The next morning, Mordred's parents saw the viral video and wasted no time in summoning him to their estate. He knew it was coming, yet he wasn't in the mood to deal with their hypocrisy. Still, he went. Not because he feared them, but because he was done letting them think they still had control over his life.
As soon as he stepped inside their luxurious home, the air was thick with tension. His father, Mr. Martin, sat in his usual grand leather chair, legs crossed, fingers tapping impatiently against the armrest. His mother, Mrs. Martin, stood by the fireplace, her cold gaze locked onto him as if he were nothing but a disgrace.
"Mordred," his father started, his voice dripping with disapproval. "After all the money we've spent on you since childhood, is this how you repay us? Making a fool of yourself in public? Ignoring the path we set for you?"
Mordred stayed silent, his expression unreadable.
His father continued, voice rising. "You know Jade is the woman you need in your life! We chose her for you because she's from a family of status. That woman in the picture—who is she?"
His mother's voice was harsher. "Tell me now, Mordred! Who is she?"
Mordred simply stared at them, unbothered. He had long stopped expecting love from these people. They were his parents in name only.
"If I wanted to tell you who she is, I would have," he finally said, voice cold. "But looking at how you two are acting, I thank goodness I didn't." His gaze sharpened. "And another thing—you don't get to make decisions for me anymore. You never did. I am not a puppet for your business deals or your twisted social climbing."
His father's nostrils flared. "Watch your mouth, boy."
Mordred smirked darkly. "Or what? You'll disown me? News flash, I was never truly your son, was I?" He leaned forward slightly. "Besides, I choose how I live, and if that bothers you, do your worst."
His father slammed his fist onto the table. "How dare you! You ungrateful bastard! Whoever this woman is, she better be prepared for war. You know I don't lose."
Mordred chuckled, shaking his head. "You think I don't know how you operate? You think I don't know about your illegal connections, your shady business deals?" He leaned in, his voice dangerously calm. "If anything happens to her, I will make sure you go down with me. One call, and everything you've built will crumble. Don't test me."
His father clenched his jaw, but it was his mother who spoke next, her voice filled with venom. "You're a waste," she spat. "Wasting your looks, your status, everything we built for you."
Mordred finally turned his full attention to her, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. "You should be ashamed to call yourself a mother," he said, his voice laced with quiet anger.
His mother stiffened.
"Mothers raise their children. You? You hired strangers to do that while you flaunted your wealth. You threw me to the wolves, pushed me into the spotlight like a product to be sold." His eyes darkened. "You never loved me. You don't even know how."
His mother's lips thinned, but she said nothing. She knew he was right.
Mordred took a slow breath, pushing away the lingering pain that threatened to resurface. He had spent years chasing their approval, hoping for even an ounce of warmth. But he was done.
"You have no right over me," he finished, voice steady. "Not anymore."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.
And this time, he wasn't looking back.
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