Chapter 63: The Birthday Gala: Confrontations
Rhys
The walk to the secluded corner of the Aurelian Hall felt like a march toward a firing squad because I knew my father was about to shoot me with his words.
I followed behind him as we moved away from the prying eyes of the guests, away from the Borealis chandeliers that cast everything in a deceptive, cooling blue.
As we neared the corner, the low, melodic hum of the orchestra began to fade, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart against my ribs.
I had expected a lecture, prepared myself for another one of his "legacy" speeches, a list of his life achievements, and a reminder of why I should be honored to carry the Calder name.
But as soon as the heavy velvet drapes blocked us from the main hall, I got the opposite reaction.
My father didn’t say a word; he simply turned and slapped me hard across the cheek. It was a calculated strike delivered with the full weight of his Alpha authority.
This was the reason he had picked this spot. It was to hide away from those around us so they won’t see the kind of monster he was.
My head snapped to the side as a stinging, white-hot heat radiated across my skin like a brand. I tasted the copper in my mouth as my teeth sliced deep into the soft flesh of my inner lip.
Warm blood trickled down my chin, staining the silk of my collar. I had thought my father was done, but he wasn’t.
In the blink of an eye, he began to rain blows on my shoulders and chest. He hit me like he had been waiting for months just for this moment.
I didn’t move to defend myself. I just couldn’t.
At that moment, I was ten years old again, cornered in a dark, mahogany-lined hallway, learning the hardest lesson of my life: that in the Calder house, love was delivered with a closed fist. Another blow caught the corner of my mouth, deepening the cut, and I stumbled back against the cold stone, my chest heaving as I fought for air.
I wiped the blood from my chin with the back of my hand, smearing it across my face, and then I laughed.
It was a broken sound that echoed off the tiles, sounding more like a threat than a joke.
"Is that all, Father?" I rasped, my voice thick with the taste of blood. "You’ve been doing this for seventeen years," I chuckled again and straightened my suit. "You’re losing your touch, or maybe you’re just getting too old to keep up with me."
"Bastard!" my father yelled. His face twisted as he lunged forward, grabbed my collar, and shoved me back against a gold-trimmed mirror with a force that made the glass groan behind my skull.
"You think you’re untouchable because you have fans screaming your name?" he hissed, his eyes wide and manic, his breath smelling of the expensive whiskey he had drunk at the table. "Because you have a winning streak, you think you are something?" he yelled at me.
"Your grandfather is already looking past you. He sees your brother as the rightful heir now to the family legacy. He even commended Kayden about his speed—the one you have lost because you decided to become soft. You are a product, Rhys. Nothing more. And now, your only value to this family is to win this year’s Stanley Cup and carry the family bloodline!"
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating whisper. "Sir Federico’s support ensures our influence in the Southern League. You will walk back out there, you will apologize to Linda on your knees if you have to, and you will kiss Elian’s hand like the dutiful son you are. You will accept the engagement, get married, and get that Omega pregnant to ensure this legacy continues, or I will break the toy you brought here."
My heart stopped at the mention of Kayden.
"One phone call, Rhys," my father continued, smiling cruelly. "And Kayden Vale is out of the league. One ’accident’ on the ice, and he’s paralyzed for life. You decide. Do you want to be a rebel, or do you want your little friend to keep his legs?"
I looked at him, really looked at him, wondering how this man was my father.
The fear that had lived in my gut for decades finally withered away, replaced by a cold, sharpening clarity.
"You know what’s funny?" I said, my voice gaining strength that made his eyes widen. "This isn’t about the legacy. It’s about you. You’re projecting, Father. You were the golden boy once, weren’t you? Until that injury took your career and buried it in the dirt. Now you’re trying to live through me—trying to force a ’perfect’ life because your own life ended at thirty. Everything you put in my head is a result of your own failure!"
His grip on my collar faltered as his hands started shaking. I knew I had gotten him by using his weakness against him.
"I will never touch Elian," I continued, shoving his hands off me with a surge of strength that made him stumble backwards. "And I will never bring a child into this house to be raised by a hollow man like you. Keep your goddamn legacy. I’m done being the ghost of your missed opportunities. If you want to achieve something for yourself, your favorite son is right there. Live your dreams through him and not me!" I yelled at him and started walking away.
"Rhys! Get back here!" my father roared, but I didn’t stop.
"Let me be! I am done being your puppet. And also, stay away from Kayden. He is not the reason our family is a mess in the first place. And you know what? This stupid party sucks. I shouldn’t have come at all!" I declared as I walked through the corner and back towards the main hall with my head lowered.
And when I raised it, the breath left my lungs because standing there was Kayden.