GABE’S POV

As I entered the restaurant, people flocked toward me, practically ready to kiss the ground I walked on. There was only one thing I hated more than Ernest Abertton: sycophants.

I headed straight for the second floor, where I’d reserved the entire space for this so-called family dinner—Ernest’s family, of course. I had no family, nor did I want anything tying me to what some called family: people sharing the same blood, clinging to emotional bonds because they were too weak to stand alone.

When I reached the table, I saw Ernest Abertton in the flesh for the first time. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to beat him senseless. I didn’t need to pretend I hadn’t had chances to break him in half and scatter his remains across the globe. But for a decade, I’d crafted a revenge designed to make him suffer until he ended his own life, unable to bear the pain. With patience and precision, I’d waited until I found his weakness: Olivia, his illegitimate daughter.

I glanced at his wife, Rose Abertton, a striking blonde with long hair, lighter streaks at the ends, slightly wavy from an expensive styling session she probably couldn’t afford. Her vivid blue eyes sparkled, and her sharp nose was tilted upward, matching her haughty demeanor. She was the type who didn’t have a dime to her name but played the part of a millionaire, even while drowning in debt.

The girl with long, chestnut-brown hair had to be Isabelle Abertton, the youngest at thirteen. She was scrawny, her lips coated in gloss that shone brighter than a rare diamond. Her tight dress clung to her childish frame, as if she were on display for sale.

As for Rita Abertton, the eldest, I hadn’t bothered digging deep. All I knew was she was a brunette with brown eyes, an average build, and an aspiring model. Probably sleeping her way to gigs. She didn’t interest me in the slightest.

“Your family’s not complete, Mr. Abertton,” I said, ignoring his outstretched hand as he stood rigidly before me.

“It is!” his wife snapped.

I shot her a look of disdain, making it clear she was as insignificant to me as her stepdaughter. Olivia was the wallflower, and Rose was the leaf—utterly useless, even compared to the wallflower.

“Olivia, my middle daughter, isn’t here,” Ernest began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

The moment I moved, a restaurant staff member appeared at my side.

“I want a private space to speak with Mr. Abertton alone,” I said firmly.

“Yes, Mr. Clifford,” the employee replied, hurrying off.

Ernest’s eyes narrowed, his confusion palpable. “But your secretary said you wanted a family dinner.”

“And it was,” I said, a mocking laugh escaping me. “But you’re not even capable of that, bringing only half your family.”

“The family is complete,” Rose interjected again. “Olivia isn’t part of it.”

I couldn’t help but stare at her. Why did this woman think I’d deign to address her?

“The space is ready, Mr. Clifford,” the employee announced.

“Come, Abertton,” I said without looking back, certain he’d follow.

We were ushered into a fully private room with a large glass window overlooking the city. Personally, I didn’t care for this place. They charged a fortune, but the food was mediocre. The chef hadn’t even trained abroad, which meant the menu didn’t meet my standards.

“Good evening, Mr. Clifford,” Ernest said as he sat across from me, his eyes so wide they looked like they belonged on a toy.

“Why isn’t Olivia Abertton here?” I asked bluntly.

He hesitated before answering. “Olivia is my daughter… from outside my marriage.”

“And she doesn’t live in your house?”

“She does, but…”

I glanced at my Rolex. My time was far too valuable to waste with the man I despised most in the world. I cut to the chase, bypassing whatever excuses he was about to offer. They didn’t matter to me.

“I know your company’s going bankrupt,” I said.

He swallowed hard. “That’s… hardly a secret in the business world, Mr. Clifford.”

“Your failure wouldn’t concern me,” I continued, “except that you owe me.”

“I… never took a loan from Clifford,” he said, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

“No, you didn’t,” I agreed. “But you took out bank loans. And you put up everything as collateral—everything except your family, because no one asked for them.” I couldn’t suppress a smirk as his face registered shock and helplessness.

“But that still has nothing to do with Clifford,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead despite the room’s cool air. I wanted to laugh out loud.

For the first time in over a decade, I felt a genuine urge to laugh. I never imagined the man who made me cry for the first—and last—time would also be the one to make me laugh again, even if it was just the fleeting joy of watching him crumble.

“It does, actually,” I said. “I bought the bank. Which makes your debts mine.”

Ernest’s lips tightened as he tried to process this. I didn’t need to spell out that I’d bought the bank to own his debt. That would be handing him part of the plan I’d spent ten years meticulously crafting.

“I… don’t understand where you’re going with this, Mr. Clifford,” he said, his voice shaky.

“I’ll be direct, Mr. Abertton,” I said, leaning forward. “I want your daughter, Olivia, to marry my brother, Jorel.”

Ernest’s lips twitched, and one eyebrow shot up in disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, as if his voice had betrayed him.

“Your debts are overdue,” I continued. “Your house is about to be seized by the bank.”

“I… put the company up for sale,” he stammered. “The highway concession could cover the debt.”

“No,” I said coldly. “I’ll take your house, seize your assets, and you’ll still have to hand over the company. Even then, it won’t clear what you owe the bank.”

“The interest rates… they’re too high,” he protested.

“Frankly, I don’t care,” I said. “You signed the contract.”

“I don’t understand why Olivia’s part of this conversation,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want my brother to settle down,” I said. “It’s time for him to take on some responsibility. Simple as that.”

“Jorel Clifford… he’s quite infamous in the national media,” Ernest said, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“For all the wrong reasons,” he added, his voice tight.

“Oh, is your daughter some delicate porcelain princess, then?” I asked, my tone sharp with mockery.

“To me, she is,” he replied.

“I see,” I said, unable to hold back a smirk. “That must be why she stayed home while the rest of your family is here. These family ties and sentimental nonsense make me sick.” I sighed dramatically. “You could live two lifetimes and still not pay off what you owe me, Abertton.”