Yang Mo stood still, momentarily frozen by what he had just witnessed. Today, Lin Jindo had not erupted into a fit of rage. This was completely out of character for him.
The truth was, ever since Yang Mo had left, his mother, Zhou Yuan, had spent her nights in tears, pleading with Lin Jindo to bring him back. Under immense pressure, Lin Jindo finally relented, but while he had agreed to the idea in principle, he had never actually taken the initiative to bring Yang Mo home himself. In recent weeks, he had been preoccupied—either accompanying his mistress or working on the development of a new drug at the company. Seeing Yang Mo standing before him now was a surprise.
No matter what, for now, Lin Jindo knew he had to keep a crucial secret buried deep in his heart. If Zhou Yuan ever found out that Lin Coen was his biological son, the entire Lynn household would be thrown into chaos. Moreover, Zhou Yuan still held 50% of the Lynn family's board shares. Although she rarely participated in business decisions, the power was undeniably in her hands. For the sake of securing Lin Coen's inheritance and ensuring the successful development of the new drug, Lin Jindo had no choice but to feign reconciliation.
Yang Mo took a deep breath, his gaze indifferent. He had not returned to rekindle familial ties—only to make things clear.
"No. I'll say my piece and then leave."
"M-Mo, please! Just one meal," Zhou Yuan pleaded, rushing forward to pull Yang Mo toward the dining table. "Will you at least sit next to Mommy? Let me take a closer look at you."
Yang Mo's response was immediate. "No, that's your son's seat. I don't deserve to sit there."
A bitter smile tugged at the corners of his lips. There was a time when he had desperately longed to sit beside his parents during meals. But where were they then? Every meal turned into a critique session—if he ate too fast, he was scolded for being greedy; if he ate too slowly, he was called pretentious. If he spoke too loudly, he was uncultured, and if he was quiet, he was ungrateful. What was meant to be a simple act of eating had turned into a cruel performance, where he was the punchline to the Lynn family's mockery.
"Right, Brother Yang Mo! You should take this seat! I'm the adopted son—I'll just sit on the side," Lin Coen said with an exaggerated humility, making sure to emphasize the words 'adopted son.'
As expected, Zhou Yuan's heart softened instantly at the mention. "Little Coen, you're my son too. How could Mommy forget you? Come over here, there's space next to me."
Yang Mo narrowed his eyes. Such a transparent act. And yet, the entire Lynn family was blind to it. Truly pathetic.
"No, I'll just sit on the wooden bench in the back," he said, making his way toward it. "It used to be my exclusive spot anyway."
He had no intention of eating with them, yet Zhou Yuan was persistent. "Mo, please, will you sit next to Mommy?" she pleaded again. She still harbored a dream—one where both of her sons could coexist in harmony, where she could shower them with equal love and treatment.
"Never," Yang Mo said coldly. "What if I upset your precious son? Then Mister Lynn might beat me up again."
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
Lin Coen quickly put on an innocent expression. "Brother Yang Mo, Mom and Dad are very kind! How could they possibly do that to you? As long as you're willing to come back, I'll agree to any conditions. I'll even move out if that's what you want."
His voice was filled with fake sincerity. In the past, this would have been enough to rile up the three sisters, and they would have turned against Yang Mo immediately. But today, they remained silent.
Something had changed.
They exchanged glances, their faces solemn. Lin Coen felt a surge of panic rise in his chest. Why weren't they defending him? In the past, they would have leaped to his defense, scolding Yang Mo for his ingratitude. Yet now, they were merely observing, their gazes unreadable.
The unease in Lin Coen's heart deepened.
Yang Mo, meanwhile, simply sneered. "Go ahead. Eat. Can't you see your precious son is already looking upset?"
Lin Coen's face turned pale. He clenched his fists under the table, his nails digging into his palm. Why? Why wasn't anyone supporting him like before? Had they all turned against him?
For the first time, Lin Coen felt an unfamiliar fear creeping into his heart.