Vengeance

CHAPTER 3

It has been a little over three days since Mikhail assumed the identity of his twin, Anatoly, feigning the need for intense medical treatment. After enduring countless rounds of absurdly staged tests and examinations, he was finally discharged from the hospital.

Those three days seemed like an eternity.

His mother hadn’t left his side for a single moment. Her constant presence suffocated him to the point of sheer exhaustion. He couldn't help but wonder how his brother dealt with their mother all this time.

She was treating him like a tiny baby, which was aggravating and frustrating, considering the fact that he had not been with his mother almost his entire life. He should have felt something more profound, perhaps gratitude, but all he felt was annoyance with his mother's unhealthy obsession with her son.

At first, his mother left no stone unturned to badger him with questions in an attempt to jog his memory about the life he supposedly had before the accident. Thankfully, Robert came to his rescue, requesting her to give him some space and time to come to terms with reality. He even threw in a few convincing medical terms to underscore how dangerous her insistence could be.

“Any unnecessary pressure could trigger irreversible damage,” Robert had warned, his tone grave and deliberate.

That was enough to instil fear in her mind for her son's safety and give Mikhail much-needed time and space away from his mother. A well-deserved break to think this plan through and save from feeling biased love. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes. The only motto is to figure out why the bloody hell he was left in an orphanage despite having a living parent who was more than capable of raising two children.

Anastasia was a smart, devoted mother to Anatoly, yet she conveniently abandoned him and barred his existence from their life. He had to admit that she was treating him like a delicate child who could be destroyed with a single touch. It was a sight to see because he could only imagine how much, in reality, his mother had smothered his brother. It did not appear healthy. Rather toxic and uncomfortable.

In all truthfulness, he was feeling grateful that his father taught him to be tough and independent, capable of surviving without his mother's shield, or rather, anyone's support for that matter. He had learned to develop strong survival instincts. But now, that was the least of Mikhail's concerns, as he wanted to move ahead with his plan to phase two, so as to understand Anatoly's life.

There was only one way possible.

Mikhail needed to step into his brother's shoes. He needed to know where Anatoly lived, what he did, and how he functioned day-to-day. In short, he had to live the same life as his twin brother. So, when Anastasia drove him to Anatoly’s residence, which would be his for the time being, he saw it as an excellent opportunity to put his plan in motion.

His mother took him by surprise when she fussed over him, helping him settle in and even tucking him into bed. The gesture brought a flood of mixed memories. Mikhail couldn't help but recall those long, agonizing nights in the orphanage when he lay awake, yearning for his mother. He had clung to the hope that one day she would come for him, cradle him to sleep next to his brother, and kiss him goodnight.

He had missed Anatoly, too, despite their differences. Sibling relationships were not easily erased, no matter how fractured they became.

"You should rest now. Just remember, I love you." His mom spoke softly, with a warm smile.

For one fleeting moment, Mikhail allowed himself to embrace the affection, choosing to ignore the painful truth that it wasn’t meant for him but for Anatoly.

"I love you too, Mother. I am your kid, so I am supposed to, right?" Mikhail said softly.

It was startling even to himself—this gentleness in his tone felt alien, like an echo of someone he no longer was.

"Of course, baby. You are my son. My only son, Anatoly. And I love you until the end."

Mikhail's jaw clenched, his chest tightening as the words sank in. Her only son?

Only son. His mother had stated.

How he wished he could punch something. How dare she forget her elder son, to whom she gave birth? His existence doesn't even deserve slight acknowledgment? What had he ever done to deserve such cold indifference? She had to despise him for not even acknowledging his existence.

In an attempt to avoid the violent storm stewing within him, he chose to close his eyes and forced himself to sleep. This was the most rest he could get over the years, as there was not a single day he allowed himself a peaceful sleep. He always had his mind loitering, drowning himself in work, distractions, and endless activity to keep his agony at bay.

Mikhail knew he needed to stay calm to carry out his plan, but his mother was making it challenging. Her constant display of affection for Anatoly, through endless doting and fussing, served as a painful reminder of the love he was denied.

She cooked him his favorite soup—mushroom, which Mikhail detested. It took all his willpower not to gag. Anatoly seemed to love everything Mikhail hated—smashed potatoes, seafood, grilled fish—everything made his stomach churn. But because he was pretending to be Anatoly, Mikhail had to keep a poker face and act like a man with mysophobia, painstakingly avoiding any perceived ‘contamination.’

Hence, every now and then, he had to wash his hands, sanitize them, and meticulously organize things—mimicking Anatoly's habits to avoid raising suspicion. While he could have easily claimed that his amnesia had cured his mysophobia, he didn’t want to risk it and test his luck. His mother would not be able to handle his personality, which is diametrically opposed to that of his brother.

But Mikhail had to give it to his mother for knowing Anatoly inside out. She knew that her son had issues, but still loved him with all his flaws. Anatoly's place was immaculately tidy. It was way too organized, with not even a speck of dust. He did have a severe case of mysophobia, which his mother handled admirably.

He couldn't help but feel a touch of envy. Despite all of Anatoly's flaws, his mother loved him unconditionally, while he was all but forgotten. He couldn't figure out why. Sure, he wasn't perfect, but was he truly that despicable? He watched his mother closely, hoping for some sign, a slip of the tongue, anything that might hint that she recognized him as Mikhail, not just the younger twin. But so far, nothing.

Now it seemed like a far-fetched dream.

She spoke of a handful of their memories, including their deceased father, but she made no mention of him. Hell, she even brought up the names of their nanny and maid, yet not once did she acknowledge him, her firstborn.

He was struggling to hold his tongue back, desperate not to lash out at his mother. The urge to demand answers—answers about his existence—was overpowering, but at the same time, he also wanted to give her a chance to come clean. He wanted a reason to forgive her and get a release from the torment of being undesirable to his own mother, even if it meant distancing himself from his own blood family.

He had contacts, resources, and the ability to dig deeper, yet he couldn't understand why his mother had abandoned him all those years. He did try, but the fear of all hopes getting crushed frightened him.

Not anymore.

This time, he would find out the truth and get closure, even if it was at the cost of heartbreak and amplification of years of pain. He deserves to know the actual truth, and he would.

The truth behind his abandonment.