It was yet another trip—my mother lived for them. Escaping the flash of cameras and the constant meetings—that was the price of fame and marrying the outstanding Leonard Grey. Her smile was soft but radiant as she sat beside my father, her hands resting on his as he gripped the wheel. She always looked like that when we were driving out of the city. For her, it wasn't about luxury. It was about peace.
I've always known her to be a solace lover, and now she was happy… if not happier.
I used to wonder why they never had more kids. Now I know. I was the project. A masterpiece. Her only son, her only priority. She poured everything into raising and shaping me, obsessing over every inch of who I was and who I was becoming.
And to be honest? She did a damn good job.
Dad made one of his jokes, and she laughed, her lips stretching and her eyes squinting at the end. At forty-five, she was on the list of the top bestselling authors, a successful businesswoman, and the owner of hotel chains—and most importantly, she was married to the nation's treasure, Leonard Grey. She was not just successful but unstoppable.
And Dad? He was the king of the boardroom. Grey Group merged with Berries Entertainment years ago, and now they practically control the entertainment industry. Everyone wanted to sit at their table, and I… Damien Grey was born into it.
It used to feel like a burden—the spotlight, legacy, and expectations. I didn't choose this world. I was born into it with cameras in my face and my name on every tabloid headline before I could spell it. But now I've learned to wear it like a tailored suit.
A lion never begets a goat…
"Everything can be under your control," Dad always said, "if you listen more and speak less."
It's the one lesson that stuck—and trust me, I've learned to listen.
Usually, I thought being their son was strange. It brought me unwanted attention, and I lived in showbiz at a young age, but now I am used to it.
Like Mom always said, "We are the brand, and you are the face."
"You're quiet," my mother said, turning slightly to glance at me in the backseat.
"Everything okay, Bund-Joy?" I nodded. "Just tired, Mommy."
She smiled. She always did when I called her, just like how I loved when she referred to me by my baby name. It always made me feel how special I was to them. I was twenty-two, but still their baby.
But then the happy moments shortened. The sound of metal folding, the car swayed to one side, and a push from outside, and for a split second, it all stopped. Her eyes turned to me, the worry in them as she reached out.
"No," she muttered.
Then ahead, a trailer raced forward, bombing into us. The tires screamed, then screams—hers and mine—ripping through the glass as the world spun sideways, and the sky collapsed in front of my eyes.
Slowly, yet painfully, it came to an end… a horrible end.
Then everything went dark.
When I opened my eyes, I was on the pavement, soaked with blood, my vision blurred, and my body stiff. From a distance, sirens howled, and the flashing red lights of the ambulance sliced through the little crowd.
I watched the scene too real to be a dream, yet I wished it was a haunting nightmare. They pulled out my mother's body, her hands falling from the stretcher. Then came my father...
"No pulse," a nurse announced, and I felt my world crash.
"No… No, Dad," my lips quivered. I tried to scream, but no voice came. No sound—only blood.
Too much was happening all at once.
"Time of death, 9:20 A.M.," another announced. Then the white sheet covered my mother.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. So much was happening, yet I was too helpless. My body wouldn't react to my command. My legs felt too heavy, and my hands just lay still like a rock.
Voices echoed above me.
"He's still breathing," someone said.
Despite the pain, my head moved a little—just enough to see who it was.
"Not for long," he said, his voice dripping with malice.
Caleb walked closer, kicking my half-dead body like I was some dog.
"You did well," his father added, and he smiled like the proud jerk he had always been.
Uncle Mathew quietly pulled Caleb to the side, patting him on the back like the proud father he was.
"They're dead. Now we just have to get rid of Damien, and all will be done." I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't speak. Nor could I protest. But I heard it all—the plans, the plot, and now the victory.
"Should I do it now?"
"Yes," Mathew hissed. "Before he wakes up," he added.
And I watched the syringe come towards me. I wish I could run. I desperately wanted to fight, but my body was against my will.
Then it happened—a little sting, then seconds later, I was shaking like a slaughtered chicken. The cold drug seeped into my veins. Everything had suddenly lost color. But his face never did. Always smiling, his hands reaching out.
I had pushed him away—the cousin I thought had betrayed me.
But it wasn't him. He was never the enemy.
But now it was too late. "They wanted me dead," I whispered into the darkness.
"Luca was right." My eyes flickered. Then—darkness.