HIS PAST CAME BACK ✨

HELL

Chapter One

Walking into the Laurent mansion at six years old felt like walking straight into hell.

Yes, I said, "Hell."

Why was I coming back from prep, tired and hungry, only to hear Mom and Dad arguing again? Normally, I would sneak closer, take a little peep, then run upstairs and cry my balls out.

But not tonight!!!.

Tonight, I just didn't care anymore.

I stood at the entrance, my tiny backpack hanging from one shoulder as their voices echoed through the enormous hallway. ”You think I don't know what you're doing, Richard?”

That was obviously Mom; her voice was sharp.

I just sighed and rolled my eyes.

Here we go again.

I was Alexander Laurent.

But everyone called me Xander or Lex if they were close enough.

I was six years old, the first son of the twin of Richard Laurent, the CEO of Laurent Holdings.

And unfortunately, being a Laurent didn't mean having a happy home.

It meant living in a beautiful mansion where every room was expensive enough to make people jealous. while the people inside it were miserable.

My father's voice suddenly cut through the hallway.

“Lower your voice, Vivian. We have kids."

I froze, that voice!!!!

Richard Laurent didn't need to shout to make a room fall silent; he was tall, broad-shouldered, and always perfectly dressed in expensive suits. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw sharp, and his cold eyes were enough to make grown men nervous.

To the outside world, Dad was everything a man was supposed to be.

A powerful businessman, a respected CEO, a loving husband, and a devoted father.

But at home? He was none of those things.

He was cold, controlling, and unforgiving.

Dad believed children existed to obey, not question. His expectations were impossible, and failing him always came with consequences.

He rarely hugged me or smiled at me.

And whenever I heard his footsteps approaching my room, my stomach twisted before I even knew why. I hated that feeling; I hated him, or at least, I told myself I did.

Because deep down, there was still a little boy who wanted his father to love him.

A little boy who wanted his father to tuck him into bed and say, I'm proud of you.

But that boy was slowly disappearing.

“Don't you dare talk to me like that!” Mom yelled.

I looked toward the living room.

My mother.

She was beautiful.

The kind of beautiful people couldn't stop staring at.

Her long dark hair was always perfectly styled, her dresses were always expensive, and there was almost always a diamond necklace resting around her neck.

To strangers, Mom was elegant. Graceful. Perfect.

But I knew better.

Behind closed doors, she was cold and sharp.

She cared more about what people thought of the Laurent family than what happened inside it.

She could smile at guests one minute and make me feel like the smallest person in the world the next.

Her love always came with conditions.

And somehow, no matter what I did, I was never enough. I tightened my grip around my backpack.

The argument continued.

I could hear Mom accusing Dad of something, but I stopped listening; I was tired. Tired of the shouting, tired of pretending everything was okay, tired of being scared in my own home.

So instead of walking into the living room like I usually did, I turned around; I was going upstairs.

Maybe tonight, I'd sleep before they started again; maybe tonight, I could pretend I lived somewhere else.

Somewhere normal.

Somewhere a six-year-old boy didn't have to pray every night for his parents to stop fighting.

I took the first step toward the stairs.

Then—boom

CRASH!

Something shattered inside the living room.

I froze!!! hearts beating so hard

My little heart slammed against my chest.

And for the first time that night...

I was scared.