Love of a Billionaire's Unwilling Heir

Turning Passion to Gold TYLER'S POV “Tyler!” “Tyler” Now sounding like thunder and my heart shook at its intensity. Each step he took seemed to amplify my fear, my heart racing like a wild animal trapped in my chest. I couldn't bear the intensity of his gaze and bowed my head, but he wasn't having it. With a cruel yank, he pulled my ear, forcing my head up to meet his wrath. Pain seared through me, but I bit back my cry, terrified of provoking him further. My mind frantically prayed that this would end here, that he wouldn't drag me to my room, where my deepest fears awaited. But, of course, that's exactly where he was headed. "It's bad enough dealing with your incompetence," he snarled, "but that i***t tutor of yours making excuses for your cognitive inertia? Unacceptable! And what's this I hear about dyslexia?" His voice was a menacing growl, each word a dagger aimed straight at my heart. "Flush that lie out of your mind," he barked, his eyes blazing with contempt. "Where is it?" I hesitated, my voice barely audible: "It's on my bed." He dragged me to my room, his grip on my ear unrelenting. As we entered, his focus narrowed to the folded document on my bed. He snatched it up, tucked it into his suit, and then tilted my head up to meet his furious gaze. "You're 12, Tyler. You're young, with a brain that's still malleable. You're just lazy, unwilling to put in the effort. You're the heir to Auxilium Pharmaceuticals, and mediocrity won't be tolerated." His words cut deep, but the worst was yet to come. "Neither I nor your mother, who abandoned you, is dyslexic. How can you be?" The venom in his voice was palpable. "You need to up your game, Tyler. Study hard, and stop making excuses for your failures." The insult that followed was like a slap to the face: "You f*****g blockhead!" But it was what happened next that filled me with dread. His eyes, which had been ablaze with anger, suddenly turned sinister as they landed on my paintings and drawings. My heart sank, knowing that my sanctuary, my escape, was about to be torn apart. His eyes scanned the room, and then landed on my artwork, and his anger seemed to reach a boiling point. "What is all this?" he thundered, his voice dripping with disgust. "You're a science student, Tyler, and you're wasting your time with these...these frivolous paintings and drawings?". He strode over to my easel, and with a sweep of his arm, sent my canvas crashing to the floor. I felt a pang of despair as I watched my art destroyed. "You're not just failing your core courses, Tyler," he spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "You're failing your future. You're failing me." With a wave of his hand, he sent my paints, brushes, and sketchbooks tumbling to the ground. "You're done with this nonsense," he declared, his voice cold and unforgiving. "You're never to attend another art class, or pick up a brush again. Do I make myself clear?" I nodded, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "Yes, Father," I whispered, my voice shaking. He grasped my chin, his fingers digging into my skin. "You'll focus on your studies, and you'll excel. Anything less is unacceptable. And if I ever see you wasting your time with art again...I'll make sure you regret it." His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "You'll never pick up a brush again, Tyler. Never." “I see I've been too soft with you. From now on, I'll give you deadlines to meet with your studies. Failure to meet these deadlines, you will curse the day your deranged mother left you with me. Nincompoop!” He bawled and walked away angrily. I fell on the couch, clenching my teeth in pain. I held the couch tightly so as to fight the tears that threatened to fall. I might be a dummy but I couldn't be referred to as a weakling. I didn't need to wait to fail meeting his deadlines, before cursing the day I was born. Every single day I woke up in this house, I cursed my mother for birthing me. ********************************************************* Ten years later TYLER'S POV I placed another frame of my beautiful painting on the wall, right beside the others and wore a smile. Painting was the only thing that gave me peace, stroking my paintbrush across the surface of the boards, creating beauty with my tools. Still admiring my painting, I felt his entrance into my room. s**t! How did I forget to lock the door? “Is this how you want to keep living, Tyler? You really will not go to college?” He bellowed, standing at the door post. I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I could barely graduate from high school, Dad. I don't think I can cope in college.” I replied calmly for the upteenth time. “Such a loser! How do you hope to keep the legacy of Auxilium pharmaceuticals when I am no more?” He hollered but his voice no longer held the same effects it did years back. I had grown immune to it over the years. I had accepted the facts my father spewed about me. I was “a loser”, “a failure”, “a dummy”, “useless with no future”. I only found solace in painting, but according to Dad, that only proved how much of a loser I was. “Dad I know. Tell me something new. And if remembered correctly, I don't think there existed a time I sat with you, to discuss continuing your legacy. So please, I'm sure there are hundreds in your company that would love that. You can run a screening to see who best fits.” I said nonchalantly, wanting him to round-off his insults and just leave. I could feel him boiling where he stood. But I didn't care. The worst that could happen was he hitting me, either with his hands or with an object. I turned to look at my paintings again, and a smile returned to my face. “Heaven knows the only reason you still eat my food and have a place under my roof is because of my reputation that will be dented if I disown you. But for your own good, I hope you get a life. Bloody fool!” and with those cold words, he walked away. I immediately walked to the door and bolted it. I walked back to my bed and fell on it, letting my mind ruminate on Dad's words. __________________________________ Graduating from high school was a hussle I swore if I overcame, I would never walk back to the trap of education. Five years ago, I finally graduated with a pass. It was a disappointment to my Father, who took me through thick and thin to make sure I was the best. And yes, I was the best in my chosen path. Despite struggling academically in high school, my artistic talents shone through, earning me awards in creative painting and for redesigning the school logo. My exceptional skill caught the attention of a prominent agency, which promptly offered me an enticing deal: they'd set up a mega studio for me and appoint me as the brand ambassador for BrightScape Paints, with a lucrative contract that made my future look bright. The weight of my failures crushed me, but amidst the ashes, a spark reignited. Painting isn't just a hobby; it's my essence. My father's doubts fueled my resolve. Though he was right about my academic shortcomings, I refused to let that define me. With trembling hands, I picked up my brush, and a fire ignited within. I would build my legacy, stroke by stroke, and shatter the expectations that bound me. The world would witness my art, and my name would echo through eternity. It was a moment of reckoning. The tables had turned as dad received the unexpected call - not a reprimand, but a congratulatory message about my ambassadorial offer. The irony was palpable. How would he react to the news that his disapproved passion had become a career-defining opportunity? His response was about to shatter all expectations… My dad's disapproval was about to collide with undeniable success. Would he swallow his pride, or would the shock of my achievement c***k open a new understanding? The anticipation hung heavy, as he stood frozen, the weight of his response hanging precariously in the balance.