CHAPTER 109: CHAPTER 109- FATE

When Manfred received the report from the detective agency, his entire body went limp.

His trembling fingers pried open the final page of truth, and just like that—his vision blacked out. His brain short-circuited. It was as if the heavens had just played the cruelest joke imaginable on them.

"August, get to the hospital now. And tell Charles!"

He hung up the call, carefully placed the documents back into the envelope, slipped on his sunglasses, and started the engine. His destination? The hospital.

If this truth was enough to shatter August and Charles...

Then Derrick—that bastard—was the one who deserved to burn in hell.

Manfred didn’t just walk into Philip’s hospital room. He stormed in.

Naturally, the bodyguards outside tried to stop him—but he pushed through, his sharp and perfectly sculpted face twisted with contempt and arrogance.

The moment Derrick appeared, a dangerous curve formed on Manfred’s lips.

"You actually dare show your face in front of me? Today, I’m here to avenge Philip!"

Derrick’s expression darkened. Manfred had the guts to walk right into his line of sight? He had warned them—none of them would be spared. And now, this man had delivered himself straight to him. Perfect.

But before the bodyguards could even make a move, Manfred brushed aside the hair falling over his forehead. His gaze turned razor-sharp as he looked Derrick dead in the eye, his smirk now chillingly wicked.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" Derrick snapped. A strange unease gnawed at his chest, his heartbeat stuttering out of rhythm. Something wasn’t right. Something big.

"Take a look at this. Then decide whether you still want me dead."

Manfred tossed the document envelope right at Derrick’s face. Derrick caught it instinctively. At the same time, Manfred was seized by the guards with a single nod from Derrick.

But Manfred didn’t resist. He didn’t even flinch.

"What’s in that damn envelope?"

Derrick narrowed his eyes, studying the man in front of him—his smug grin, his almost gleeful malice.

This was too easy. Too unlike Manfred.

"Just open it and see," Manfred said coolly, tilting his chin. His eyes suddenly gleamed with venom and scorn.

If Derrick could still laugh after seeing what was inside, then he must truly be insane.

Derrick hesitated for a beat before tearing open the envelope.

And then he saw it.

Right on the top—that name.

His pupils shrank. His eyes trailed down the page.

The savage glint in his eyes began to twist and buckle under a tsunami of emotions.

"Manfred, what the hell is this supposed to mean? Huh?!"

Derrick’s expression twisted violently. His eyes bulged wide, as if they might burst from their sockets. He shoved aside the two bodyguards restraining Manfred, then grabbed him by the collar with one hand, yanking him forward, his glare burning with fury.

Norman... Norman, of all people?!

No.

No, this has to be a mistake!

"It’s exactly what you saw," Manfred said coldly, exhaling a sharp breath. "Norman’s body has a congenital defect. His reproductive organs are damaged. He can’t have children. So, Derrick—"

He paused, voice low and slicing through the air like a knife.

"Charles and August... are your sons."

"No. No! That’s impossible! It can’t be—!"

Derrick roared, his voice cracking as he shook Manfred violently. His entire world was collapsing in on itself.

With trembling hands, he stared down at the medical report detailing Norman’s condition. A single sheet of paper—and yet it shattered every truth he thought he knew. The rational part of Derrick’s mind gave way to chaos. A surge of emotion—shock, denial, horror, disbelief, and even fear—twisted across his face like a storm.

Manfred’s voice cut in again, this time colder.

"There’s also a DNA test. And the blood types. Philip’s blood type is RH-negative. So are August and Charles. That’s an extremely rare blood type, Derrick. And it’s hereditary—from you."

That was the moment everything started to unravel.

Manfred had stumbled upon Philip’s medical file by chance. The RH-negative blood type had immediately raised red flags. He’d lived with August for six years—he knew August’s blood type by heart. It was rare. Rare enough that it wasn’t just coincidence.

A terrifying thought had flickered through Manfred’s mind—too absurd to believe, yet too persistent to ignore. He’d ordered a full investigation. It took weeks to dig out Norman’s medical records. And when he finally did...

Norman had zero reproductive ability.

Which meant—Sienna’s sons...

Were all Derrick’s.

The truth was so twisted, so devastating, even Manfred had struggled to accept it.

But now? Now he was dropping that bombshell straight into Derrick’s lap.

Three decades. Thirty years of meticulous planning, of vengeance and manipulation, and in the end—

The two people Derrick had spent his life hunting down...

Were his own flesh and blood.

The cruelest joke in the world.

"Hahaha... HAHAHA!"

Derrick burst into hysterical laughter, so loud and hollow it echoed down the hospital corridor like a demon’s wail.

"You made this up! You made all of this up, didn’t you?!" he screamed. "You just want to save August! You’re playing mind games with me! I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it!"

He was losing it. Completely.

The truth—too hideous to accept—ripped through his sanity like a serrated blade.

The very people he had sworn to destroy, driven to ruin, step by step...

Were his sons.

What a joke.

What a sick, cosmic joke.

His maniacal laughter rang out again, cold and deranged, echoing through the desolate hospital floor like a curse.

"Derrick," Manfred’s voice cut through the silence like a curse.

"Smart as you are, in the end—you’re nothing but a damn fool. You spent your life setting a perfect trap, and the ones who fell into it... were your own sons. And you."

The words echoed in Derrick’s ears like a spell.

A surge of blood rushed up his throat, choking him. He stared blankly at the medical report in his trembling hands. His gaze lingered, hollow and fixed.

And then—he laughed.

Madly.

August... was his son too?

He had...

He had done that to his own son.

He had thrown August to the wolves in Australia. Let him suffer under Louis.

Let him be stripped of his dignity, crushed as a man.

He had driven August into a corner, left him no way out—

All while being his father.

And Charles...

He thought he had finally taken something precious from his enemy.

That Charles was the ultimate revenge, the prize in this twisted war.

But now?

Charles was his too.

His blood. His son.

And Charles... hated him.

Hated him to the bone.

What kind of sick joke was this?!

What kind of cruel fate turned vengeance into self-destruction?

Derrick’s legs gave out. His knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed hard onto the cold, gleaming floor tiles.

Behind him, a neat row of bodyguards stood frozen.

Not a single one dared to move.

Because this Derrick—the one crumbling in madness and grief—was someone they had never seen before.

He lay there, staring up at the sterile white ceiling.

And he laughed.

A laugh so hollow, so broken, it pierced the soul.

It was all a dream.

A dream soaked in blood and lies.

He had always thought he was the master of the game. The one who’d orchestrated every step, every piece, every sacrifice.

But in the end... he’d lost.

Completely.

Norman and Sienna—they were the real winners.

They had avenged everything.

And left him drowning in the wreckage.