CHAPTER 138: THE PROMISED BETWEEN BROTHER

"Some times back then," was the only thing Maxwell managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was dragging the words out of a locked chest.

His lips trembled around the words, and when they left him, he felt emptier than before, as if something sacred had been torn out of him.

"Just that?" Logan asked, studying him carefully, his tone light but carrying weight.

His brows furrowed slightly, a shadow forming over his face.

He tilted his head, searching Maxwell’s eyes as though trying to peel back the layers he was hiding behind.

Maxwell nodded, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The air left him shaky, his chest rising and falling too fast. He lowered his eyes quickly, unable to meet Logan’s steady gaze.

The subject pressed on his chest like a stone, and he had no strength left to carry it further.

And because he didn’t want to continue, he asked, almost defensively, "Is that... all?" His throat tightened as he said it, his voice coming out sharper than he intended.

His eyes shifted to the phone Logan was holding up, clinging to it as a distraction.

Logan smiled faintly, but there was something deeper in his expression.

His lips curved, but his jaw was taut, his eyes glowing with a kind of sorrowful wisdom.

His eyes narrowed with that knowing look, the kind of look that made Maxwell feel both seen and cornered.

Logan realized instantly that Maxwell didn’t want to continue the conversation, and he didn’t force it.

He had always known when to press and when to retreat, and right now, he retreated with quiet authority.

"No, that’s not all," Logan said, his voice firm yet oddly gentle. "Since now you know about United Unity Bank, let’s proceed with another."

A light smile touched his lips, but it wasn’t careless—it was deliberate, measured, as if he had already made up his mind about what must be done.

His fingers drummed lightly against the side of the phone, his breaths steady, his posture calm but unreadable.

Maxwell blinked, confused, his brows pulling together, lips parting slightly as if to protest.

But before he could speak, Logan leaned in slightly, lowering his tone to something almost conspiratorial.

His shoulders hunched a little, his voice threading through the air like a secret.

He began speaking slowly and carefully, choosing his words like a teacher guiding a reluctant student.

One by one, Logan started teaching him—his passwords, his accounts, his secrets, the smallest habits that only Logan Steve himself would know.

The way he signed his name, with a barely visible curve at the end of the "g." The way he carried himself when he entered a room, back straight, chin lifted, eyes unwavering.

The way he spoke to his family, with reverence and care, yet with a quiet authority that demanded respect.

Everything.

At first, Maxwell just listened with furrowed brows, his mouth set in a thin, uncertain line, unable to grasp why Logan would entrust him with so much.

His hands fidgeted restlessly in his lap, fingers digging into his palms, nails leaving faint crescents in his skin.

But as the minutes stretched, he found himself absorbing it like a sponge, every detail stacking up in his head like bricks in a wall he hadn’t agreed to build.

He raised his head finally, frowning. His lips trembled before the words slipped out.

"Why... why are you teaching me all this?" His voice trembled, a mixture of confusion and something close to fear.

His eyes darted nervously, as though the answer itself might consume him.

Inside, his thoughts twisted like tangled ropes. ’ Why would he give me his whole life like this? His passwords, his secrets... I’m not him. I don’t even know his parents, his world. Why me? Why burden me with this?’

The question slipped from his mouth again, sharper this time.

"Logan... why me? Why do you want me to carry all this? I don’t even know who I am half the time, and you—" He stopped, biting his lip so hard it nearly bled.

His heart pounded too loud in his ears, drowning out the hum of the machine beside them.

Logan leaned back, his smile fading into something heavier, something etched with both pain and determination.

His chest rose and fell, slow and steady, but his face had hardened, as though he was readying himself to say something final.

He fixed his gaze on Maxwell, his eyes dark and steady, as if he were trying to engrave them into Maxwell’s soul.

"Maxwell," Logan said slowly, as if weighing each syllable, "I want you to go back to my family. To my parents. As Logan Steve. Brave enough."

The words landed like a thunderclap.

Maxwell’s eyes bulged, widening so much it was as though they would fall out of their sockets.

His throat closed up, his chest tightening instantly, breath catching in sharp, shallow bursts.

He almost choked on his own disbelief, his lips parting without sound.

"What?!" he gasped, his voice breaking. "Me? Go to your family? As you?" His hands trembled as he gripped his knees, his knuckles turning pale against the strain.

Logan didn’t flinch. His jaw stayed steady, his lips firm, his stare calm as stone, even as Maxwell’s world flipped upside down.

"You heard me right," Logan said quietly. His eyes softened, but there was no room for doubt.

"I’m not asking—" his voice broke for a moment before resettling, "—I’m telling you. I need you to be me. To carry the name Logan Steve when I can’t."

Maxwell shook his head violently, his hair falling into his face, his voice rising until it cracked.

"No, no, this is crazy! How can I—how can I pretend to be you? They’ll see right through me. Your parents will know I’m not their son. I’m just—"

His voice cracked completely, a strangled sound leaving him. "I’m just Maxwell."

His thoughts raced like wildfire.

’ This can’t be real. He’s joking, right? Some twisted kind of joke? Why would he push me into a life that’s not mine?’

But Logan wasn’t joking. His eyes held no trace of humor, no flicker of doubt.

His lips pressed into a thin, grim line.

His brows were furrowed with the weight of an impossible decision already made.

---

Logan’s face suddenly changed.

The steady calm that had filled his eyes just moments ago faltered, replaced by a sharp flicker of pain that twisted his expression.

His nostrils flared as his breath caught in his chest, shallow at first, then faster, ragged, uneven.

The soft beeping of the machine beside his bed quickened, sharp and insistent, the sound slicing through the air like a warning bell.

"Logan?" Maxwell’s voice cracked as he lurched forward, his own eyes wide with alarm.

The blood drained from his face, his skin clammy.

He reached out instinctively, his hand hovering over Logan’s shoulder, not knowing what to do, afraid that touching him might make things worse.

His palm shook violently in the space between them.

The machine’s rhythm stuttered again. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep.

Logan’s chest rose and fell erratically, his breaths short, desperate, dragging, as if his lungs were fighting a losing battle.

His lips parted, his face paling, beads of sweat forming along his brow. The sight made Maxwell’s blood run cold.

"Doctor! Somebody—doctor!" Maxwell shouted, his voice echoing down the sterile corridor like a cry for salvation.

His heart hammered in his chest, panic clawing at him like a wild animal.

He turned back quickly, clutching Logan’s arm tightly, his nails digging into the fabric of the hospital gown.

His eyes filled with fear, brimming, threatening to spill over.

"Stay with me, Logan, please—don’t you dare leave me now!" His words tumbled out in desperation, his voice trembling, breaking, spilling into the air like shattered glass.

Logan’s lips parted again, a faint sound leaving him—broken, weak, fragile as glass.

His eyes flickered toward Maxwell with effort, dragging in every ounce of strength left in his body.

"Promise me..." Logan’s voice was rough, barely audible, but heavy with urgency.

His breathing hitched again.

"Promise me... you’ll do it. Be me. Live as Logan Steve... the heir. Promise..." His face contorted in pain, his brows knitted, his lips quivering with effort.

Maxwell shook his head frantically, tears blurring his vision.

His cheeks burned hot with desperation, his throat tight with grief.

"Don’t talk like that, don’t you dare—! You’ll live, Logan, you’ll get up from this bed and tell your family yourself. Don’t put this on me—"

Logan’s hand twitched weakly, a faint, trembling movement, grasping at Maxwell’s fingers with what little strength remained.

His skin was cold, clammy, but his grip—however faint—was enough to anchor Maxwell.

His eyes locked on him, pleading, commanding, filled with a desperate fire that made Maxwell’s heart crack.

"Promise me, Maxwell," he whispered again, his words sharp even through the weakness.

"Or everything will be lost. My family... my parents..." His chest heaved, his breath tearing raggedly. "You’re the only one... who can carry me."

The machine shrieked suddenly, a harsh alarm breaking through the room.

Maxwell nearly leapt to his feet, his heart exploding in his chest. The sound cut through him, rattling his bones.

The door burst open, and the doctor rushed in with two nurses, their shoes pounding against the floor, voices sharp, movements fast.

The scent of antiseptic filled the air stronger, mixed with the raw metallic tang of fear.

"Step aside!" the doctor barked, his face stern, his brows knit tight as he pushed Maxwell back.

The nurses moved swiftly, checking tubes, adjusting the machine, their hands precise but frantic.

Maxwell stumbled, his back hitting the cold wall, his chest heaving as he watched in horror.

His fists clenched helplessly at his sides, nails biting into his palms until his skin burned.

He wanted to rush forward, to drag Logan back into himself, but all he could do was stand there, shaking, his tears spilling uncontrollably.

Logan’s body jerked slightly as they checked his vitals, the doctor calling out numbers Maxwell couldn’t process.

The world spun around him, collapsing in on itself, his ears filled with nothing but the pounding of his own heart and the wailing machine.

Minutes dragged like hours. The lights above buzzed faintly, the air grew heavy, and Maxwell’s breath hitched in sobs he could not contain.

Then, finally, the alarm softened, steadying again.

The doctor straightened, his gloves stained with urgency, his face grave.

He turned slowly toward Maxwell, his expression heavy, his voice low but firm.