Gun returned home with Troy’s help, his body still feeling weak from his stay at the hospital. He had tried calling Jason earlier, wanting his son to pick him up, but the calls went unanswered. It wasn’t like Jason to disappear like this. He sighed, leaning on Troy as they walked up the steps to his front door.

  “I swear, when I find him, I’m going to strangle that boy,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  Troy chuckled softly. “Maybe he just forgot his phone somewhere. You know how he is.”

  Gun grumbled, “He better have a good excuse.”

  Pushing open the door, Gun stepped inside, but the moment his foot crossed the threshold, his heart sank. A loud, unmistakable scream echoed from upstairs, sending a chill down his spine. The sound was... raw, desperate, and filled with pleasure.

  His eyes widened as his mind tried to process it. ‘Is someone hurt?’ But as the moans continued, each one growing louder and more passionate, his face flushed, realising exactly what he was hearing.

  He turned around, his eyes locking with Troy’s, whose face was bnk, mouth slightly agape. “Is... is that...?” Troy stammered, completely at a loss.

  Gun’s face went pale, then a deep shade of red as anger and embarrassment coursed through him. “That brat...!” he hissed, his fists clenching.

  Another scream, followed by a deep, guttural moan, shattered whatever patience Gun had left. He marched toward the stairs, each step filled with fury. “Jason! You better have a damn good expnation for this!”

  Troy followed behind, his face contorted between horror and amusement. “Should I... should I wait outside?”

  Gun didn’t answer, his eyes bzing as he stormed up the stairs, determined to put an end to this bullshit.

  Gun froze, his heart plummeting as the sounds grew louder, unmistakable now. He gnced back at Troy, whose eyes widened in shock. Neither of them spoke.

  Taking a deep breath, Gun followed the sound the noise. It led him to the spare room, the door slightly ajar. He pushed it open, and the sight before him made his blood run cold.

  There, on the bed, Jason was moving rhythmically, his hands gripping the waist of a naked woman who was on all fours, her moans echoing off the walls. Jason’s head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, entirely lost in the moment.

  Gun’s jaw clenched, his chest tightening as anger surged through him. ‘This child... in my house?’ He felt his hands tremble, fingers itching to grab something—anything—to throw at his son’s head.

  Troy quickly turned away, covering his mouth to stifle a ugh, his shoulders shaking. Gun shot him a gre that could have killed, and Troy composed himself, clearing his throat.

  Without thinking, Gun grabbed the nearest object—a vase from the hallway table—and hurled it at the bed. “JASON!” he roared, his voice thundering through the house.

  Jason’s eyes snapped open, his body freezing mid-thrust as the vase shattered against the wall, shards raining down beside him. The woman screamed, scrambling off the bed and covering herself with the sheets. Jason turned his head slowly, his face draining of colour as he met his father’s bzing eyes.

  “Dad... I... I didn’t think you’d be home...” he stammered, pulling away from the woman and grabbing his clothes in a panic.

  Gun’s chest heaved with fury. “You bring someone into my house... into my spare room... and do this?!” His voice was deadly calm, yet every word was ced with rage.

  Jason swallowed hard, guilt and fear on his face. “I... I can expin—”

  “Get out,” Gun hissed, his fingers curling into fists. “Both of you. Now.”

  The woman didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed her clothes, hastily putting them on as she fled the room. Jason stood there, his head hung low, avoiding his father’s eyes.

  “Dad, I—”

  “I said out!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger. Jason flinched before nodding, his shoulders slumping as he walked past his father.

  Gun watched him go, his heart pounding in his chest, the anger slowly giving way to hurt. ‘This child...’ He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. ‘Where did I go wrong?’

  *

  Jason watched the taxi pull away, the woman blowing him a kiss through the window before disappearing down the street. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders rexing now that she was gone. Her touch still lingered on his chest, but the thrill of the moment had long faded. “Finish tonight?” he muttered to himself, scoffing. ‘Not a chance.’

  He closed the door, the echo of it shutting reverberating through the quiet house. His gaze wandered down the hallway, settling on the master bedroom door. ‘Dad...‘ He grimaced, the memory of Gun’s face twisted in anger fshing through his mind. He knew he was in deep shit.

  Bracing himself, he moved toward the room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle, before he exhaled slowly and pushed it open.

  Gun sat on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid, his hands csped tightly in his p. His eyes flicked up, locking onto Jason the moment he entered. There was no mistaking the disappointment and anger swirling in that gaze.

  Jason swallowed, the tension heavy between them. “Dad...” he started, his voice low.

  Gun’s frown deepened, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Shut the door.”

  Jason obeyed, the soft click of the door closing sounding louder than it should have. He turned to face his father, guilt gnawing at his insides.

  “Are you proud of yourself?” Gun’s voice was calm, too calm, and it sent a chill down his spine. “I come home from the hospital to that? In my house? In my spare room?”

  Jason looked down, unable to meet his father’s piercing gaze. “I didn’t think you’d be home so soon...”

  Gun let out a bitter ugh, his hands tightening in his p. “Clearly.” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving his son. “Do you have any idea how disrespectful that was? How disappointed I am right now?”

  Jason flinched, his chest tightening. “I... I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, you weren’t,” Gun snapped, his voice rising. “You were too busy chasing whatever pleasure you could get without a second thought to how it would affect anyone else.”

  Jason’s shoulders slumped, shame washing over him. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  Gun’s expression softened, just a fraction. He looked away, his eyes distant as he sighed. “I thought I raised you better than this, Jace.” His voice wavered, the hurt evident. “To respect people... to respect this family... and to respect yourself.”

  Jason’s chest ached. He stepped forward, his voice strained. “I do respect you... and our family. I messed up, okay? I... I’ll make it right.”

  Gun finally looked at him, his eyes glistening with tears. “You can’t undo what’s already been done, Jason.” He paused, his shoulders sagging. “But you can decide how you’ll act moving forward.”

  Jason nodded. “I won’t let you down again.”

  Gun searched his face for a moment before sighing. “I hope so... because I don’t think my heart can take much more disappointment.”

  Jason’s chest tightened, guilt heavy and suffocating. “I’ll do better, Dad... I promise.”

  Gun looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. “You better.”

  Sensing that the tension had finally eased, Jason’s lips curled into a mischievous grin as he skipped over to the bed and flopped down beside his father. He let his body rex, his head nding comfortably on Gun’s p. Looking up, he locked eyes with Gun, his face open and vulnerable in a way he rarely showed anyone else.

  “So, you’re okay to be home now?” he asked, his voice soft, a hint of concern threading through his casual tone.

  Gun nodded, his fingers instinctively finding their way to Jason’s hair, gently combing through the dark strands. His touch was soft, soothing, each stroke filled with affection.

  For a moment, Gun just stared down at him, his heart tightening painfully. Jason looked so much like him... Him. The man Gun had loved and lost. The man whose ghost never truly left his heart.

  His chest constricted, and he fought back the sting of tears threatening to spill over. “You look so much like him,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

  Jason’s eyes softened, the pyful spark dimming as he realised who his father was talking about. He gnced away, his gaze distant as he murmured, “Maybe we should have listened when that crazy woman said he was visiting her at the psych ward.”

  Gun’s fingers stilled, his heart lurching at the mention of her—Jason’s mother. Memories flooded back, vivid and haunting. The years had passed, but the wounds were still raw. The children had grown up, choosing to forget the woman who gave them life.

  ‘Just as I wanted...’ Gun thought bitterly. He had orchestrated it all, made sure they clung to him, loved him, needed him. He wanted them to himself—King’s children, his legacy, his pieces of the man he could never truly have.

  But now... now the dead man was back. Alive, breathing, and too close for comfort. Gun’s fingers resumed their movement, more out of habit than intention, his thoughts spiraling into darkness.

  ‘What’s my life going to be like now?’ he wondered, his heart pounding. Would it be like before? Chaotic, passionate, and painfully intense? Would he hate himself again for feeling too much and never enough all at once?

  He looked down at Jason, who was still gazing up at him, his eyes filled with a childlike innocence that made Gun’s heart ache. ‘Everything that belonged to King is mine...’ he reminded himself, his jaw tightening. That was the deal he made with his heart all those years ago. To have the remnants of King, to be surrounded by his children, his legacy.

  But now that the dead man was back, all of it felt fragile, as if one gust of wind could shatter his carefully constructed world. The damage of the past was done, carved deep into his soul... and now that very damage was resurfacing, threatening to rip him apart all over again.

  Gun’s fingers tightened in Jason’s hair, and Jason flinched, his eyes widening in surprise. Gun quickly loosened his grip, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry... just... tired,” he lied, his voice hollow.

  Jason didn’t question it. He never did. He simply closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of his father’s p, finding comfort. Gun continued to stroke his hair, his fingers trembling slightly, his heart heavy with fear and longing.

  ‘How am I supposed to protect what’s mine... when he’s back from the dead?’

  MyLadyQueen