CHAPTER 106: CHAPTER 106-COLLAPSED

"Dad, are you seriously insane now? Even if you cripple his legs, I still won’t be able to walk! Stop this madness already!"

Philip shut his eyes, exhaustion etched across his face.

The bloodthirsty man in front of him—this wasn’t the father he knew. How could his father be this cruel, this cold? Yes, he had hated him before. Resented him. But six years had passed, and now he could see the truth: he had been the real victim. If he could let it go... why couldn’t his father?

So much power. So much wealth.

Had that bottomless thirst for revenge turned him into a stranger?

"What nonsense are you spouting, Philip?" Derrick growled. "I told you—you will walk again! And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you in blood!"

His cold eyes landed on August, and his breath grew heavier.

"What are you waiting for? DO IT!"

August glanced at Janet—still restrained—and slowly closed his eyes.

His finger tightened around the trigger.

But before he could pull it, Manfred surged forward, yanking the gun out of his hand and dragging him backward in one swift motion.

Then—he lunged.

Manfred reached for Philip, pulling him up from the wheelchair, and in the same breath, aimed the gun right at his temple.

"Don’t move!" he barked. "Let’s see which life you care more about—your son’s, or hers!"

Manfred’s boldness was not born overnight. He had clawed his way through six brutal years in the U.S. to build ZT Group. Without guts, he wouldn’t have survived. Without certainty, he wouldn’t take a risk like this.

August immediately understood the plan. He sprang back to his feet, delivering a solid kick to one of Derrick’s bodyguards who had tried to draw his weapon. The priority now was clear: protect Janet.

Sure enough, the moment Derrick saw Philip, standing—vulnerable and trembling under Manfred’s grip—his entire body shook.

Philip was the only son he had left.

He couldn’t afford to lose him.

"You haven’t decided yet? Then don’t blame me for what happens next!"

Manfred pressed the cold muzzle harder against Philip’s head. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, but his eyes were unwavering. He had nothing left to lose. He was already crippled. If his life could stop Derrick from shedding more blood... it would be worth it.

"Don’t hurt Philip! I’ll let her go—okay? I’ll let her go!"

Derrick’s voice cracked.

This—this was his only weakness. He couldn’t gamble with Philip’s life.

His grip loosened on Janet. She collapsed—but before she hit the ground, August caught her and started leading her to the door.

Manfred still held Philip tightly, not moving.

August understood.

He quickly drove Manfred’s Maybach over and parked it by the front entrance, engine running, eyes locked with Manfred’s.

They only had seconds.

"Let my son go! Or none of you are leaving this place alive!"

Derrick’s patience had shattered. He gripped the gun tighter, still watching for his one last shot—his last move.

August returned swiftly. Janet sat silently in the backseat, tears in her eyes as she met Philip’s apologetic gaze.

He had done this for her.

He wanted to save her.

"Manfred..." August tapped the horn.

Manfred gave a firm nod.

Then, with one last shove, he pushed Philip back toward Derrick and turned to leap into the car.

But—

BANG!

Derrick had moved faster.

His hand had snapped up—gun aimed directly at Manfred’s head.

"NO! Don’t shoot!"

Philip’s scream rang out.

But his body moved before his mind could stop him.

He lunged forward, using everything he had left to block Derrick’s arm—

And then the gun went off.

The bullet hit his chest.

Blood splattered.

"PHILIP! PHILIP—MY SON!"

Derrick dropped the gun, eyes wide with horror.

He couldn’t believe it.

He had shot his own son.

"No... please, no more... Don’t hurt them anymore..."

Philip’s voice was faint, but his eyes were clear.

He knew the whole truth.

He knew the decades of hatred between Derrick and Norman—all of it, at its core, came down to one word: love.

A twisted, consuming love that had long rotted into vengeance.

But the grudges of the previous generation... should end now.

If it meant Norman could finally find peace...

If it meant Derrick could finally stop...

Then Philip was willing to trade his life for it.

"You’ll be fine, Philip. You’re going to be fine... Hahaha... Is this karma?"

Derrick knelt beside his bleeding son, laughing through his tears.

He had spent half his life fighting a dead man—and now the price of that obsession was being paid in his own son’s blood.

Philip’s face was turning ghostly pale.

In that instant, something shattered inside Derrick.

The hatred. The rage. The past.

He would give anything—everything—to save his son.

"Oh God, is that Philip?! He’s been shot—!"

Janet’s scream broke through the silence inside the car.

She saw the collapsed figure through the rearview mirror.

Her heart clenched.

How could Derrick be this cruel?

How could he pull the trigger on his own son?

"Don’t panic, Janet. He’ll be okay. We can’t go back now!"

Manfred’s voice was low but steady. He had heard the shot too.

He knew exactly what it meant.

That bullet was meant for him.

But Philip had taken it.

He had shielded Manfred without a second thought.

There was no question now—Derrick and Philip were nothing alike.

Manfred didn’t hesitate. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

The car roared as they sped away from Snowpeak Villa, not stopping for anything.

Back home, Janet searched desperately for Charles.

He wasn’t there.

She checked the company.

Still no sign of him.

She called Shaun.

Even he didn’t know where Charles had gone.

Panic set in.

Where could he be?

Why was he hiding again?

But she didn’t have time for this. Philip had been shot.

He might be dying.

And Charles had to know.

Charles wasn’t hiding.

He had gone to the cemetery.

To the graves of Norman and Sienna.

His real parents.

The ones he’d never dared to truly mourn.

The ones he’d spent his whole life unknowingly resenting... while living in someone else’s shadow.

He stared at the photo etched on the gravestone—

That man. That second uncle he used to loathe.

That man... was his father.

But the word—father—was stuck in his throat.

He couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t even breathe it.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky blazed in brilliant red.

Crimson streaks lit up the clouds, casting golden light over the city.

And then, a shadow fell across his own.

Charles didn’t need to turn around.

He already knew who it was.

That quiet understanding between them—he didn’t know it existed until now.

But August had found him. Instantly.

"I came to tell you..."

August stared at the gravestone, eyes blank, voice level.

"Philip’s been shot."

He didn’t look at Charles.

Didn’t need to.

He had seen Philip fall.

Seen the blood.

And in that moment, he asked himself—

Did he still hate him?

No.

Not anymore.

"What?"

Charles froze.

He thought he had misheard.

But he hadn’t.

In just one day, tragedy after tragedy had battered down every last wall inside him.

The fortress around his heart—

collapsed completely.

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