Chapter 2 A Son Worth Billions
Seven years later.
Time flied by in the blink of an eye.7:30 PM.
A scream of agony tore through the quiet night.
In the executive office of a downtown high-rise, a man writhed on the floor in pain, rolling back and forth as a whip cracked across his body, his cries echoing through the room.
Over a dozen bodyguards stood by with cold expressions, while on the leather sofa sat a child who looked like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting.
The boy appeared to be about seven years old, with silky smooth hair, porcelain-white skin, and delicate features still soft with baby fat. His beautiful eyes were framed by long, curled lashes.
Such a clean, handsome child, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and black suit pants, with a perfectly tied bow tie at his collar.
Yet this innocent appearance was completely at odds with the brutal scene unfolding before him.
He sat expressionless, holding a comic book, occasionally glancing up with cold eyes at the man being whipped.
"Ah! Ah..." The man's screams were pitiful as he begged for mercy, crying pathetically, "I was wrong! I know I was wrong!"
The child's delicate eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he simply lowered his head and turned another page with his small, pale hand, completely ignoring the man's agonized pleas as if the desperate cries had nothing to do with him.
He was absorbed in his comic when his phone on the table began to vibrate.
A bodyguard glanced at it, his expression changing, then respectfully carried the phone to the child.
The boy looked up and saw "Mommy" displayed on the screen. His eyes showed a hint of nervousness.
He took the phone with his small hand and raised his head, pressing one finger to his lips. "Shh."
The enforcer immediately stopped his actions while simultaneously clamping his hand firmly over the sobbing man's mouth.
Only then did the child answer the call. His previously cold gaze softened as his expression warmed, and in a sweet, childlike voice, he spoke, "Mommy?"
"Max, Mommy's home. Where are you?" came a woman's worried voice from the other end.
Max replied, "I went out to buy candy."
"Are you at the grocery store?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Perfect! Could you pick up a few things for Mommy? I'm cooking tonight—I'll make something delicious for Max!"
With a single glance from Max, a bodyguard immediately approached, crouching beside him with a notepad and pen ready.
Max smiled sweetly. "Okay! What does Mommy need?"
As the woman on the other end carefully listed items, he repeated them back: "Salt, ham... spaghetti, penne pasta, what else?"
As he spoke, the bodyguard nervously scribbled down every word.
"That's all. Max, sweetheart, when you get to the building lobby, Mommy will come down to meet you."
"Okay."
Max hung up and gently placed the phone on the table. He slowly stood from the sofa and walked over to the injured man.
His eyes turned cold as he lifted his leg, pressing his polished leather shoe heavily against the man's face.
Max demanded in an icy voice, "Do you understand what you did wrong?"
Despite coming from a seven-year-old child, his voice carried a chilling menace—completely opposite to the gentle tone he'd used with the woman on the phone.
"I was wrong! I know I was wrong!" the man sobbed in terror.
It was as if the one looking down at him now wasn't a seven-year-old child, but the spawn of the devil himself.
Max pressed coldly, "Wrong about what?"
"I shouldn't have... shouldn't have had those intentions toward your mother."
Max demanded, "What kind of intentions?"
The man was too ashamed to speak, his face flushing red.
Max pressed his foot down harder. "Speak."
"I was wrong! I know I was wrong! I shouldn't have lusted after your mother's beauty, shouldn't have sexually harassed her! Please forgive me! Please spare me!"
Max regarded him coldly. Seeing the man had been beaten black and blue, kneeling and trembling, not daring to breathe loudly.
Two weeks ago, Max's mommy had come home covered in bruises, hiding in her room to treat her injuries.
Through his private investigation, he'd learned that her despicable boss had tried to force her into sexual favors. When she refused, he'd beaten her badly. Afraid of exposure, the scumbag fired her and even withheld her severance pay.
Absolute scum!
The child narrowed his eyes. "What gives you the right to touch even a hair on my mother's head?"
The man screamed in terror, "I won't dare again! I'll never dare again!"
Max felt disgusted just looking at his face and commanded expressionlessly, "Take him away."
"Yes, sir."
The bodyguards dragged the man out.
Max looked down at his leather shoes, noticing some blood stains from earlier. He immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust.
A bodyguard approached, kneeling beside him to carefully clean the shoes with a handkerchief.
Max asked, "Did someone go buy the groceries?"
The bodyguard replied, "Already purchased and ready."
Max said, "Take me to the residential complex."
The bodyguard nodded. "Yes, sir."
...
Peaceful Community.A six-story aging apartment building.
The kitchen light was on.
Grace stared in dismay at the somewhat burnt stew in the pot when she suddenly heard the electronic lock chime.
Max was home!
She walked to the entryway and saw Max standing at the door with grocery bags, changing his shoes.
"Max!" Grace rushed toward the little guy like she'd found her savior.
Max set down the shopping bags and kissed her cheek, then caught a whiff of something burning. He sniffed the air and gave the woman a look of disdain. "What's burning?"
Grace sheepishly watched as Max elegantly walked into the kitchen. Seeing him stare at the blackened stew, she laughed awkwardly. "Max, do you think Mommy's cooking skills have room for improvement?"
Max let out a gentle sigh, suddenly showing an expression of indulgent helplessness as he softly patted Grace's hair. "Mommy, didn't I tell you not to go in the kitchen?"
With that, he tied on a teddy bear apron and dumped all of Grace's culinary disaster into the trash.
Grace watched with embarrassment.
Max was only seven years old, yet he handled all the household chores, including cooking.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Max expertly light the stove and heat the pan. Sheepishly poking her fingers together, she said, "Max, Mommy doesn't seem to have any talent for cooking."
Max replied, "Mommy's greatest talent is giving birth to such a smart son like me."
Grace burst into laughter.
"Mommy just needs to be beautiful—that's enough," Max said. "Otherwise, what's the point of having such a cute and clever son?"
Grace smiled and nodded. "Whatever Max says goes."
The more she looked at Max, the more she adored him. He was practically a carbon copy of her face—she could easily imagine what a heartbreaker he'd become as a young man!