Confession

In a magnificent European-style castle, within a room adorned with Persian carpets and adorned with velvet drapes, a robust gentleman sat in contemplation before a colossal family portrait. The dim candlelight cast an eerie glow upon his rugged, furrowed face.

Suddenly, an antique telephone on the table before him rang. A butler, dressed in a tailcoat, picked up the receiver and listened briefly before respectfully handing it to the man, whispering softly:

"It's the young master."

The man took the receiver and held it to his ear.

"Can't you restrain yourself any longer?" The voice on the other end roared with near-hysteria.

The man raised an eyebrow and retorted in a frigid tone, "What did you say?"

"Stop pretending. You knew perfectly well. You instructed me to get close to that woman, and I did. I was confident I could bring her down. But why did you have to intervene ahead of time? That explosion, that bomb, it was your style, wasn't it? Voice-activated bombs, impressive, even the overseas military uses such devices. Is there anything you won't do?"

"Good boy," the man's voice grew even lower as he derived a sense of pleasure from his son's fury. "It is impolite to doubt your father. It's time to teach you a lesson. Being kept outside for so long has made you uncivilized in your behavior."

On the other end, like a wounded beast, teeth bared, the son snarled in anger, "I can endure any number of family laws. But I beg you, father, do not lay a hand on that woman. I am 100% confident in taking her down, and then—destroying her."

"I have no doubt. So, when will you come home for a long-awaited father-son reunion?" The man revealed his white teeth in the shadows, as though discussing a simple and heartwarming family gathering.

Amidst the most bewildering and austere darkness of night, Brian emerged from the suffocating castle, his body aching, bloodied. He could barely remain standing.

He had grown accustomed to it. This kind of life had persisted for 19 years. It was just a typical form of family education.

As he slowly walked toward his Porsche with Jeeves supporting him—every time he visited the ancestral home, he would switch to this car, allowing hidden bloodstains not to be noticed by the public—his phone chimed. It was Marigold.

"Are you free on Sunday night? Let's go to a café."

Brian suddenly became exhilarated. The web-like scars on his back no longer throbbed.

"Of course. I'll take you to the highest café in the entire Coral City. How about that? It's on the 96th floor, offering a 360-degree panoramic view of the city."

"It's right beneath your apartment."

Marigold's unexpected response made Brian's eyebrows unconsciously raise.

"Well, uh, of course, anywhere works."

Half an hour later, Brian appeared punctually at the cafe beneath his luxurious downtown apartment. This establishment was one of the properties he had acquired in the city center for the convenience of his work.

Marigold was already waiting inside.

Brian strode in, taking a seat before her. Marigold clasped her hands together, resting her chin upon them, and fixed her gaze upon him. Her eyes were tranquil, akin to a serene lake, devoid of any ripples. Brian felt a twinge of unease.

"As I mentioned before, I hope that we can be candid with each other—"

"I have nothing to conceal. My grandfather's name is Byron Bennett, the 17th patriarch of the Bennett family, wielding mastery over nearly all the resources of the Bennett Empire. My father's name is Ethan Bennett, a man of great masculinity, whose exploits you might have encountered in various tabloid pages. My mother, Freya Bennett, is a beauty who frequently attends charitable associations. I have no other siblings. There are often rumors circulating that I am a bastard child, perhaps due to my father's notorious infidelity, which has led to various speculations. However, I have been a part of the Bennett family since birth, and that is beyond doubt. My parents have treated me well, and there is no hidden birth mother. As for myself, I have indeed had a few love affairs, but those were merely hormonal impulses of youth and ignorance. The engagement with the Whitehouse family was solely driven by archaic familial interests, and in reality, it had no bearing on the desires of either of us."

"Stop. I don't want to hear information that can be found on your personal Wikipedia page. What I desire is your genuine confession."

"Isn't this genuine enough? How far do I need to go for you to believe me? Do I need to take you back to my home, hmm? Shall we have a meal together?"

"Before that, I have a secret to confess," Marigold gently tossed her hair, cascading golden strands flowing down her shoulders like cashmere. "Would you like to hear it?"

Brian's Adam's apple tightened as he resumed his customary seductive tone, "Of course. I will accept whatever the outcome may be."

Marigold took a sip of the orange juice before her and smiled coyly, "I used to work as a burlesque dancer on a channel called Fantasy. Of course, it lasted less than a month. And what I did was on a paid private channel, so very few people have actually seen me perform a genuine striptease."

Leaning forward, Marigold pouted her fiery red lips, captivating Brian even more.

"Except for one person, that is Greywolf, also known as—"

"Ah, I know. The man you mentioned who bears a striking resemblance to me? So, I'm someone who would indulge in adult content online?" Brian's expression began to contort uncomfortably.

"That's different. You and Greywolf only share a similar voice, but in all other aspects, you are entirely dissimilar. He is sexy, charming, and attentive. He respects me, understands me. He taught me to discover myself, love myself, believe in myself..."

"Oh, he taught you so much?" Brian interrupted, "Well, I can do that too. So, he's the reason you repeatedly rejected me? I'm just some guy who gives you tips online?"

Marigold's gaze suddenly dimmed, and Brian realized how impolite he had been. He quickly added, "I-I didn't mean it that way, Mary. I really like you, you know, no matter how you look, I accept you. You are who you are, and no identity of yours can define you. But I admit... I'm jealous. Jealousy can make one lose their rationality, and I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I just wanted to say that unless I find this Mr. Greywolf, meet him in person, and return the money he tipped me, I won't be able to let go of him emotionally and start with you. Brian, you're adorable, young, handsome, full of vitality. You cannot be compared to anyone else. Therefore, if we truly want to start, I must first resolve my own feelings completely."

Brian snorted through his nose, a tinge of red coloring his face. "But what if this Mr. Wolf doesn't want his money back? You know, wealthy people don't care how much they spend on someone they like. It would be an insult to them if you were to return it."

Marigold's lips curved into a sly smile. "How do you know he tipped a substantial amount? How do you know he is wealthy? I never told you."

Brian's gaze tightened, revealing a flustered expression. "I-I mean, perhaps they don't need you to return the money. Don't be so presumptuous."

"That was my unilateral decision. By the way, I can also tell you about my family. My parents are overseas merchants, and there is a younger brother in the family. However, only I know that I am not their biological child. I have no memories before the age of five, and there are no photos of me in the family album before that age. My parents have woven many lies about it. But when you reach an age where you no longer play with dolls, you realize that you don't fit into this family. They love me, truly, no one loves me more than my parents. But I care about the truth. Maybe they are waiting for the right moment to tell me, or perhaps they plan to take this secret to their graves. Either way, it matters to me. So, I dislike lies, I detest being deceived."

"Have you ever thought about finding your biological parents?"

"I have, but I have absolutely no clues. Right now, I'm more interested in finding Greywolf. Could you use your connections to help me locate him?"

Brian turned his face away. "Who said I would help you?"

"Well, let's consider that a promise. And I'm eagerly awaiting your true confession."

As Brian watched Marigold disappear into the night, a chilling sensation enveloped him. He returned to his apartment, removing his coat and suit, revealing blood seeping through, staining his entire back.

"Hiss..." he hissed softly. The butler, Tarou, approached upon hearing the sound, helping him remove his clothes. The final layer, a shirt, was also carefully peeled away.

"Young master, please stop defying your father," Tarou said, looking at the gruesome wound with a pained expression. Brian had been raised by him since childhood, like a grandson. But this child was particularly stubborn, always at odds with his parents and thus subject to endless harm. "Your back cannot endure any more injuries."

"Doesn't matter," Brian replied, lying prone on the leather sofa, allowing Tarou to tend to his heavily bruised and exposed back. He sniffed, enduring the pain with an indifferent expression. "They won't kill me. After all, there won't be a better and more suitable son than me, don't you think, Tarou?"

Tarou sighed. He applied medical dressing to Brian's disinfected wounds, opting for a thinner layer that would be less noticeable when worn beneath a shirt.

"Tarou, tomorrow, help me investigate someone," Brian's voice suddenly turned serious.

"Who?"

"David Collar, the makeup artist before Jenny. I have a feeling that this person is not as simple as they appear."