Chapter 2
The next day, Alex returned to his study, the heavy mahogany door closing noiselessly behind him, cutting off the outside world. In the vast room, only a cool desk lamp was lit, casting his tall, imposing shadow against the dark walls—like a silent statue.
He skipped the main lights, heading straight for the massive rosewood desk and settling into the chair. The desktop was spotless except for a sleek laptop in sleep mode and a lone report tucked inside a manila envelope.
The envelope lay there still, as if it were the ominous Pandora's box.
Alex settled back in the wide leather chair, eyes falling shut. Images crashed through his mind—Stella's forced surprise when the ring was put on her finger, her sudden pallor when he exposed her act, and Bobby's carefree, innocent smile.
These images clawed in his mind. The veins on his hand bulged, snaking over his skin like poisonous vines.
After a long time, Alex's eyes flew open. Any lingering warmth vanished from his bottomless eyes; what remained was a chilling, destructive coldness. He reached out, each movement precise and emotionless, and picked up the envelope.
He untwisted the string and slid out a few thin sheets of paper from the envelope.
The top page blazed with a bold headline that seared his eyes like a brand: DNA Paternity Test Report.
Commissioned by: Alex Meyer.
Sample A (Father): Alex Meyer, Blood Sample.
Sample B (Child): Bobby Meyer, Buccal Swab.
DNA Test: STR Analysis for Paternity Index.
Alex didn't hesitate for a second—he blew past all the confusing genetic stats and mumbo jumbo, his gaze zeroing in with icy precision on the report's final, bolded lines.
Conclusion: Based on the results of DNA genetic marker typing, Alex Meyer is not the biological father of Bobby Meyer.
Cumulative Paternity Index (CPI): 0.0000. Probability of Paternity (RCP): 0.0000%.
Cold hard facts, stated in black and white.
0.0000% of paternity.
The five zeros were cold and merciless—like five poisoned daggers, stabbing straight through the last of his self-deception, shattering the illusion of the "family" he'd clung to for three years into dust.
A low, tortured growl tore from Alex's throat, like a sound that a wounded beast would make. It wasn't pain—it was a rage that had finally exploded, a fury that wanted to destroy everything in its path.
Alex locked his gaze on those damning words, his eyes cold and ferocious, like a ferocious predator. He clenched the report tight in his fist.
The thick stack of papers strained and groaned under his overwhelming grip, crushed and twisted furiously, until it became a hideous, misshapen wad of shame.
His arm muscles bulged, veins pulsing across his hand as he squeezed with everything he had—like he could obliterate every last trace of humiliation along with it.
The crumpled papers scraped loudly in his palm, the sharp, grating sound slicing through the silence.
The next second, Alex raised his hand and hurled the wad of papers—filled with all his betrayal and humiliation—down onto the polished, mirror-bright marble floor with everything he had.
Bang!
The crumpled ball struck the ground with a heavy, thud, then bounced feebly away, rolling to the side like worthless garbage.
Alex's chest rose and fell violently, his sculpted face utterly expressionless—save for the storm swirling in his eyes, dark enough to scorch the world.
He sank back into the chair at a painfully slow pace, gaze locked onto that misshapen wad of papers. Gradually, the corners of his lips twisted upward—not in any trace of warmth, but in a cold, unnerving arc.
That arc wasn't a smile—it was a sign that the gates of hell had just swung open.
Alex picked up the secure satellite phone from his desk. His fingers paused for a second over the smooth buttons, then he made the first call.
The call connected almost instantly. A steady, respectful male voice came through, full of absolute obedience. "Mr. Meyer."
Alex's voice was eerily calm, each word sharp as ice, echoing through the silent study. "Make your move. Target: Dunn Group. I want it to crash completely before the market closes today."
No extra explanation, no emotion—just the coldest, most ruthless command.
"Yes, Mr. Meyer." The man didn't hesitate for a second. The call ended with a crisp click.
Alex didn't miss a beat. His fingers danced across the keypad as he dialed the second number.
This time, when the call connected, the voice on the other end sounded slick and nervous. "Mr. Meyer? Can I help you?"
Alex's eyes flicked toward the corner of his desk, where an unremarkable black USB drive waited. His tone stayed icy, carrying a chilling undertone that seemed to cut right through bone. "You got the package?"
"Yes, sir. I got it, no problem at all," the man answered in a rush, eager to please.
"Excellent." Alex's voice was like the whisper of death. "Tomorrow at nine sharp, I want it playing on every single massive digital billboard downtown on a loop. Make sure it's all of them."
The man on the other end sucked in a sharp breath, stunned by the sheer madness of the order. But the promise of huge rewards—and even bigger fear—kept him from hesitating for a second. "Y-Yes, Mr. Meyer. I promise it'll be up on time. It'll be absolutely impactful."
Alex hung up without another word.
He leaned back in his chair, slowly turning toward the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights outside sparkled like scattered stardust, throwing a cold silhouette across his stony face.
He picked up his phone—the screen displayed the number of Leah Weaver, Bobby's teacher from Sunshine Kindergarten.
He made the third call.
"Hello, this is Sunshine Kindergarten," a gentle female voice answered.
Alex's voice was flat and emotionless, laced with a practiced politeness that clashed with the glint in his eyes. "Ms. Weaver, I'm Alex Meyer, Bobby Meyer's father."
"Oh! Hello, Mr. Meyer." Leah's tone instantly became extra respectful.
"There's been a last-minute change." Alex's eyes swept the darkness outside, his tone so calm he might as well have been chatting about the weather. "My bodyguards will reach there in about fifteen minutes. Can you get Bobby ready early and bring him out? He isn't going home tonight."
"Um..." Leah faltered. "Mr. Meyer, that's not really how things work here. Usually, it has to be a direct relative or someone—"
"Rules?" Alex cut her off, all warmth vanishing from his voice, replaced by an iron chill that commanded obedience. "Ms. Weaver, I donate enough to Sunshine Kindergarten each year to rewrite every rule you've got."
He paused, then added, "Or maybe I should call up Thomas Gardner at the Education Bureau and ask him about your 'rules'?"
The line went dead silent. After a few seconds, Leah stammered, her voice shaking with panic, "Y-Yes, Mr. Meyer, I'll get Bobby ready right away. I'll make sure everything's done exactly as you say."
"Good." Alex hung up.
He tossed the satellite phone onto the massive desk with a soft clatter. The huge study was filled by his heavy, ragged breaths—and on the floor, that crumpled paternity report lay abandoned, wordlessly screaming the truth of a world shattered beyond repair.
Alex stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. His reflection stared back crisply, the curve on his lips stretching wider until it finally twisted into a cold, warped grin. It was a cruel smile, savoring the thrill of destruction.
Alex had set the gears of revenge roaring to life, ready to crush everything in their path.