The Assassin's Killer

Chapter 1

THE RAIN starts to drop faintly outside a grand mansion. A young Cyron Black stands with his head down, staring at a red linoleum just to divert his embarrassment. He shouldn't be here. He knows it more than anyone. But he has nowhere to go. It's raining hard. And his stomach is empty.

“You can't bring that bastard here!” yells a beautiful woman with a golden hair, it is curly and long down to her slim waist. Cyron never dares to glance at her, to him she is the scariest person. He hates to see her angry eyes, always wanting to scorn at him. He is sure that she feels the same, although this is only the second time she has meet the woman.

“Do I have a choice? The election is aproaching, Reah. I can't compromise my reputation!” replies the tall man in his mid thirties. His brown hair is cleanly gelled to the right. His eyes are beautiful but deceiving.

Cyron is listening, grudging. He's only ten years old but he knows that they're arguing because of him. What else, anyway? He's smart for his age. He might be a prostitute's son but he's not stupid, as they always think he is.

“Send him away! That bastard is NOT welcome here, Michael!” her voice is angrier this time. Cyron sees her grabbing a flower vase, then she throws it madly on the wall, stressing that she's not going to accept him.

“If you insist this, I will file a divorce!”

The husband pauses for a moment, hesitations clipped to his face. He doesn't expect that his wife will resolve to that condition.

Hiding behind his father's back, Cyron tightens his grip with the piece of paper, the sole evidence that can destroy a politician's career. Or maybe the entire family. He cramples the paper and brings it above his small chest, silently cursing his birth, his name, and his unfortunate mother.

“You can't be like this Reah, please understand.”

Reah covers her ears with both of her hands. Unwillingness devour her soul. She can't possibly accept her husband's bastard son, not in a million years. Looking at him reminds her of Michael's treachery ten years ago.

Michael goes to her and grabs her hands, they exchange angry stares for a moment, then he says, “That child will make us more miserable if we don't agree to his terms.”

“Don't you dare to convince me, Michael. It's your sin that he exists!”

“Come on, dearie, it's been ten years already!”

“And counting!”

“Stop it already!” Michael yells, shrugging her wife's shoulders. “Don't you think of our son's future? If we don't let Cyron in now, he will flaunt to the world that he's my bastard son! He is capable to do that—just like his mother! Media will make a feast out of it and then what, Xim suffers the burden of having a bastard brother? Do you want that now?”

Cyron cluthes his chest, he feels like it's starting to ache. So, after all, his father only wants him in for their sake, and not because he loves him as a son. This must be the feeling his deceased mother felt when Michael denied her. He expects it to be that way. But the truth is more painful when you hear it yourself.

Cyron knows. He cannot expect truth to be happy.

Reah blinks her blue eyes in silence. She's finally silent. Tears start to fall on her cheeky face, her lips quiver as she bites the upper lip. She hates the boy. She hates him forever. Him and his prostitute mother is the reason of her misery.

“He will not be allowed to go out. Put him in to the guest's house, only then I cannot see his foul face.” Reah surrenders, wiping her tears off her face. Michael sighs, releasing her shoulders from his hold.