SEVEN
747 Words
Despite the storm in Michael’s eyes, the old butler remained calm, his composure unshaken by the venom lacing the young man’s sneer.
Step by step, he approached.
And then he bowed deeply to Michael Lawrence Stark.
The air seemed to freeze.
“Master Michael,” the butler’s voice was steady, respectful. “On behalf of your father… I come bearing gifts.”
Michael’s nostrils flared, his teeth clenched at the title.
Master Michael.
The same title he had been stripped of, spat on, cast out from.
The butler extended a black velvet case. Inside, three items gleamed even under the morning sun.
A list of assets valued at one billion dollars.
A royal black diamond card, embossed with the crest of the Stark Empire—the most powerful conglomerate on the continent.
And lastly… a strange, ancient key, its design unlike anything Michael had ever seen.
The butler’s tone softened. “Your father ordered these to be delivered before your twenty-fifth birthday.”
Michael’s laugh was low, bitter, mocking. His hand trembled, but not with awe—only fury.
“What gift is he going to send next? Maybe an assassin to finish me off,” he said coldly, his eyes sharp as broken glass. “I was cast out like trash. Stripped of everything. And now you're here spewing nonsense.”
He pushed the velvet case back.
“Take it away. I want nothing to do with that man."
But the butler did not move.
“Master Michael,” he said quietly, “your father has his reasons. I cannot reveal them to you now. But know this: if you reject these, they will fall into the hands of others. And if that happens…”
He paused, his eyes lowering in regret.
“…then all your mother’s sacrifices will have been for nothing.”
The name struck Michael like lightning. His clenched fist immediately loosened as he heard her name.
His mother was killed by his father.
He sent assassins after her, and that same day, Michael came back home with another woman in his bed.
“Mother…” he whispered.
The butler saw his shift in he is expression and pressed on.
“The key,” he said, his voice lowering to a near-whisper, “will reveal all when the time is right. You will know what it unlocks when the time comes and everything will be clear.”
Michael’s gaze locked onto the key, the strange object glowing faintly as though it pulsed in recognition of him.
The storm inside him raged.
Betrayal, hatred for his father, and confusion.
And now… destiny.
He hated his father but he trusted his mother.
He hated to admit it—but the old man was right.
Only he could inherit his mother’s legacy.
No one else had the right.
As for his father’s so-called “reasons”?
Michael’s lips curled into a bitter sneer.
That man was heartless. A murderer. A hypocrite who killed the woman who once stood by his side. Whether his father was now seeking sympathy, or merely playing a deeper game, Michael would eventually uncover the truth.
But there was no rush.
Michael had changed.
The pendant had awakened something inside him—new strength, new knowledge.
His enemies had seen him as nothing but a discarded fool. That mistake would cost them dearly.
Never again would anyone manipulate him.
Never again would anyone strip him of his dignity.
If anyone dared provoke him now… Michael would not hesitate to send them straight to their grave.
The butler seemed to catch the edge in Michael’s gaze.
"Michael stretched out his hand and collected the items."
The old man bowed and with a subtle gesture, the convoy began to withdraw. The golden silk cloth was packed away, the suited bodyguards slipped back into formation, and one by one the doors of the luxury cars shut.
The car engines roared to life and they rolled away seamlessly just the way they came.
Michael stood still for a moment, before slipping into the crowd
But as he walked, memories clawed at his skull— he remembered how Cynthia and Lucas planned to sell his sister off like cattle.
His pulse darkened.
He would not let anyone come close to her.
Michael pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers steady, his voice like steel when the line connected.
“Lilian.”
The nanny, surprised by his tone, answered. “Sir Michael? Is something wrong?”
- Writer
