Chapter 3: Stubborn (Part 1)

The young boy roughly grits his teeth underneath his tightly sealed lips, sealing the rapidly growing fury inside his eyes. He hid his crumpled fist in the pockets of his trousers, carefully hiding them from his mother's sight.

It's clear that he was displeased, utterly disgruntled.

But somehow, there's something about it that amuses him knowing he'll be having another human doll to play with once he'll get the name of the traitor who dared to provoke him.

Which one was it?

Jace? Angelica? Mari—No, it's inconceivable that it was Marilyn.

Didn't he say, not a word shall reach his mother's ears, no?

Which bastard could not have understood such a simple phrase, even two years old could?

They seem to test and strain the little kindness and empathy he showed them.

His youthful face turns grim. Oh, do they now?

Perhaps he didn't make himself clear?

Bullshit.

Well, clearer?

What a load of crap.

Ivie goggled at her child's calm demeanor in front of her with suspicion running back and forth inside her head, unaware of his delirious thoughts. What is he thinking? "No one did. Now, tell me honestly what happened," she says in a stern voice, warning him. She has already seen through his lies. She had enough of their pep talk.

The fact that he's refusing to tell her clears her suspicion all along. Something really happened.

Hearing her saving statement, the servants bowed their heads, relief flooding their eyes. God bless you, young miss. The heavens have really blessed them with her saving grace.

As Ivie sensed the dark aura emerging around her son, she felt the temperature around them drop to its lowest point, and it was life-threatening for every person in the house to witness. Thus Ivie lifts her hand and waves her fingers to her people within the sight, sending them off. This should give her enough privacy she needed to deal with her mischievous mitten.

The servants bowed their heads before scurrying their feet out of the living room in a hurry, nearly stumbling on the way. They never desired to be anywhere near the young boy's radar. Not now and personally not ever when they still cherished their life greatly.

When not even a single shadow of a servant can be seen in sight, Ivie separated herself from her son's clingy arms, leaned back, and gracefully sat down on the couch behind her. Her face was tough with deadpanned sentiment as she looked at him straight in his anxious green eyes, her pupils streaking with both fury and disappointment.

She knew better that she was the only parent to discipline him and she isn't happy with what he did. How brazen of him to have the courage to lie to her.

Has she ever mistreated him?

No.

Never had she done such a tragic thing.

It's not questionable where he took this arrogance from. Even the taste and the feel of it are as familiar and as vividly clear as she remembers. Though she might have been used to dealing with this kind of madness, she has no intentions of cohabitating with his overbearing pride for the rest of her life. Goodness, he's only four, to begin with.

He'll soon grow up to be the good man she wants him to become.

And she believes so that he will—that the dream of him doing well in life would flourish somehow with her efforts alone guiding him. Ivie sighs.

But for now . . . she can only continue to hope.

Though she's fully aware that the journey wouldn't be that easy, she knows it will be tough. She had never treated parenting as a joke.

Being a mother is more tiring than her job in the office if she were to be honest.

The young boy's lips continue to thin as despair cocoons him. He longed for the warmth from her embrace, yet only to be ruined by the nosy mouths of the house attendants.

His frown deepens. Slowly, the luminous glow in his eyes vanished and was replaced by sorrow, slightly tearing up, but its wetness was merely visible to spot.

He shakes his head deliberately, his knuckles turning white from clenching, "I didn't do anything wrong, mother," he said, persistent with a voice as calm as the afternoon waves.

He believes nothing was wrong with whatever he did that angers her by chance.

"When are you planning to stop lying to me, Kieran? You know dishonesty is a sin," She scolds, purposely saying his first name to appear more menacingly upset and disappointed.

After hearing she changed her tone and mood, he reacted just like how she expected him to be.

The wetness on the corner of his eyes grew worst and was now evident as her reflection from his iris grew clearer and clearer from the short distance where she's seating. Ivie stood her ground firmly, brushed it off, and turned a blind eye, perfectly unbothered and unfazed.

She had spoiled her child too much for him to continue his knavery.

"Kieran. Val. Marquez."

She once again called out, this time, she emphasizes his full name, one by one, which she infrequently does. And since she was seating, her head leveled his. That gave her the chance to examine the frustration and grief immensely growly in his eyes and he instantly darted away from her gaze, hands suddenly placed behind him.

At this point, she can already feel his tense fingers fidgeting behind his back out of habit.

After a minute or two of enduring the silence and discomfort, her child breathed deeply and finally confronted her. He opens his lips ever so slightly and peeks at her sideways.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was tiny, even softer than a whisper, and his head drops, his eyes piercing daggers at his newly polished shoes.

"And what are you sorry for?" Ivie asks, her left brow now lifted high, preserving the stiffness of her cold expression.

But deep inside, how she loved to embrace him right now but doing that will only damage her efforts of educating him. She had to do this as a consequence of his wrongdoing even though remorse was eating her up.

After all, she loved him too much that it breaks her heart to see him in this powerless state.

The young boy bites his lips before continuing to speak, "I was mad." No more excuses. He did what he did, but he does not have even a drop of guilt with him.

Not a chance. They deserved it.

But there was nothing more awful in the world he's birthed in than seeing his lovely mother upset towards him. His gut hated her cold and unaffectionate voice. It felt as if she was pushing him away . . . hating him, "I'm sorry for breaking a few things."

Ivie can hear the malice and bitterness in his voice, which caused both of her brows to shoot up in bewilderment.

Just a few things?

These 'things' he mentioned have over a thousand dollars value.

She sighs, defeated, "And what made you decide to do that?"

He shrinks more, "I . . . I wanted to step outside the boundaries, mother." With a little hesitation, he replied.

She studies him, stunned, and it was enough for her to read what was driving inside his four years old head—of what was really going on here.

'Rebellion at a young age.' Her thoughts said out loud and she couldn't agree more.

After looking at him baffled and silent with frustration, she can see her young reflection in him when she was just about his age.

Her heart began to prickle in pain when it cues to her that he had neither friends nor companions at his age to talk and play with.

He must have been lonely with his lessons alone with his private tutors. Oh, her poor boy.

"I understand you wanted to have fun with children in the neighborhood, but that doesn't mean you have to throw a tantrum and drag your maids with you by messing with your grandparents' heavily treasured items."

Her voice was soft with utmost understanding and concern, for she, too, understands what he's feeling more than anyone in this house.

But he at least needs to know where he's wrong.

Unexpectedly, the young boy's head lifts, and his head bobs towards the other side in confusion while looking back at her. His eyes then turned wide and wary as if she had said something horrifying as his clean-cut hair brushed against his thick brows.

Ivie answered him by copying the way his head tilted. What now?

"Mother, I do not want to hang out with brainless pests below my level." He responds, frowning and unbothered by his bluntness. Children? The word left an immense cringe at his shoulder blades. That would bring him annoyance and inconvenience. Never had he even thought about it.

What made his mother think of that?

Upon hearing his response, Ivie's brows knit, irked by his choice of words. Her fingers went up to caress her throbbing temple. This child.

Oh, what to do to him?

"Then why did you cause a ruckus to the guards and maids? You said you wanted to go outside."

She doesn't get it.

She was getting more confused and suspicious of his claims, but after seeing his teary and sad pupils, she patiently waited for him to open up to her himself.

She needs to be patient with him, but if he was lying to her again, she wouldn't tolerate it further.

"I just . . ." He paused for the slightest bit, and his frail voice cracked, "I wanted to see you."

It was her turn to pause for a moment on her seat, startled for the second time whilst processing his confession. So that's what this is all about?

He wanted to leave the house because he wanted to see her?

Even though her heart pounded and melted by his words, she maintained her posture to avoid showing him a weakness he can use to his advantage the next time she nags at him.

After witnessing his shoulders and body shaking before her, bit by bit, the cold barrier around her heart melted as her face softens at the sight of him whimpering.

Giving in, she opens her arms, her palms urging him to an embrace which he immediately closes the distance between them, leaning to her and crashing his small body against hers, his face buried to her neck, silently sobbing as his arms encircle tightly around her.

Even his breath that was fanning against her skin was shivering.

Oh, sweetheart.

Was she too tough on him?