The day before the shareholders' meeting, a speeding car hit me with such force that both of my legs snapped.

My parents were frantic—at least, that's what it looked like on the surface—and flew in over a dozen specialists from abroad. But, despite all the effort, the conclusion remained the same. I might never walk again and would be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my life.

Late at night, I maneuvered myself toward the window, wanting for fresh air. But just as I reached it, hushed voices from the adjacent room caught my attention. My parents. And a lawyer.

"Mr. Peter, are you really not considering surgery for your son? If we delay any longer, Mr. Owen will never walk again."

The lawyer's voice was calm but carried an undertone of disbelief. My fingers tightened against the cold window frame.

"He is your biological son. Even if you want to hand the company over to Mr. Ethan, you didn't have to go so far as to stage the accident, did you?"

My breathing hitched. A chill ran down my spine.

"If Owen isn't crippled, Ethan won't be able to secure full control of the company," my father responded, his voice devoid of hesitation. "Owen has only recently been brought home—how can we entrust the company to someone without proper training?"

My mother didn't say a word.

"Once Ethan takes over, Owen will be well cared for. Since he has lost his legs, he might as well just stay home. We won't mistreat him."

A bitter taste filled my mouth. The accident—I had clung to the hope that it was just a cruel twist of fate. But no. My parents had orchestrated it. The people who should have been my protectors had planned everything, down to the shattered bones in my legs.

A warm and loving family? A prestigious household? What a joke. This was nothing but a gilded prison.

——

Inside the study, I saw my father flipping through the equity transfer agreement, his expression one of satisfaction.

"Ethan is a good kid. We raised him as our heir from the very beginning. I can rest assured handing the company over to him. Let's proceed as planned."

"That driver didn't spill anything, did he?" my father added. "As per our agreement, transfer three hundred grand to his family and help them relocate to another city. Make sure Owen doesn't find out."

My mother hesitated, her eyes red-rimmed, her voice trembling. "Peter, Owen is our real son. We already made a mistake by leaving him in an orphanage fifteen years ago. Now that we've finally brought him home, must you cripple him too?"

My father waved his hand impatiently, his brows furrowing in frustration.

"If he's not crippled, do you expect me to let him attend the shareholders' meeting and contend for chairmanship?" His voice was sharp, laced with irritation. "You know how ruthless everyone in the Griffith Family is. If Owen enters the company, he'll be utterly destroyed!"

My father's words were calm, rational even, as if he truly believed what he was saying.

"Rather than letting Owen get beaten down, it's better to hand everything over to Ethan. At least Ethan is capable and once he takes over, he won't mistreat Owen." My father let out a deep sigh, as if he had made a noble sacrifice. "This is the best solution—I'm doing this for Owen's own good."

My mother remained silent. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

The lawyer, caught in the middle of this cold, calculated betrayal, seemed to hesitate. But in the end, he quickly excused himself, leaving the room without another word.

I pressed my trembling fingers against the wall, trying to steady myself, but my breath came in ragged gasps. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, my father pulled out his phone and took several photos of the equity transfer agreement before forwarding them to Ethan.

His voice softened, dripping with pride as he made a call.

"My good son, I've already spoken with the shareholders. The meeting has been postponed for three days. Owen won't be able to recover in time to attend, so you'll be the only candidate. Do well and I'll have a celebration banquet waiting for you when you return."

My nails dug into my palm.

"The car accident was a great idea." My father chuckled. "I don't need to tell you what to do next, do I? Make sure to switch Owen's medicine to vitamins—don't harm his health."

The call ended. The sound of his voice still echoed in my ears.

Tears slipped uncontrollably down my face.

So, the car accident wasn't an accident at all. It was planned. Meticulously. Heartlessly. By the very people who were supposed to love me.

Five years ago, the Griffith Family had brought me back from the orphanage. I still remembered that day—the warmth of my mother's embrace, the way my father had held me firmly by the shoulders, looking at me as if he had finally found something precious he had lost. They had sobbed uncontrollably, saying how much they regretted everything.

"Owen, we've wronged you. We should have looked for you sooner."

"We'll make it up to you. You'll never feel unwanted again."

I believed them.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn't just an abandoned orphan. I felt like I belonged somewhere. I thought I had finally found my place, that I was a prince in a fairytale who had been lost but was now home.

They tried to make up for the fifteen birthdays I had spent alone, gifting me fifteen presents as blessings. My mother had personally picked them out, her face filled with guilt and love.

"These are all for you, sweetheart. To make up for the years we weren't by your side."

Not wanting to disappoint them, I had worked desperately hard. I threw myself into my studies, into business, into everything they wanted me to be.

I only wanted to be worthy enough to stand by their side.

Afraid that I would overthink things, my parents reassured me, saying that no matter what had happened in the past, Ethan was only an adopted son. He would never pose a threat to me.

"Owen, you're our real son," my mother had said, holding my hand tightly. "No one can take your place. Ethan understands this, too."

I wanted to believe them.

I spent an entire month meticulously preparing for the shareholders' meeting. I barely slept, pouring over documents, fine-tuning every detail of my proposal. I imagined the pride in my father's eyes, the approving nods from the executives, the feeling of finally proving myself. I wanted to surprise my parents, to make them proud of me.

But in the end, it was all just an illusion—a fleeting, fragile dream. To them, I wasn't their long-lost son. I was just an obstacle standing in Ethan's way. I guessed, in their eyes, controlling Griffith Group was far more important than keeping me.

The weight of that realization crushed me. My fingers curled against the wheelchair's armrests. The autumn air was crisp, but it wasn't enough to numb the ache in my chest.

I didn't even realize how long I had been eavesdropping until a voice jolted me from my thoughts.

"Mr. Owen, why are you here? It's chilly outside. If you catch a cold, Mr. Peter will be worried. Let me push you back inside."

Hearing the housekeeper's voice, my parents quickly rushed to the door. They appeared at the doorway, their eyes widening in shock when they saw me.

For a moment, their faces paled. Then, without hesitation, they took the wheelchair's handles and pushed me back to my room. My mother followed closely behind, her gaze darting to my face as if searching for any signs of distress.

Sitting in the wheelchair, my expression was blank, my heart hollow. My mother knelt in front of me, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with sorrow. Slowly, she reached out and stroked my forehead, her touch filled with what seemed like genuine affection.

"Sweetheart, it's my fault for not protecting you." Her voice trembled.

She lowered her head, gripping my hand tightly. "Tomorrow, I'll have the doctors move into the house to take care of you. You will recover, Owen. One day, you'll be able to stand again..."

Her words were filled with warmth, with love. But now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel it. Not anymore.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced myself to smile. My fingers tightened around her hand as I whispered, "Mom, I want to eat your sweet and sour ribs. Can you make them for me?"

She blinked in surprise, then quickly wiped away her tears and nodded.

"Of course! Whatever you want, I'll make it." She cupped my cheek gently. "As long as you're happy, I'd give you everything."

My father was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was still busy in his study, meticulously organizing the equity transfer documents, ensuring that everything was in Ethan's favor.