Chapter 8
Just when I thought it was over, one of the wolfhounds lunged at me, its jaws wide open. I instinctively raised my arm to shield myself–and its sharp fangs sank deep into my flesh. A bloodcurdling scream tore from my throat.
Suddenly, a shadow darted past me. I blinked through the pain and recognized the man.
Apollo. One of my old coworkers from the construction site.
He raised a brick high above his head and smashed it down on the hound’s skull without hesitation.
Blow after blow, he fought with his life in the line until the snarling beasts finally fell still, one by one.
Panting, covered in sweat and blood, he turned to me.
“Why are you here?” I stammered, barely able to speak. “Why… why did you save me?”
He wiped the blood from his brow, offering a small smile.
“I happened to be passing by when I heard someone screaming. I couldn’t just walk away.”
He helped me to my feet, and with trembling steps, I followed him out of that hellish courtyard. He didn’t stop until he found a small, nearby hotel and got me checked in.
As I was about to thank him, he interrupted me, his expression suddenly grave.
“Julius, you need to see this.” He handed me his phone.
On the screen, my mother appeared.
Her face was streaked with tears, hair tangled and clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes were red, swollen, and brimming with desperation.
“My son is vain and greedy. I’m sick–I can’t give him the life he wants, so he ran away from home.”
“Please… If anyone sees him, help me find him. Without my son, I can’t go on living…” The video ended with a photo of me.
I scrolled numbly through the comments. Each word was like a dagger stabbing my heart. [So this is that brick–carrying internet pretty boy? Who knew he was such garbage underneath that face?]
[Poor woman! Sick and still forced to give money to her selfish son. She should’ve never given birth to him.]
[What a heartless bastard. She raised him all those years and this is how he repaid her?]
I placed the phone down and looked at Apollo.
“Do you believe what she said? Do you think I’m the kind of person who’d try to bleed my own mother dry?”
He was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed. “Maybe your family doesn’t know what really happened. Could this all be a misunderstanding?”
Chapter 8
23:49 Sun, 1 Jun 1
Jun.
91
I shook my head bitterly. “Those dogs that attacked me today… were released by my own. family.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “Julius… what are you saying? What happened to you?”
“They beat me,” I said flatly, “and then turned around and called me unfilial.”
The weight of it all crashed down on me. My voice cracked as I told him everything.
As he listened, Apollo stood there frozen, too stunned to speak.
I let out a hollow laugh, the corners of my mouth twitching upward into something that barely resembled a smile.
I’d seen that look before–sympathy, followed by silence, and then distance. They always left in the end. After all, It wasn’t their problem.
But after a long pause, he met my eyes, his voice firm.
“I believe you. And I’ll help you.”
True to his word, Apollo wrote up a detailed post sharing my side of the story and posted it online.
Because of the buzz my mother’s video had already caused, his post was quickly picked up and shared.
But instead of support, it unleashed a fresh wave of hatred.
[Wow, this guy really knows how to milk a tragedy. Still playing the victim?]
[Everyone knows his family loves him. His parents, his adorable little sister–they’re just poor, not abusive.]
[You can tell from those old videos his dad posted. They clearly love him so much.]
My father’s social media account had racked up tons of followers over the years.
He’d crafted my image as the “handsome laborer“-a pretty face breaking his back for his family. The contrast drew attention. The “poor but warm–hearted” family story drew sympathy.
And now, all those followers have turned their pitchforks toward me.
Some even doxxed me.
My phone buzzed constantly, filled with vile messages–death threats, slurs, accusations I couldn’t begin to count.
For years, my father had been spinning our misery into profit. Polishing up our pain and selling it as drama.
And all the while, they were getting richer–off of me.
