I didn't remember falling asleep. I was in bed.
But somehow I felt dead asleep, curled sideways, my suit jacket tossed over the back of a chair, the top button of my shirt undone, and the weight of rejection still pressing against my ribcage.
The room was quiet. The kind of silence that crept into your ears and made you wonder if the whole world had paused to let you feel your mistakes better.
My last thought before sleep took me was Arno's voice.
"You're just like all the others."
And then—
[SYSTEM MEMORY FRAGMENT: UNLOCKING…][SCENARIO: CHILDHOOD—AGE 10]
A sharp, unnatural pull. Like my soul got yanked by the collar.
Suddenly, I was no longer in my room.
I was there in the outside of Kaelin Grand estate.
Snow. That was the first thing I noticed.
White, endless snow swirling down in slow, silent punishment. The kind of snow that looked pretty only from a distance- up close, it was merciless. Wet, freezing, unforgiving. A sharp wind cut through the air like a blade, and I was… small. So small. Kneeling on a marble slab outside a grand estate, the cold biting into my bones.
I stood on the edge of a memory, no longer in my body, just... watching.
I turned...no, not me. A memory. A boy, kneeling. My body, my hands, but ten years old self. My name still Lucien. But this version of me had no power. Just bare knees on frozen stone, trembling against the ice-slick stone and tears burning down his cheeks. Tiny fingers curled into fists. No warm coat. Just a thin shirt soaked from the melting snow. Cheeks red. Lips blue.
My breath hitched. My chest tightened as the scene unfolded.
"Where is the property deed paper?" My father's voice. Calm and dangerously flat. Theron Kaelin always sounded tired, like I was a burden he hadn't yet figured out how to discard.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered. The little me whispered. His voice shaky, the words coming out in cloudy gasps. "I didn't take anything, Dad…"
Theron Kaelin stepped closer, a cane in his hand. Not just a cane... a stick meant for teaching. Worn out, too well-used.
"Shut up," he said. "I've been too easy on you. Now look at you, stealing, lying." This is what happens when you don't punish rot early."
Behind him stood her. His mistress. Not my mother. She never even looked at me unless she needed to perform. She tilted her head toward the head servant, Jolie. The housekeeper.
"Check his room."
Jolie bowed and walked off without a word. Like this was normal routine.
I tried to breathe, but my chest hurt. Ten-year-old me was trembling so hard his fingers looked blue. The snow kept falling. My lips were cracked, bleeding. "No, no, I didn't. I didn't hide anything! Please, Dad... I didn't!"
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Then Jolie returned, gasping.
"Master! It's really in the young master's drawer. He hid it there, the property deed paper!"
My heart dropped.
"No," the boy said... I said. "No, I didn't! I swear! I didn't!" Dad, believe me, I pleaded.
I wanted to scream liar. Wanted to rip through this memory, pull that little boy away, shield him from what came next.
But I was frozen. Just like him.
Theron's eyes turned to stone. He didn't question anything. He didn't even check for himself. Just… handed the paper off to a guard and said—
"Beat him."
"Theron..." the mistress started, her voice trembling just enough to sound like concern. She reached forward, touched his arm. "He's still a child. He doesn't know better. It's my fault. I failed to teach him and even now, I could see how skilled she was at it. She even squeezed out a tear.."
Theron touched her shoulder gently. "Don't blame yourself."
And they walked away. Walked away while the servants descended.
I watched it happen as if watching someone else's horror. But it wasn't someone else.
It was mine.
Blow after blow. The crunch of stick against ribs. The sound of crying that didn't sound human. No one stopped or cared. No one asked why the deed to a multi-billion credit property would conveniently be found in a drawer a child couldn't even lock.
I watched little me beg. "Dad... Dad, please. I didn't steal! I'm cold, I'm cold, please!" Save me dad as I sobbed.
The servants kept hitting. Until the boy... I—collapsed face-first in the snow. His lips parted. Blood mixed with slush. His knees raw. His hands curled in.
Still hoping his father would turn around and say, "That's enough."
But he didn't!
Gasping, I woke up.
My body jerked upright in bed, sweat drenched the collar of my undershirt. My lungs were tight. Like the ten-year-old version of me had followed me back here and was now curled up in the corner, shivering and bleeding all over the polished floors. The sheets tangled around my legs felt like chains.
It took me a moment to realize where I was.
My penthouse bedroom. Dim lights, soft sheets, the faint sound of the city beyond the window.
But the ache didn't leave. The tremble in my hands wss real. My heart still pounding like it had been beaten instead of remembered.
That boy was still inside me.
He hadn't left. Just buried under layers of CEO titles. But he never left.
The door creaked.
"Sir?" Ms. Carvelle's voice came quietly from outside. "You called for water… are you alright?"
I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve. My voice barely came out.
"…Leave it at the door."
"Yes, sir."
I heard the soft clink of a glass being placed down. Then silence again.
I pulled my knees to my chest. Sat there for a long while, staring at the faint glow of the city skyline.
That was my life. That was my family. That was Theron Kaelin. The man who raised me with bruises and suspicion. The man who believed everyone but his own son.
And the original Lucien had survived him.
But survival had a cost.
I looked up at my reflection. Hollow eyes. Jaw clenched. Hair damp with sweat and memory.
And somehow Arno's words echoed back.
"I thought you were different." I just started breathing again.
I closed my eyes. Not because I was tired. I was terrified of remembering more. It happened to original Lucien, then why it felt so real like it happened to me.... I muttered, unsure.
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