Red Princess

65. The Wrong Side

Seydon

"That was one hell of a welcome," I sneered as I kicked the last door open while holding on to my bleeding shoulder. I finally felt the pain that reverberated through my body after having reached my destination. "And you call yourself my father."

He had one elbow on the table, his cheek resting on his palm, a bored expression gracing his face while his other hand turned the pages on a file. His eyes were downcast, not bothering to greet the intruder, as if he had been expecting me. Listlessly, he raised his gaze towards the door, impassiveness evident in those eyes. I could see the unmistakable resemblance then that I had chosen to dismiss all this time. My eyes were my mother's legacy, but everything else on my face I inherited from him, my father.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." That old proverb laced in his unperturbed voice sounded more like a threat than a reassurance.

The man literally launched an army to stop me from confronting him, or perhaps he was just testing my strength, hoping to subdue me rather than face me while I stood on my own two feet. His men did attack and try to stop me, but no one made a fatal attempt on my life, and once I knocked them out, nobody followed after me.

Still clutching my shoulder with my other hand, I raised my gun and pointed it in his direction.

A hint of amusement sparkled in his eyes, and his lips curved up into a smile. "Ten bucks say you won't pull that trigger."

I was guessing he was responsible for my sick playful nature as well.

Just to piss him off, I took the shot, and the bullet hit the wall behind him. To my surprise, he seemed unfazed by the action. His eyes didn't flinch in the slightest when the bullet almost grazed past him.

"Correction. You won't pull that trigger on me."

Now, this was where he had me. As much as I despised this man for targeting the person I loved, the entire narrative changed when I learned he was my father. My loyalties lay nowhere except with myself, and if this person would give me some answers, then he'd have my attention.

"Calling my bluff?" I countered. "Please say yes so I can get the satisfaction of putting this bullet in your head."

He shifted in his chair and then placed his elbows on the table, his arms crossed. He beckoned me to come closer, but I stood motionless at my place.

"Seydon Gilanhall. Here. Now." His voice commanded, and I felt a weird but warm pang in my chest.

Gilanhall.

Not Cross, but Gilanhall.

I wasn't a nobody here, unlike in the Cross family. My mother never married him, and yet he gave me his name. He likely never met anyone after her. He could either never love another or felt too betrayed to trust again. Whatever the case was, he had ended up hurt.

I lowered my hand and cautiously walked towards him. My blood seeped through my sleeve and trickled down, leaving a tiny, crimson trail behind me. I soiled his carpet, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed on me.

"What can I do for you, son?" He asked, his voice devoid of any emotion but the way he called me 'son' hit at some old, sore spot in my heart.

"I want to know more about my mother," I demanded. "Who killed Sharon Cross?"

His eyes narrowed, and his lips parted. His gaze was on me, but his mind roamed elsewhere. "Suana..." I heard him mumble the alias my mother used when she was with him.

"Would you believe me if I told you it was the Red Phoenix?"

What?

What the hell?