Content Warning: This work is intended for mature (NC17) audiences. If you are younger, please kindly leave this site.
~~~
Smack!
“Khun Yaa, don’t hit me! Huuuu... Don’t hit me! Hic... I am hurt!”
Smack!
“Don’t you dare call me Yaa! Who is your grandmother? I’ve never acknowledged you as my grandchild!”
“Huu... Khun Yaa... Ouch... Huu... I am hurt!”
Smack!
“I told you, didn’t I? Never let me see your face! Not only do you disobey me, but you also humiliate me! How am I supposed to hold my head high with a half-blood grandchild like you? On top of that, your mother disgraced us by running off with a man!”
The four-year-old Tul, despite having a face that could charm anyone with his endearing features, wide, beautifully colored eyes, sharp nose, vibrant lips, and the pale skin inherited from his English mother, never had his adorableness recognized by the head of the Metthanun family.
Phonlay Metthanun.
The middle-aged woman, with eyes glinting in a terrifying way, gripped the child’s arm and dragged him across the hallway. In her other hand, she held a long switch, striking it down on his small legs repeatedly. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks in large drops, and his clear voice cried out for mercy, but it never came—not once.
The biological grandmother, the lady of the Metthanun estate, never showed any compassion toward the boy who bore the title of her own flesh and blood.
Tul was the grandson Phonlay never wanted—a grandson born from an English woman whom her wayward son had impregnated and brought back to his country. A boy who, in her eyes, sullied the name of the Metthanun lineage.
She had never wanted this child, not even once in her life.
The little boy had dared to defy her order never to show his face. This wasn’t merely disobedience; he had the audacity to appear in front of her friends, bringing shame upon her. As soon as her social companions had left, the matron of the house did not hesitate to strike his tender flesh with all her strength.
“Mummy didn’t run away. Mummy will come back for Tul. Hic... Mummy,” the child sobbed, large tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to defend his mother.
“How dare you talk back to me! You’re just like your mother—equally disgusting!”
Smack! Smack!
The boy’s cries turned into sobbing gasps as the family matron whipped him again, her strikes breaking his skin until blood stained his small thighs. Tul’s pained screams echoed louder, drawing the attention of the household maids, who rushed to witness the scene, only to lower their heads in helplessness.
“Help! Someone—please—help mel! It hurts!" Sob.
Tul struggled to escape, crying out for aid, but no one dared to oppose the matron.
“Who would help you? Everyone hates you!” Phonlay lashed the torn skin even harder. The more Tul squirmed to escape, the more her long-nailed hands clawed into the boy’s flesh, leaving new wounds and extracting more screams from the small angel, his face now a mess of tears.
“Khun Tul!!!” A boy of a similar age made a move to rush toward him, only to be held firmly by his mother, who gripped his shoulder.
“Don’t, Hin.”
“But Mother, Khun Tul—Khun Tul is hurt,” the dark-skinned child cried out, his eyes red with tears.
“I know, I know, but...” Kon Hin’s mother clenched her teeth tightly, her trembling hands betraying her inner turmoil. She had seen the matron’s gaze full of cold warning. If Kon Hin tried anything, not only would Khun Tul suffer more, but Kon Hin himself would also face even harsher punishment.
She wanted desperately to shield the small boy from the switch, but she couldn’t.
“Hin, help! Sob It hurts! Ouch! Auntie Klin, help me! Hic Ouch!!!”
Tul struggled to run to his only friend, but his biological grandmother’s grip on his arm was unyielding. She yanked him toward the back of the estate, leaving him no choice but to tilt his tear-streaked face upward, helplessly pleading.
In Tul’s eyes, the expression on his grandmother’s face was no different from that of a demon.
Crash!!!
“Ouch!”
Bang!
Tul cried out as his small body was hurled into the cleaning equipment storage room. Before he could even call for help, he raised his teary face only to see the cold, unfeeling eyes of his grandmother. The next moment, the light vanished as the door slammed shut and was locked.
Gasp!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Please let me out! Let me out! Khun Yaa, please let me out…" Hic "I'm scared…" Sob sob. The little boy stumbled toward the door, his tiny hands pounding on it with all his might. Yet, the door, which to the four-year-old seemed like an iron wall, did not budge. Only the voice of his grandmother echoed from the other side.
“If I find out who helps him out, I will fire them!”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Let me out…" Sob "Let me out! I'm scared! It’s dark... It’s dark in here! Let Tul out!" Hic hic. The boy’s cries grew louder as his small hands continued to beat against the door desperately.
A glance behind him revealed nothing but complete darkness and the looming shadows of various tools stacked within the room, causing his legs to press tighter against the door in fear.
It’s scary. It’s so scary in here.
Sob sob. "I am scared!" Sob sob sob. Tear after tear rolled down his cheeks, his small frame trembling with fear. His cries seemed to grow unbearable for those outside.
“Khun-than, please let Khun Tul out!”
“N-Na Klin! Help me! Please… Help me!" Hic hic
The voice of his best friend’s mother broke through the door, prompting the boy to shout at the top of his lungs and bang harder against the door.
Yet, the cold voice of the demon disguised as a human replied firmly: “If you don’t want your family to be left homeless, don’t you dare think about helping that child out. Even if my son hired you, don’t think for a moment that I can’t fire you!”
Tul didn’t know what was happening outside. He could only hear Auntie Klin’s pleading voice fade further and further away, until silence replaced it entirely.
But the silence was not a peaceful one; it was a terrifying silence, as if something might emerge at any moment.
Scritch.
Gasp!
Bang!!
"Let me out! There’s something in here! Let me out! Let me out!!" The boy's voice turned into a scream as he heard a faint sound from the far end of the room.
The storage room was small, but to the four-year-old consumed by fear, it seemed endless.
The child's imagination conjured images of something that might harm him, making his legs tremble uncontrollably. His small body scratched desperately at the door until his nails tore. He shouted at the top of his lungs until he no longer had the strength to make a sound. Blood covered his tiny hands, his legs marked by the whip’s lashes, until the boy collapsed, sitting with his knees hugged tightly, crying so hard that he struggled to catch his breath.
"Please…" Hic hic "Let... out... Mommy, Mommy, Help me…" Sob sob "Mommy, Mommy... I’m scared..." The boy clutched his knees tightly, curling into himself like a stray puppy ignored by the world. His trembling, broken voice called out for the one who should have been there to help him, to protect him, but who had selfishly fled back to her homeland when she could no longer endure staying here.
With no one to protect him, the boy was like a rabbit stranded in a den of lions.
“Daddy... where... Daddy... Daddy...”
It wasn’t just his mother. His father had never protected him either—not once.
“Anyone…" Sob "Help... please... help me...”
"Khun Tul, Khun Tul!"
Gasp!
Suddenly, a voice called out. It sounded as though it came from far away, from somewhere that could not help him, yet it startled the boy, making him jerk in fright. He turned to look at the door that seemed like a giant wall.
Bang bang bang!
"Kon Hin... help... help me, help me get out!"
"Mother is trying to find a way to help Khun Tul."
Hic "Right now... Hin... get me out right now…" Sob. "Tul is scared." The boy banged on the door loudly, sobbing uncontrollably. He shook the door desperately, but it was locked from the outside.
"Hin... Hin will go tell Mother to hurry and help Khun Tul."
"No... no!! Don't! Don't go! Don't leave me alone!" Sob "Don't leave me alone!" Tul shouted in fear, clinging to the door as if it were Kon Hin’s arm, holding on with all his might to keep him from leaving. The desperation in his voice made the person outside pause. Instead, they returned to sit by the door, hugging their knees.
"I am here, Khun Tul."
"Don't go anywhere, Hin. Don't go!"
"I won't go anywhere. I am sitting by the door."
"Promise, hic promise!"
"I promise. I won't go anywhere. I'll stay here with you, Khun Tul."
The boy cried out at the top of his lungs as he buried his face into his knees once again. He pressed his small body closer against the door, too frightened to glance at the rest of the storage room. All he could do was shut his eyes tightly and whisper,
"Where is Hin?"
"I'm here."
"Don't go anywhere."
"I am here."
The boy kept asking, "You're still here, right?"
…
"You're still here now, aren't you?"
"I'm still here."
He repeated the question almost every second, seeking assurance that he was not trapped in the dark world entirely alone. No matter how many times he asked, a voice always answered.
Amidst the tears streaming down his face and the fear gripping his heart, there was only one voice that comforted the four-year-old boy.
"I am here. I will stay with you, Khun Tul."
~~~
Pathapee had just lifted his head from the work of the student council committee when the clock struck one. He stretched his body, stiff from sitting too long, and rubbed his eyes lightly with his hand before looking down at the pile of paperwork that had to be finished by tonight. Not just the documents that the treasurer was responsible for, but also the ones the student council president had to manage.
"Take this and do it."
Earlier in the evening, Tul had handed him a thick stack of papers, which Kon Hin accepted without a word of complaint, just as he had done for the many years before. Even though, in truth, this was something the Chao-nai should take care of.
Since junior high, the student council president had been Tul, but the one who actually did the work was Kon Hin. This had been the case for years, ever since they were children, and now, as they were in their fourth year, if Nong knew about this, he would surely shout because he hated people who passed their work onto others. But Kon Hin knew better.
"In another hour, I should be done," the young man muttered as he stood up, leaving his small bedroom and walking through the house to the kitchen of the main building. He stopped to make coffee, then walked silently upstairs, heading straight for the innermost room, as though exiled to stay far away.
The light that leaked from the door told him that the owner of the room was still awake.
No, it was not the time for Tul to be asleep anyway.
Knock knock.
Pathapee knocked twice on the door and waited. The silence that followed did not make him hesitate to turn around. He simply reached into his pants to pull out the spare key, which only he and the owner of the room possessed. He unlocked the door and entered.
There was no need to look for the owner of the room, for at this hour, the eldest son of Metthanun would only be in one place... behind the desk.
However, today was different from all other days. The tall figure of the half-Thai young man had his face pressed down against a thick stack of documents, bearing the stamp of a major real estate company in Thailand. Beside the table was a heavy folder, stacked high, nearly as tall as the person himself, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper scattered about.
A coffee cup was placed on the table before Kon Hin did his duty... to wake up his Chao-nai.
"What are you doing!!!"
Kon Hin almost blurted out when, upon simply placing his hand on the pad, Tul stood up and grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly until it felt like his bones would snap. The sharp, burning gaze locked onto his, and that made the one being stared at freeze.
He knew that look well.
The look filled with an anger that seemed endless.
Tul used that look on only one person... his grandmother.
The return of his grandmother affected Tul far more than he showed on the outside.
"I brought up the coffee," Kon Hin said, his voice polite, without any resistance, even though his wrist was in pain. That made the one lost in the memories of the past snap back to reality, and the hand holding his wrist loosened.
"Is the work finished?" Tul’s voice was hoarse.
"Almost done," Kon Hin replied.
Tul had more work than I did.
Pathapee did not speak aloud, he simply glanced over at the pile of documents and the computer left on, guessing that it contained the details of the company’s new project that his Chao-nai was involved in.
Tul didn’t use his father’s connections, and seized every opportunity to show that this student was more capable than anyone thought. Working in the company since he was a child, offering insights like someone who saw through everything, and being able to predict the direction of investments with accuracy, was what made the executives want to test his skills. They sent him to work in the lowest position on the project team, and the results exceeded expectations—so much so that every employee praised him, calling the boy a genius.
No project that had Tul Metthanun involved ever failed. Everyone could expect a hefty profit to follow. But no one knew that the so-called genius did ten times more homework than anyone else.
No one ever taught Tul how to do business, how to view business. This man studied on his own, learned on his own, and reached this point with his own two feet.
Tul had never gone to sleep before 2 AM since he was twelve and woke up before 7 AM every day.
Every day, every moment, every minute was immensely valuable for him to increase his knowledge and abilities. There was not a single minute to waste, for to stop meant the risk of being cast out of the family.
Without competence, Tul would have no standing in Metthanun, because the heir everyone acknowledged was not the eldest son but... the half-brother.
"Go bring it up here."
"Yes?" Kon Hin jolted, snapping out of his thoughts.
"Bring the work up here," Tul said, without further explanation, just reiterating the request.
"Yes."
Kon Hin left the room, hurriedly carrying the work up to the room.
Then, the room was filled with nothing but silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard. Even though Kon Hin was focused on the task at hand, he couldn’t help but feel that something was bothering his Chao-nai’s mind.
Although his work was done, Tul's work was not. The one who should have excused himself to rest quietly asked for permission in a soft voice, picked up a thick English book to read, then sat cross-legged, leaning against the table and reading silently.
This was the time when Kon Hin felt the most peaceful.
It was a special time for him... for him alone.
Kon Hin glanced at the person sitting in the chair before returning his attention to the pages.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.
That was enough to make it special.
When he heard the sound of a file being closed, the one who had been absorbed in his book looked up, seeing that Tul was shutting down the computer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed from the clock that it was already past three in the morning.
It was time for Tul to kick him out of the room.
"Do you remember the first time I was locked in the storage room?"
The one who was about to stand up froze, but quickly responded.
"I remember, sir."
Of course, he remembers. A full day spent with the young master locked in that cramped room—no one came to help, no one took him out. By the time Khun Trai returned, the voice that had repeatedly asked, "Are you still there?" had gone silent for hours. It left Kon Hin feeling afraid.
What he still remembers clearly is Khun Trai's furious expression when he saw his young son, his hands and legs covered in blood, his pants soiled from waste he could no longer contain, surrounded by a swarm of insects.
Khun Trai was angry, but there was only one thing he could do.
"What did my father say then?"
By that time, young Tul had already passed out, too weak to know who helped him out. He only knew that the memory of that day had been burned into his mind, never to be forgotten.
It was the first emotional wound inflicted by someone of his own bloodline, but it would not be the last.
"Khun Trai said, 'I’m sorry, son.'"
Grab.
Tul seized the coffee cup, now holding only dregs, and stared at the sediment below. His eyes burned more intensely, as if seeing the image of the vile woman who had destroyed his life beyond repair.
"The apology of a man who never acts... It’s strange that I’ve never once believed my father’s apologies."
Crash!
The half-blood smiled.
"I will destroy them, just like this glass."
"Khun Tul!"
Kon Hin cried out in shock when his Chao-nai stepped barefoot onto the shards of glass, causing blood to drip onto the floor. Yet Tul remained standing still before bursting into laughter.
"A wound like this is nothing compared to what that bloody hag put me through." Tul lifted his foot to inspect the injury before shrugging.
"Clean this up for me, and just stay here tonight." Finishing his sentence, Tul walked into the bathroom to treat his wound, leaving Kon Hin to clean up the mess.
Kon Hin watched his retreating figure, his gaze full of worry.
Not out of fear that sharing the room might lead to violent intimacy—if it were merely that, he would be less concerned—but because sharing the room in silence meant his Chao-nai's vulnerable side was surfacing... the soul of the little boy abandoned and ignored by everyone.
The fragile side was infinitely more worrisome than the hardened side.
And even Kon Hin himself could not tell what Khun Tul was planning to do.
~~~
"Do not worry, Khun Mother. I will bring Grandmother back home myself."
”Thank you, Tul. I know it is the daughter-in-law's duty, but I have urgent business to attend to.”
"It is no problem, Khun Mother. Please go ahead with your business; I will take care of things here."
Inside the luxurious European car befitting the family's status, Tul, seated in the back, was conversing on the phone with his stepmother in a gentle tone. He listened to her voice, heavy with worry, and reassured her until she seemed relieved, knowing someone else would pick up the patient. Only then did she end the call.
"Heh, I just realized that shopping is an important errand," Tul remarked as he slipped his phone into his pocket, speaking with an amused tone.
He clearly knew where she was—at some jewelry shop. Then, he rested his hands loosely on his knees and looked at the rearview mirror to meet the driver's gaze.
"Strange, isn’t it, Hin? Even though she’s standing here today because my grandmother chose her, as soon as the one who made the choice falls gravely ill and is near death, it all ends so easily." Everyone knew that Tul's stepmother hadn’t cared about his grandmother for years—not since that accident.
The accident that turned a demon into nothing more than a lump of flesh that breathes while confined to a wheelchair.
"Yes, Khun Tul," the listener responded in the same tone as usual, even though his heart was filled with concern for the person seated in the back.
The more rotten the relationships surrounding Tul became, the more this person saw others as nothing more than lumps of flesh with breath.
Lumps of flesh driven solely by benefits, reputation, profit, and wealth—not people with hearts and emotions.
"I haven’t seen my grandmother in years. I’m really curious to see how she’ll react when she sees me," the person in the back spoke with a voice that sounded excited, like a grandson thrilled to see his beloved grandmother. Yet deep down, no one knew what this man was truly thinking.
"The grandson who pushed her down the stairs, no less."
Suddenly, Kon Hin felt a chill radiating from his spine, spreading throughout his body. His hands gripping the steering wheel began to sweat. He could not deny it.
The casual tone of the man picking up a book to read was filled with such malice.
"It’s not true, sir. That day, Khun-than slipped and fell on her own," Kon Hin said the same thing he had repeated for years.
That time was merely an accident—Khun-than fainted and slipped down the stairs herself. No one pushed her.
Tul only smirked slightly before lowering his gaze back to the book he had been reading, while the driver's anxious eyes darted toward him repeatedly.
Kon Hin could only hope that his Chao-nai wouldn’t take things any further.
It didn’t take long before the sleek car came to a stop at a large private hospital. The two men stepped inside without hesitation, heading straight to the special recovery room where the family’s significant figure had stayed for years… the person now seated in a wheelchair, waiting.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Khun-than, your family has come to pick you up," the special nurse announced after Tul knocked on the open door. She then turned the wheelchair, which had been facing the window for an outside view, to reveal who had arrived.
At the first sight of his grandmother, Tul almost smirked in contempt, but he restrained himself. His gaze fixed on the once-fierce woman who had looked down on him from his childhood to adulthood. Now, however, the once-elegant figure who had always maintained her impeccable image was emaciated, lying limp in a wheelchair. She couldn’t even move her head resting against the soft pillow. Only her wild, bulging eyes stared back at him.
Tul's grandmother was completely paralyzed—not just on one side, but her entire body. She could no longer communicate at all.
Her mouth was contorted, her entire body trembled uncontrollably, yet she couldn’t will any part of it to move as she wished. This made Tul step forward slowly, one step at a time, as if deliberately planting fear into the heart of the dying elderly woman.
As Tul reached his destination, the eyes that once regarded him with contempt lowered. Their icy gaze pierced to the marrow, but only for an instant, as the straight lips of the young man curved into the pleasant smile of a devoted grandson.
Then, Tul knelt down and raised his hands in a phanom wai, lowering them gently onto her lap.
"Grandmother, it has been such a long time since we met. I apologize for not coming to visit."
"Ughhh!"
The sound that escaped was unintelligible—a noise from someone straining to scream but managing only heavy breaths. She attempted to jerk her legs away from the hands in the wai, but to no avail. All she could do was glare at Tul, her furious eyes fixed on the man who extended his hands to clasp her wrinkled, fragile ones with an air of gentleness.
"Are you very angry with me, Grandmother?"
“Not at all. Khun-than is probably overjoyed that her grandson has come to fetch her,” the private nurse interjected, bending down to answer in her place, her eyes fixed on the handsome young man. Tul responded with a smile.
“Really? I thought Grandmother might be angry with me. Hearing that makes me feel much more at ease.” Tul spoke as he subtly moved the hands he held, as if to assist the elderly woman in shifting her position. His radiant smile extended to the elder, who, despite her efforts, could not escape. Her eyes gleamed with tears—not tears of joy, but of simmering rage.
The nurse, however, interpreted the tears in a way that would comfort the grandson.
“See? She’s so happy she’s crying.”
“Thank you, Grandmother. I am so very happy to come and bring you home.”
He gave his real grandmother a wide smile, as charming as that of a noble prince, but in return, the one watching let tears of hatred flow down her wrinkled cheeks.
The physical agony of her immobilized body paled in comparison to the loathing she bore for the grandson before her.
Tul smirked at Phonlay before softening his expression and turning to address the young nurse and his confidant.
“Do I need to handle anything right now? Hin, could you take care of it for me? I’d like to have a private conversation with my grandmother.”
Both of them agreed. However, just before stepping out of the room, Kon Hin glanced back, meeting the restless eyes that darted in his direction. He lifted his hands in a wai, trying to ignore the equally hateful glare aimed at him.
Once only the two of them remained, Tul, still smiling warmly, stood and gently placed the frail hands—so delicate they might shatter at the slightest squeeze—down on the armrest of the wheelchair. He stroked the back of her hand tenderly, though his gaze shifted abruptly.
“How pitiful it is, Grandmother, that you can no longer harm me as you once did. You cannot even call me an ill-omen anymore.” The young man shook his head slightly, straightening to his full height, and cast his eyes down upon the fragile figure before him—the same disdainful gaze she had once used against him.
But killing her would not satisfy him. The tall figure leaned down and whispered into her ear.
“It’s such a waste to have spent millions on saving the life of someone so near death, wouldn’t you agree, Grandmother? Do you remember saying that to me?”
Tul pulled back, still smiling, though his eyes were brimming with hatred. Images of the torturous abuse he had endured as a child, almost to the brink of death, flashed through his mind.
On the day he cried out for help from anyone, a woman said,
“It’s such a waste to spend millions on a child nobody wants.”
He remembered it vividly and constantly reminded himself that the child nobody wanted would seize everything that had once belonged to this woman with his own two hands!
He felt utterly satisfied seeing the woman before him shed tears.
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