The Royal Contract

Gerald could not believe the audacity of that man to tell him that he was his father, remembering looking into his eyes as he explained his connection to his father and mother.

His fist had balled, ready to punch him, wanting so much to beat the crap out of him. But for the first time in his life, he could not move as he looked into those eyes. It mirrored his. It was as if he was looking at himself.

“Then, why hesitate? You should have shot him?” Because you knew he might be. His mind debated inside his head as he stared at the white ceiling.

He shook his head, denying the lie that came out of his enemy’s lips. He should not trust him. His father had warned him that he might pull something as ridiculous as this to make him believe in his deception.

He tried closing his eyes, hoping that the alcohol and fatigue would finally take over and envelope him in darkness, but it was no use as his thoughts returned to the moment he looked into Ethan’s eyes.

“It is not true.” His body bolted up into a sitting position, unable to stand, seeing the face of the man that had caused his misery. While his eyes were wide open, his focus centered on the white, empty wall.

.....

No paintings hung on his white wall, no memories that would remind him of his mother. It was his haven from the miserable life he had endured growing up. It was the only place that did not remind him of his mother.

He loved his mother. Her love had been the only thing that kept him going through this time. But his father assured him that his word had more weight than what her mother had taught him. Hatred eventually took over his childhood until now.

He stood from his bed and walked over to the side table. Only to discover his decanter was already empty. He needed more. He wanted to drown his thoughts.

Hopefully, by the time he woke up, it would be different. His life would be back to the time before Ethan walked through his door because his brain refused to accept what this man revealed to him.

At the moment, all he wanted was to hurt him, but he could not. He had the chance earlier, but something stopped him. Suddenly his mother popped into his mind.

“Because...” He mumbled, taking his empty glass and walking out the door, unable to finish his statement.

As he passed by the hallways, down towards his office, he never failed to see the paintings her mother had done for him and his father. His eyes focused on one piece after another.

His father insisted on hanging them in almost all parts of their house to remind him not of his mother’s memories but of the mission his father wanted him to accomplish. To make the man responsible for his misery pay.

He walked straight ahead, avoiding looking at one more portrait, going directly into his office. Maybe working would help divert his mind into something else.

“Sir, do you need anything?” His maid came closer, noticing him. But he only waved her away, dismissing her in his presence.

He closed the doors and sat immediately on his desk, placing the empty glass in the corner. After taking a few breaths, smelling the alcohol in his breath, he took a file and started reading it.

After the jumbled words kept repeating in his mind, he knew he could not continue. His mind was not making any sense, only wasting his time.

“This is all bull...” His fist slammed on the files, making the desk vibrate from the impact, causing some files to go out of place. It was no use. He needed another distraction.

Closing the file again with a thud, he turned around and faced his window, looking at the massive lawn outside. He did not grow up in this place, but it had similarities to where his father had kept him and his mother.

He could imagine kids running on those grasses, laughing, and just enjoying, not minding sweating under the sun. But that was not his memory.

He had grown up barely a kid, unable to play with children his age since his father had told him he had no time for silliness. At an early age, his father had him burning the midnight oil.

Aside from excelling in school, he also had to undergo survival training. From self-defense lessons to the use of weapons, he had to learn them all.

“What is this, Dad?” He mumbled as his fist clenched at the armrest of his chair. “Is Ethan my father?” His heart was on fire, feeling his blood boiling through his veins, burning everything in its path.

He could feel steam coming out of his skin at the thought of someone using him as a pawn in their games. Well, one of them was lying and the other the truth. Which one was which?

His mind returned to the man who courageously walked into his lion’s den, unafraid of the consequence of revealing himself. He saw it in his eyes. Ethan was ready to die in his hands.

“It still did not mean anything.” He hissed angrily. Standing up, he quickly walked to his whiskey and poured another full glass. He believed that should do the trick.

He looked outside again, watching kids playing on the pond. If Ethan was his father, could he have lived a different life? The answer is no because he had abandoned him.

Ethan had allowed Joaquin to raise him like a soldier who would do his bidding. He was nothing but a son who had no use to Ethan and a boy who was just a toy to Joaquin.

With this thought dangling like a carrot in front of him, his vision turned black as his eyes focused on one of his mother’s paintings hanging just on the wall near him.

“Damn all of you.” His hand swung towards the frame, seeing it as a target, then a shattering sound reverberated on the wall as bits and pieces of glass, together with what remained of his drink, glittered on the floor.

Suddenly, he concluded that he was not the one controlling the strings. He never had control of what was happening. He was no puppeteer but a mere puppet.