?Chapter 1292:


    “Does it hurt?” Waylon asked, his eyes dropping to Terrence’s knee with real concern.


    “It’s nothing. It’ll heal fast,” Terrence said, brushing it off.


    “Put some ointment on it,” Waylon said, his voice soft but firm. “And treat those cuts on your face. Don’t let them scar.”


    “Got it,” Terrence replied with a nod.


    Waylon suddenly broke into another harsh, violent cough.


    “Grandfather!” Terrence rushed forward, slipped a pill into his mouth, and grabbed a ss of warm water from the table. “Take your medicine.”


    Waylon didn’t say a word. He took a sip of water and swallowed the pill quietly.


    “You can go now,” he said, his voice low. “I need some time alone.”


    His face looked cold, his voice barely there, raspy and rough, like air scraping through an old, broken bellows.


    That smooth voice he once had was long gone, ruinedpletely in the explosion.


    Waylon’s hand curled into a fist, and his eyes burned with hatred, like a storm ready to break loose.


    It was that damn Herbert. He was the reason for everything that had gone wrong.


    Terrence stood there quietly for a second, then turned and walked away.


    As he left, he heard Waylon coughing again behind him. Terrence’s steps wavered for a moment, but he didn’t turn around. His hand slowly tightened into a fist at his side. He needed to find King quickly, yet after searching for so long, he still hadn’t discovered a single lead.


    Terrence tightened his fist and walked away with determination.


    When the door shut, the dimly lit room was left with only Waylon, sitting alone in his wheelchair.


    Waylon began to cough hard, his body trembling with the effort. His face turned red from the strain, and a surge of anger welled up inside him. Life was so unfair.


    Why did Herbert get to have a perfect family, children, and grandchildren who were all brilliant, while he was left disfigured, his body ruined, with barely a patch of healthy skin left?


    G  a lno  ve ls . is where the magic begins


    Since then, he had lived like a rat hiding in the dark, too ashamed to face people, too scared of the light, choosing instead to stay in gloomy corners.


    He had no loving family, no children of his own.


    His only grandson wasn’t even his by blood. Terrence was adopted.


    Terrence was nothing more than a weapon he had forged for his revenge.


    He had taught Terrence how to kill, how to be ruthless, merciless, and cold-blooded…


    But he had never taught him what love was. And yet, somehow, Terrence had fallen in love, with a woman who had changed him. Waylon squinted into the dark corners of the room, his expression unreadable.


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