Chapter 67: Father Against Son

Isabella's POV

The air in the Black mansion living room instantly became tense and hostile. I kept my head down, trying to make myself invisible as the tension between father and son was almost suffocating. Everyone was holding their breath, no one daring to break the terrible silence.

Ethan stood there, cold as ice, expressionless, while his father trembled with rage. This father and son pair couldn't be more different in personality, yet they were remarkably similar in their stubbornness. What should have been a warm family gathering had turned into a silent standoff.

"Ethan," Jasper's voice shook, his eyes bloodshot, "when your mother gave birth to you, I should have strangled you with my own hands. Twenty-some years wasted raising an ungrateful bastard like you."

I flinched at these words. How could a father say something so horrible to his son? But Ethan showed no reaction, as if these words had long lost their power to hurt him.

The corner of his mouth curled into a cold smile: "Have you done a DNA test? It's not certain who your real sons are. Have you already decided to hand the company over to a six-year-old child?"

The words hit like a slap. I felt Owen beside me turn deathly pale in an instant.

"Dad," Owen's voice trembled, "is what Ethan saying true? Are you really planning to give the company to a six-year-old child?"

Jasper fell silent. I could sense him mentally assessing his three sons. The eldest, Owen, was indecisive, shortsighted, and addicted to gambling. The second son, Julian, cared nothing for the family business, focused solely on being a doctor. And Ethan, though exceptionally capable, strong-handed, and visionary, never submitted to his father.

I stared down at my hands. This wasn't my war. The conflicts between these family members existed long before my mother married Jasper. But that didn't make me feel any better—especially when I realized my mother was the source of much of their pain.

I shouldn't judge her choices. She made her own path, right or wrong, those were her decisions. But I couldn't pretend those choices hadn't hurt everyone in this room.

"Dad, is this true?" Olivia suddenly stood up, her voice filled with disbelief.

Just then, I felt a gentle touch on my arm. Nora's tired eyes were full of understanding.

"Isabella, I'm feeling a bit tired. Would you mind helping me to my room?" she asked softly.

I felt relieved. She was helping me escape; she had noticed my discomfort. I nodded gratefully and stood to escort her away from this battlefield.

I slowly guided Nora toward her room, her arm linked through mine. Even though we had left the living room, the tense atmosphere still hung over the entire house.

As we approached her room, I heard my mother's tearful voice.

"Let's forget about bringing our son home. Ethan doesn't like it, and I don't want it to affect your relationship with your sons. After all, the child has been called a bastard for six years already—what difference will a few more decades make?"

My heart ached. The half-brother I had never met was just another pawn in this family's power games.

Jasper's response was quick and harsh: "I'm definitely bringing my son home, and no one can stop me. DNA tests? Writing a will? Bullshit! I'd like to see if he dares to touch even a hair on my son's head."

We involuntarily stopped in our tracks, Nora gripping my arm tightly. Though we didn't want to eavesdrop, we had no choice.

"If he dares harm our child, he'll pay with his life," Jasper roared, "we can always have more children."

These words felt like a slap across my face. I looked at Nora, her expression twisting in pain. How heartbroken must she be to hear her son talk about children this way? Threatening one child's life while casually mentioning he could have more to replace him?

I quickly helped Nora hurry past. But I still caught a glimpse of Ethan's face. What flashed in his eyes wasn't anger, but deep disappointment and despair.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, revealing that dangerous smile I had come to know: "Just as Horizon once pulled you from bankruptcy to glory, today I will drag you from glory back to ruin." His voice was eerily calm, sending chills down my spine. With that, he turned and walked away.

Owen's face was filled with fear, caught in a dilemma. He feared both his father giving the company to my mother's son and Ethan's revenge. After hesitating for a moment, he hurriedly chased after Ethan: "Ethan, wait..."

Watching her brothers leave, Olivia's face showed nothing but anger and betrayal: "Dad, I hate you!" she screamed as she ran back to her room, slamming the door shut with force.

After helping Nora to her room, my mind was in complete turmoil.

February in New York was brutally cold. The biting wind howled, with thin frost hanging on the tree branches. Sophie and I walked side by side down the street, tightening our scarves against the cold.

I needed a decent dress for the upcoming designer awards ceremony. Nothing too expensive, but presentable. After Angela resigned after the New Year, I convinced my mother not to hire a new bodyguard. Sophie was enough, and honestly, she was more like a friend than a bodyguard.

Arm in arm, we walked into the Valentino store and immediately felt like we had intruded into someone else's territory. The salesperson's eyes swept from my ordinary boots all the way to my casually tied hair, the contempt in her eyes almost palpable.

"Are you looking to buy clothes?" she asked, her tone suggesting "you don't belong here."

I frowned, but Sophie just laughed.

"No, we're here to eat," she pretended to be clueless, "I heard the food here is quite good."

The salesperson frowned: "This is a clothing store, not a restaurant."

Sophie laughed even more: "Exactly, so why are you asking if we're here to buy clothes? What else could we possibly be doing here?"

I couldn't help but laugh. This was why I loved Sophie—she was never afraid of anyone, no matter how arrogant they were.

The salesperson's face turned green as she backed away. She had clearly decided we couldn't afford anything in the store and weren't worth her time.

Sophie began seriously browsing through the clothes, taking items out one by one, examining them, then shaking her head and putting them back. I was more cautious, mainly using my eyes, occasionally touching a fabric. Just the feel told me these clothes were frighteningly expensive.

"Isabella, try this," Sophie picked up a cream-colored coat and a gray dress. It was indeed beautiful.

I immediately shook my head: "No, it's too sultry for me." My voice was soft, but my attitude resolute.

"Are you kidding? With your face and figure, not wearing something like this is a waste." Sophie pushed the clothes into my hands.

The salesperson suddenly appeared beside us, saying with a fake smile: "This outfit is four thousand five hundred dollars after discount."

Sophie and I exchanged looks of disbelief. I had planned to spend about five hundred dollars on a decent outfit—how naive of me.

I carefully hung the clothes back, and though my face was burning, I maintained my composure. Sophie looked ready to explode, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle.

"It's too expensive, we can't afford it," I said frankly, "Sorry, we're just looking."

Sophie reached for her purse, but I quickly pressed my hand over hers. I smiled at her, hoping she would understand my meaning: it wasn't worth getting angry over this.

"Isabella..." Sophie had just begun to speak when a familiar male voice suddenly rang through the store.