C1 Men Become Bad When They Have Money

My family was wealthy, the kind that sat at the pinnacle of Loxford society. My father, who married into our family, couldn't dodge the bizarre curse that 'men turn bad when they get money.' During my sophomore year in college, my grandparents succumbed to illness one after the other. Then, a seductive woman showed up at our doorstep with two kids in tow, claiming they were my father's. That's when he confessed to having an affair.

Every day, they'd come to our house, stirring up trouble. My mother, born into high society, was too proud to let the scandal leak out. She suffered in silence, swallowing her pain and pride until it shattered her spirit, and she died of sorrow the following year.

The day my mother passed away, my father discovered those children weren't even his. Overcome with remorse, he knelt by her bed, endlessly bowing his head in apology. Meanwhile, that woman clung to a paternity test she'd bought, desperately trying to justify herself. In a rage, I grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged at her. But her son, about my age, wrestled the knife from me and turned it on my father.

Neither my dad nor the woman died, but the knife bore only my fingerprints. Traumatized, my father was unable to defend me, and I was imprisoned for attempted murder.

For six years, I tried every possible way to end my life in that cell—towels, toothbrushes, head-butting walls. My suicide attempts affected the prison's performance metrics. As punishment, I was starved, beaten, urinated on, and once, kept awake for three days straight as they took turns watching me.

But I didn't die. I became numb, and in that numbness, I worked with relentless intensity, not for any performance metric, but as a shell of a person. Oddly enough, the emptier my mind, the quicker my hands moved. With the amount of work I did, I managed to shave four years off my sentence.

After six years, I was finally free again. The monotonous, life-sucking routine of prison had dulled my senses, but stepping back into the bustling city, my dormant nerves and cells sparked back to life.

As the hatred that lay dormant in my heart awoke, it surged through me like a horde of demons that had been imprisoned within. They clamored, flooding into my limbs and veins, demanding release.

Revenge was my singular focus.

Six years in a hellish existence had taught me one vital lesson: seek revenge, but don't sacrifice yourself in the process.

I wouldn't be foolish enough to wield a real blade. Instead, I'd use a soft knife, slowly and invisibly driving its tip into their hearts, ensuring they'd never find peace.

A white car pulled over on the expansive road, a make and model I didn't recognize.

The door swung open, and out stepped a stunning woman in a black business suit.

With seasoned ease, I whistled sharply at her, a rogue's call.

Six years of influence had made me a master of all the things women should never learn.

She strode toward me, heels clicking assertively on the pavement.

It was only when I saw the familiar look in her eyes that I recognized her. Dahlia, my lifelong best friend.

Throughout the years, she had been the one to cover my monthly prison stipend.

Dahlia, a scion of a distinguished lineage, shot me a reproachful look before enveloping me in a tight embrace.

I felt out of place, her attire pristine and elegant, while I was clad in the same bloodstained clothes from six years ago. Not wanting to soil her, I gently patted her shoulder, "Easy there! Keep it together!"

But Dahlia held on, her embrace unwavering. Soon, I felt the warmth of her tears on my neck.

Stunned, I stood motionless, allowing the embrace to linger.

Eventually, she released me, wiping her eyes, and headed back to the car, her voice tinged with a sob, "Come on, let's find a nice place to give you a proper welcome!"

As she drove, she turned to me in the passenger seat, "Got any plans?"

I was always transparent with her, "Revenge."

The car screeched to a halt, and she fixed me with an angry stare, "Have you lost your mind? Are you hooked on being locked up?"

Gazing out at the bustling traffic, I narrowed my eyes and said calmly, "I've got it under control."

Dahlia remained concerned. After we finished eating, she insisted on buying me a new outfit and promptly took me to her company to job hunt.

I mulled over her proposal and concluded it made sense; I was indeed in need of a job to get on my feet.

As we stood before the marketing center of 'Azure Coast', I paused and asked, "Is this one of your new developments?"

Dahlia's expression briefly clouded over before she regained her composure, "Like you, I've lost everything. I owe you one, actually. If you hadn't given me a heads-up, I might have ended up inside there with you three years ago."

"What happened?"

With a nonchalant shrug, Dahlia replied, "Let's not dwell on the past. Why bring up such things? We're about to embark on a new chapter. Come on, I'll introduce you to our director."

I held her gaze for a moment longer but decided not to press further.

She, like me, detested the look of pity from others.

As we entered the impressive lobby together, I inquired, "What's the job?"

"House sales."

"A sales agent?"

"Exactly. The money's good."