Chapter 41
Alwin always moved through his own house like a ghost, slipping past unnoticed, as though he had never existed at all. That day began with a series of medical examinations at the hospital, the relentless hum of machines monitoring each breath, each heartbeat.
But when night fell, he returned to the grand mansion that had once been his pride. It was surrounded by luxury—everything gleaming, pristine, and empty. None of it held any meaning for him anymore.
Ranti had decided to bring him home. A private medical team was hired to care for Alwin day and night, ensuring his treatments were followed rigorously. New prescriptions had been issued to calm his mind and stabilize his heart. Yet, despite the medications coursing through his veins, Alwin’s mind remained sharp, his anger far from being quelled.
Tonight was the grand Windermere clan dinner, a tradition held twice a year. The long dining table in the grand hall was laden with exquisite dishes, as if it were a royal banquet, bathed in the soft glow of the crystal chandelier, amplifying the grandeur of the occasion.
But Alwin was not there.
Instead, he lay in his darkened bedroom on the upper floor, drifting in and out of restless sleep. His body remained motionless, but his mind raced, trapped in an unending cycle of torment—flashes of the accident, the screams, the blood, and the inescapable weight of his fate.
His nightmares repeated endlessly, even under the influence of medication.
Downstairs, however, Ranti sat calmly at the head of the table, poised and graceful. She had spent the entire day ensuring everything was perfect for the dinner. She coordinated the chefs, decorators, and staff while simultaneously tending to Alwin’s needs at home. To everyone else, she was the picture of strength. A mother who would do anything for her troubled, precious son. But to Alwin, she was just another one of many people pretending to care.
The dinner proceeded smoothly, with members of the Windermere clan exchanging pleasantries as usual.
Alwin's grandfather, Theodore, glanced around the table before asking, "Where is Alwin?"
Ranti paused, her fork hovering above her plate. The question hung in the air, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.
"He’s resting," Ranti replied coolly, though the concern was evident in her eyes. "The doctors just adjusted his medication, and the transition has been difficult. His health has been deteriorating, and he’s had several cardiac arrests lately. It’s more complicated than we anticipated. He needs time and full care to stabilize."
Her explanation was flat and detached, the words coming out in a tone that seemed almost rehearsed.
Theodore nodded, accepting her answer without pressing further, and the conversation soon shifted to safer topics.
However, it wasn’t long before the conversation circled back to Alwin. His grandmother dabbed her lips with a napkin before speaking up. "I received the latest report. Alwin is still qualified for the assessment this year, although there are medical concerns that need to be addressed."
"We all know Alwin was always the favorite," Theodore said, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and bitterness.
"Yes, but that was before he fell into a coma," his grandmother replied firmly. "And before his position was overtaken by someone else. The Ashford family’s child."
The room fell silent, the tension palpable as everyone at the table absorbed the gravity of Alwin’s situation. Once, he had been the golden child—the heir apparent to the organization. Now, with his health declining and others starting to fill the void he left behind, the question arose: Could Alwin reclaim his position, or would the Ashford heir surpass him forever?
Whispers began to ripple through the room.
Piers, one of Alwin’s uncles, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "We must ensure he’s in the best condition for the assessment. Our family’s position in the organization depends on it."
Ranti nodded in agreement, her voice calm but edged with a determination that echoed her words. "Of course," she replied. "I will do whatever it takes to make sure everything goes smoothly."
The conversation continued, each family member offering their opinion on how best to manage Alwin's situation. But none of them suggested checking on his condition or even visiting him to see how he was faring.
To them, Alwin wasn’t a son, a brother, or even a human being. He was a tool, a pawn to be managed, a variable carefully controlled. In their eyes, he was nothing more than a means to an end—a stepping stone for their power.
Upstairs, Alwin lay in the dark. The muffled sounds of dinner floated through the thick walls. His mind drifted, caught between the haze of reality and the fog induced by the medication. He could almost hear them, their voices discussing him as if he weren’t there, as though he was no more than an abstract concept, something distant and easily discarded.
That was how they always treated him.
To them, Alwin wasn’t Alwin—the person, the human. He was Alwin, the instrument for power. The child who survived, only to return broken. And now, once again, they were planning his future without him, making decisions about his life as if he had never existed.
The dinner came to an end, and one by one, the guests left the house, content with the meal and the discussions of the day. Ranti escorted them out with a warm smile, maintaining the perfect demeanor she always wore. But once the door clicked shut, her smile faded, replaced by an expression of worry.
She walked upstairs, her light footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. When she reached the door to Alwin’s room, she stopped, her hand hovering over the door handle, unsure.
She hadn’t seen him since they brought him back from the hospital, too afraid to face him. But now, she could no longer avoid it.
With a deep breath, Ranti slowly opened the door, peering inside. The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the faint light of a bedside lamp casting shadows on the walls.
Alwin lay motionless in bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. As the door creaked open, his eyes fluttered open, slowly. He turned his head just enough to meet Ranti’s gaze, his eyes sharp, unfathomable.
"Alwin," Ranti whispered, her voice trembling. "How do you feel?"
Alwin didn’t respond immediately. He simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, laced with bitterness.
"You’re only here because of the assessment, aren’t you?" His words were cold, biting, and cutting. "You’re keeping me alive just to use me like you always did."
Ranti flinched, the accusation hitting her harder than she had anticipated. She fought to keep her voice steady as she replied, "Alwin, that’s not true."
Alwin let out a hollow laugh, bitter and empty, a sound that chilled the room.
"Don’t treat me like a fool," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You only care about what I can do for you—what I can do for your family. The power you gain through me. You don’t care about me."
Ranti’s chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking deep. She wanted to deny it, to refute everything he said, but a gnawing truth lingered at the edge of her conscience. In a way, Alwin was right.
She had failed him in so many ways. She had always seen him as a means to an end, and now, she couldn’t help but realize how far she had drifted from the love and care a mother should have for her son.
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