Chapter 177: Break what you Worship
Rhys
I stormed out of the hall and headed straight into one of the rooms in the house.
It was my grandfather’s little museum, the place where he kept most of his favorite antiques and trophies, along with academic certificates that included mine and even Raymond’s.
I heaved a deep sigh as I leaned against one of the tall shelves, folding my arms tightly across my chest while I waited for their arrival.
In any other situation, my grandfather would never have come. I wouldn’t even have had the nerve to speak to him that way.
But this was different.
It concerned my life and my future, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin everything for me.
Footsteps echoed through the marble floor, approaching the room. Since the door was wide open, they could see me standing close to the entrance.
Besides, they could probably smell my pheromones — I had let them flare wildly in anger the moment I stormed out.
The footsteps stopped at the entrance, just as I expected.
My grandfather entered first, leaning heavily on his cane, followed closely by my father. Once they were both inside, he shut the door firmly behind them.
I didn’t wait for either of them to speak. I threw the question at them immediately. "What the hell was that announcement?" I demanded.
None of them spoke. They simply exchanged glances.
"I said, what is that—"
A sharp slap landed across my face before I could finish. My head twisted violently to the side, and I tasted blood on my lips.
It had come from my father, as expected.
"You stupid son. How could you call us out like that and humiliate us in front of everyone! Have you gone insane?" my father yelled, grabbing me roughly by the collar of my tuxedo and raising his hand to hit me again.
My grandfather stopped him by slamming his cane hard against the ground.
My father let go of me and shoved me backward against the shelf.
"Well," I wiped the blood from the corner of my lips and let out a light, bitter chuckle. "Classic move from dear old dad. What are you going to do next? Punch me in the gut? Kick me in the face for daring to speak up? What other move do you have, father? Tell me!" I yelled, stepping closer to him until there was almost no space left between us. "What other move do you have, father?"
I screamed. "Hit me again! Hit me if it will satisfy you and—"
"Enough!" My grandfather slapped me this time and pushed me backward with the tip of his cane.
My back slammed into the shelf, and my head knocked against several trophies, sending them crashing down.
"Not the trophies!" my grandfather yelled. "Pick them up, Richard. Don’t just stand there," he ordered.
I was faster.
Before my father could reach them, I snatched up the ones I could get my hands on. Some of them were pure gold, awards given to my grandfather long ago.
I raised the first one high and slammed it angrily against the ground.
"Rhys Calder!" my grandfather roared. "What the hell do you think you are doing? That trophy was the one I won at the NHL gala award back then. It’s—"
I grinned, but I didn’t stop. I hurled the second one to the floor.
My grandfather yelled in fury and lunged at me with his cane, striking me hard in the stomach.
I doubled over from the pain, but it didn’t stop me from throwing the third one down.
Unlike the first two, this one didn’t shatter the way I had expected but at least it had a scratch on it.
"Rhys, come to your senses!" My father shouted as he grabbed the remaining trophies from my hands and shoved me away from the shelf toward the wall. "Have you gone insane? What is this behavior?"
My grandfather’s reaction was even worse. He picked up one of the broken trophies and lunged at me, hitting me hard across the back. "You useless grandson! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get those? Do you have any idea the difficulties I faced?" he screamed, stomping his feet on the ground.
He raised the broken trophy to hit me again, but surprisingly, my father stepped between us.
"Father, please calm down," my father pleaded.
I chuckled bitterly as I watched him suddenly acting like a protective father — something he had never done once in my life.
All those years of abuse and tears, he had never stopped my grandfather from hitting me. In fact, he had joined in.
They both called it "leading me on the right path" every time I made a mistake — even academic ones.
Everything had always been like this.
"Why are you stopping him?" I demanded from my father, but he gave no response. So I screamed even louder so they could both hear me clearly. "Why the hell are you stopping him!" My voice rose until it filled the room.
If not for the soundproofed doors, I was sure everyone outside would have heard. "Let him hit me. Isn’t that what you do best? Isn’t that how you’ve ruined my life and everything I care about? So why the hell are you pretending to care about me now, father!" I yelled, punching my fist hard against the wall until it started bleeding.
But I didn’t care. Not even the burning pain from where my grandfather had struck me registered anymore.
What hurt far deeper was my broken soul — the life they had systematically ruined.
"You broke my precious trophies!"
I scoffed, running my bloody hands through my hair. "They are just trophies, grandfather. I’m sure you’ll be fine," I told him, but that only made things worse.
He yelled loudly and slammed his cane against the ground.
"Do you have any idea how long it took me to get here? Do you have any idea how hard I had to fight to win those trophies?"