didn't ask how he'd survived. She didn't cry or cling to him. She treated him like an old acquaintance—distant, composed, polite.
Fifteen years… and the bond between them had thinned.
His heart clenched.
Has she moved on?
Has she… built a new life?
Perhaps she has a family now—and I'm just a memory she buried.
After all, they weren't related by blood.
If that were true… all he could do was wish her happiness.
Mr. Wodehouse, unaware of the subtle tension, guided them to sit and chat, smiling fondly as he spoke of ordinary things.
But Queenie never asked about John's life over the past fifteen years.
Not a single question.
And the bitterness in John's chest quietly grew.
Maybe... they had already become strangers.