Chapter 73: Not Your Helpless Little Boy Anymore

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"You ungrateful little—!"

Father’s hand moved before I could react. The slap snapped my head to the side with a force that sent a bright flash of pain across my cheek and into my jaw.

Pain exploded across the skin already marked from the previous day. My ears rang with a high, thin sound that made the room feel momentarily distant.

Fuck...that really hurt.

For a moment, I couldn’t understand what had happened. The room tilted slightly, the edges of my vision blurring and I tasted blood where my teeth had caught the inside of my mouth, the metallic flavor sharp and familiar in the worst possible way.

And there it was, that old feeling. The instinct to go still. To lower my eyes...to make a joke in my mind and to wait for my punishment and the anger to pass.

To make myself smaller until the storm moved on without me, but something inside me refused.

Maybe it was everything that had happened over the past year, the slow accumulation of moments when I had stopped accepting the roles assigned to me.

Maybe it was the fact that I had spent too long swallowing things that should have been screamed. Maybe it was the memory of being held down by fear while someone else decided what happened to my life, the weight of that particular helplessness still lingering in places I preferred not to examine. Whatever it was, I turned back.

Father barely had time to react before I hit him right back.

My palm connected with his cheek with a force that surprised even me, the sound of the impact impossibly loud in the quiet room.

Richard, Lydia and Blair stared at me, the shock on their faces almost comical in its completeness.

I stared back, my heart pounding so hard it hurt, the rhythm uneven and frantic. "You don’t get to do that to me anymore."

His face twisted, the shock giving way to something uglier. "You—!"

He grabbed me and I stumbled backward under the sudden force and hit the edge of the wall hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, the impact sending a sharp jolt through my shoulder.

"Richard!" Lydia shouted something, the words lost under the rush of blood in my ears, but I barely heard her.

His forearm came across my upper chest as he shoved me back, trapping me against the wall with a pressure that made the room feel suddenly smaller.

My shoulder struck the surface again, the pain shooting down my arm in a bright, unwelcome line.

The pressure made breathing difficult, and suddenly the room felt too familiar. Too much like years ago, when the walls had been closer and the exits fewer.

I pushed against him, the motion more instinct than strategy. "Get the fuck off me!"

"You think you can hit me, you useless brat?!"

"You hit me first, you prick!"

"You’re still my son!"

"I don’t give a shit!"

He tightened his grip, the pressure increasing until the air felt thinner.

My hands grabbed at his arm instinctively, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve. "Get off!"

Blair was crying now. Actually crying, the sound high and thin.

"He’s changed!" she said, backing away toward her mother as if the distance might protect her from the consequences of what she was watching. "He’s become even more cruel! Look at what he’s doing to Father!"

I almost laughed despite everything, the absurdity of the moment cutting through the pain for a brief, surreal second. "Are you seriously...?!"

Richard shoved me harder. My head struck the wall with a dull thud that sent another wave of pain through my skull.

The pain blurred my vision, the edges of the room going soft and distant. "Stop!"

The door suddenly flew open with a force that made the hinges protest.

Two guards rushed inside, followed by another pair along with Nikolai, their movements coordinated and efficient in a way that spoke of long practice.

Father barely had time to turn before one of them seized his arm and dragged him away from me with a strength that left no room for argument.

"Who do you idiots think you are?! Let go of me!"

Another guard caught him from behind, locking his arms with the calm professionalism of someone who had done this before.

Father fought them, furious and undignified, his expensive suit twisting under the restraint. "What are you doing? Alex, tell them to get their stinking hands off me! Don’t you know who I am?! I’m his father!"

The guards didn’t answer.

And Nikolai looked at me, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes sharp. "Sir, are you hurt?"

I tried to straighten, the motion sending another dull ache through my shoulder and the side of my face.

My cheek burned and my chest hurt where the pressure had been and my hands were shaking harder now, the tremor visible and impossible to hide.

"I’m alright, thanks Nik."

The words came automatically, the same ones I had used for years whenever the alternative required admitting weakness.

Nikolai didn’t look convinced, but his attention returned to Father with the same cold efficiency.

"Get on your knees." One of the guards said to Father.

Father stared at him, the demand landing like something from a different language. "What?"

"You assaulted the Don’s Omega."

"He is my son!"

"He is the Don’s husband."

"I don’t care who he is!"

The guard’s expression remained cold, the professionalism unbroken. "Kneel before him."

Father refused, the denial stubborn and familiar.

Two guards forced him down with the same coordinated strength, the motion efficient and without unnecessary force.

He landed heavily on his knees, the impact jarring enough to make him grunt.

"This is insane!" he shouted, the volume rising as the reality of the situation settled over him. "You have no right to treat me like this!"

"You entered this estate under the Don’s hospitality," one guard said, the words measured and final. "Then you attacked his Omega."

"He attacked me!"

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand casually, the smear of blood dark against my skin. "The way I remember it, you slapped me first."

Richard glared at me, the look carrying years of accumulated authority that no longer seemed to hold the weight it once had. "You little liar!"

I stared at him, something in me having gone strangely quiet beneath the residual fear and the lingering pain.

The guard’s jaw tightened, the first visible crack in the professional mask. "Apologize."