~MAXIMUS II~
I have never laid hands on my father. I never even thought of it—not when he had me bent over a pool table, digging his pocket knife into my skin to make me, in his words, a “real man.” According to him, I was always too soft. Too pale. Nothing like his rowdy, masculine self who could control an entire room with a single look.
“You’re too soft,” he’d say, slapping my cheek with the flat of the blade. “No one will take you seriously if I present you as my son. We need to make you tougher. When I die, you’ll be the best replacement the Alfred Jet empire has ever seen.”
He’d take out a mirror, pressing his face against mine. We were exact copies, except for the eyes, the hair, and his lines of aging.
He’s been grooming me since Mom’s death.
And now, as I watch him step out o
