Destiny's Game*-Chapter 62: Lies

Louis’ POV

It was all a lie. My parents’ love was false painfully so. They were wealthy, yes, but peace was scarce in our home. Arguments filled the halls day in and day out, louder than laughter ever had.

"I hate you! You’re always lying to me, always with another woman behind my back!" my mother screamed.

In a burst of rage, she struck the purple vase beside their bed, sending it crashing to the floor in a spray of shattered glass.

My father only frowned. He was already dressed to leave, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as if the chaos meant nothing to him. To him, my mother was simply... problematic.

He was a strange man—one who seemed to enjoy my mother’s tears.

While she trembled with anger and heartbreak, he only watched her with that same distant expression, as if her pain were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Sometimes I even thought I saw the faintest hint of satisfaction in his eyes, like her suffering proved something to him.

My mother’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at him, waiting perhaps hoping for some kind of response. An apology. An explanation. Anything.

But he gave her nothing.

He simply stepped over the shards of the broken purple vase, the glass crunching softly beneath his shoes, and walked toward the door as though the argument had already bored him.

Behind him, my mother stood frozen, her anger slowly collapsing into quiet, helpless tears.

And I watched it all from the hallway.

"Louis, I’m going to buy you sweets when I get back. Behave," my father said with a chuckle.

His voice was light, almost playful, as if the shattered vase on the floor and my mother’s tear-streaked face were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

He looked down the hallway and spotted me standing there, half hidden by the wall.

For a moment, his smile widened.

Then he turned back to the door, slipping on his coat like a man leaving for an ordinary evening rather than walking away from a war he had started.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

The house fell silent.

My mother didn’t move at first. She simply stared at the empty doorway, her hands trembling at her sides, as though the fight had drained every bit of strength from her body.

Then slowly, she sank to her knees beside the shattered purple vase.

And the sound of her crying filled the room.

I was still standing in the hallway, clutching the edge of the wall, wondering how a man who could promise his son sweets could also leave so much bitterness behind him.

Even with all of that, my family never lacked anything.

We had money a lot of it, really. A house that echoed when you walked through it, servants who smiled too politely, food that was always perfect and always tasteless to me.

People thought we were lucky.

They didn’t hear the shouting.

They didn’t see the way my mother’s hands trembled when my father walked into a room.

Every weekend, my father took me to the ports. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

I hated those trips.

The air there was thick and bitter, smelling of salt and oil and something metallic that always made my stomach turn. Ships loomed over the water like giants, their bodies groaning as the tide moved beneath them.

But my father loved it.

When we arrived, men straightened immediately. Conversations died mid-sentence. Some greeted him respectfully, others simply lowered their heads like they were trying not to be noticed.

As a child, I didn’t understand why.

I only knew the place felt... wrong.

"Look carefully, Louis," my father once said, resting his hand on my head. "One day all of this will belong to you."

His voice was warm. Proud.

I wanted to feel proud too.

But something inside me shrank every time he said it.

The shipments that came during the day were normal. Crates of machinery, boxes of goods, containers stacked like colorful towers along the docks.

But the ones that arrived at night were different.

They came quietly.

No paperwork.

No loud voices.

Just trucks, dim lights, and men who worked quickly without speaking.

One night curiosity pulled me away from my father.

I wandered between the containers, my small footsteps echoing against the concrete. The fog from the sea had rolled in thick that night, swallowing the harbor lights and turning everything pale and ghostlike.

That was when I heard it.

A sound.

Soft.

Weak.

I followed it until I reached a crate sitting slightly apart from the others.

It moved.

Just barely.

My heart started beating so loudly I thought someone would hear it.

I told myself it was an animal. Maybe a dog. Maybe something caught during transport.

But when I placed my hand against the wood, I felt something move back.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like it was afraid.

My fingers trembled as I pushed the lid open just a little.

And then I saw eyes looking back at me.

Human eyes.

Red. Exhausted. Terrified.

For a moment the world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

I couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t know what frightened me more—the person inside the crate...

or the quiet realization forming in my mind about my father.

"Louis."

His voice came from behind me.

Low.

Calm.

I turned slowly.

My father stood there in the dim harbor light, watching me.

He didn’t look angry.

He didn’t look surprised.

If anything... he looked amused.

The same way he looked when my mother cried.

"Well," he said softly, stepping closer, "you found them sooner than I expected."

My stomach twisted violently.

"Dad...?" I whispered.

For a brief moment, I hoped like a stupid child that there was some explanation.

That I had misunderstood.

That this wasn’t what it looked like.

But my father simply smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder.

Heavy.

Possessive.

"You’re old enough to start learning," he said.

Behind him, the men continued loading the crates onto trucks.

The person inside the box didn’t make another sound.

And something inside my chest went cold.

Because in that moment I understood two terrible things.

First

my father was not a good man.

And second

one day he expected me to take his place.