A Last Chance

Ouch!

"Urgh. My head..."

Damian Reed rubbed the back of his head as he tried to sit up from where he had fallen. Once again he was having a nightmare, but this time it ended with him falling out of bed and breaking the nightstand beside him. He rubbed his eyes, yawned as he scratched his stomach, and opened his eyes.

[You remembered ???]

"Same screen again. Whatever. I'm used to it."

I threw off the blanket covering me and pulled myself up. First I gathered up my blanket and shook it out. Then I spread it out again on the top bunk. I climbed back down and started picking up the broken nightstand pieces. Fortunately, I hadn't put much into it, having learned from previous accidents. There were just a few clothes and two or three books. I put the broken pieces aside and grabbed the clothes and books. The clothes were torn, but fortunately, the books were mostly undamaged. I piled everything on the desk under the bunk bed. I'll organize them after cleaning up the mess—no need to rush.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"You okay?"

I could hear my sister's worried voice from outside the door. Well, my stepsister's voice to be exact. Not wanting to worry her any further, I replied quickly. "I'm fine. Come in and help me."

My sister slowly opened the door and poked her head in without stepping inside. "Have you broken the bedside table again? Doesn't the bunk bed have a guard? How did you manage to fall?"

I paused at the question. Where was the guard, really? My gaze shifted from her to the pile on my left. The wooden guard with a metal frame, about a meter long and 30 centimeters wide, lay broken in front of me. I picked up the pieces and said with a slightly mocking tone and a grin, "Is this what you're talking about?"

"Ugh. For God's sake. Even these can't stand up to you anymore. I've lost count of how many times you've broken them." She muttered to herself as she walked into the room, irritated.

My stepsister, Shelia Stark. She stood about five foot three, with straight auburn hair that reached down to the middle of her back. Her hazel eyes and pale white skin gave her a delicate appearance, and she had a sweet, gentle face to match. She was also the only biological child of the strongest man on the continent. Nearly every guy I knew was after her, but she turned them all down. If she wasn't my sister, I'd probably make a move too.

I had a mischievous grin on my face as she continued to complain. It was always fun to tease her, but she had every right to be annoyed this time. I had been having frequent nightmares which made me restless in my sleep and led to incidents like this. I had even broken the bed a couple of times. She noticed my grin and, clearly irritated, smacked me on the head.

Bonk!

"Ow! Why'd you hit me? My head already hurts."

"Stop grinning then."

She knelt beside me and began to pick up the pieces. "Another nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"How did it end?"

I pointed at the broken nightstand with my thumb. "I think that says it all."

"Hmm, I see," she nodded in understanding.

In my dream, I had died by falling from a great height. Whether I'd seen the dream because I'd fallen from the bunk bed, or whether I'd fallen from the bed because of the nightmare, I couldn't tell. Not that it really mattered. The only thing that bothered me was the message that appeared every time I woke up from one of these nightmares. I had no idea what it meant, or what I was supposed to remember, and frankly, I didn't care anymore. I'd ignored it for a long time.

As we were gathering up the pieces, two men in suits entered the room through the open door. "Young master, are you alright?" the one on the right asked. He was bald, wore glasses, and was much older than the other, in his 50s. Without waiting for an answer, they quickly approached us and began to clean up the mess in our place.

"I'm fine, just a sore head," I replied.

"Seems even a rock-hard head can feel pain," my sister teased from the side.

"What color would you like for the new bedside table, young master?" the younger servant asked.

"The same as always, a mixture of anthracite and wood."

"As you wish, young master."

My favorite color combination - is anthracite and wood. Anthracite was my favorite color and my whole room was designed around it. It goes perfectly with wood.

While the servants were still tidying up, a third male servant appeared at the door. He was about 30 years old and well-built. "My lady, young master, breakfast is ready. Your father is waiting," he announced.

"'Alright, we're coming," my sister replied.

"Let's not keep Father waiting," I said as we left the room and started down the hall.

"You go ahead, I'll just go to the bathroom real quick."

"Don't take too long," she warned walking ahead.

I turned the knob and stepped into the bathroom. The bright white tiles gleamed under the light I had just switched on. It was almost too bright for someone like me. After relieving myself, I washed my hands and face, then stared at my reflection in the mirror as I straightened my hair.

'It's time for a haircut.' I thought. If I didn't get it cut soon, I'd start to look like my sister. Without wasting any more time, I left the bathroom and went downstairs.

To my left was a large glass door and in front of me was a long corridor full of doors. I entered through the glass door on my left.

"Mmh, smells delicious. Aunt Eva has worked her magic again," I muttered to myself as I was greeted by the mouthwatering aroma and the sight of a large dining table.

Aunt Eva wasn't my real aunt, but she might as well have been, the way she cared for me. Not only was she an amazing cook, but she was also a genuinely kind person. She had always treated Shelia and me equally, never showing favoritism. At the table, my father and sister were already seated. Next to my sister was Aunt Eva and next to her was her husband, Uncle Mike.

The seat across from my father, at the far end of the table, was empty. It was where Shelia's mother had sat. We kept it empty in her memory, as a sign of love and respect. From what I had heard, her mother had died shortly after she was born, and she had been raised by our father ever since.

Across from Uncle Mike sat Uncle Damon, and next to him was his wife, Aunt Luna.

As soon as I walked through the door, everyone except my father gave me that 'you're late' look. It was quite embarrassing, but I didn't really care. All I wanted to do was fill the black hole in my stomach. I pulled out the chair across from my sister and sat down.

The table was filled with a variety of cheeses, cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, salami, sausages and so many other types of food. The plates and cutlery were shining brightly- definitely the breakfast of the rich. Without saying a word to anyone, I dived straight into the food.

No one spoke during the meal. Normally my father would be the one to start a conversation, but even he was silent.

'I've screwed up.' I thought to myself. Whenever something like this happened, he'd usually scold me during the meal and warn me not to do it again. But his silence? That was a bad sign. There's even a saying here: Be afraid of the silent father.

I finished my meal and asked permission to leave.

"Go to my office and wait for me," he said.

Damn. He's definitely angry.

I entered his office and shut the door behind me. Normally I'd take a seat, but my nerves were on edge, so I decided to walk around the room instead. It was a spacious office. As you walk in, a large desk greets you, with a pen holder, a computer, some files, and a nameplate on it. In front of the desk were two black leather chairs, separated by a glass coffee table. To the left, two tall windows let in sunlight, filling the room with warmth. On the right, shelves held my father's many awards - so many they could hardly fit in. In the far right corner, a towering plant reached to the ceiling.

I slowly made my way to my father's desk. Leaning against his large, overly comfortable black leather chair, I stared at the painting behind it - his portrait. Logan Stark, the richest man on the continent, and to some, the most powerful. People even whispered that he ruled the continent from the shadows, with the government unable to touch him. Those rumors? They were true. Every one of them, and even lacked some.

"Logan Stark."

As if waiting for me to say his name, my father walked in at that moment.

My father was a man with short, light brown hair and piercing brown eyes. He was built like a mountain, with a well-defined physique. At 1.85 meters, he was taller than me. As usual, he was wearing his 'comfortable' outfit: black trousers and a white shirt, a combination he wore almost every morning. His eyes bore into mine as he said, "Stop pacing and sit down."

Without a word, I obeyed. My father rarely got angry with my sister and me, but when he did, it was terrifying. He walked around me and sat down in his chair. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

"Is something wrong, Father?" The pressure was suffocating, but I did my best to keep my voice from shaking.

"What are your plans for today?"

Huh? Why did he ask me that all of a sudden? I decided it was best to answer quickly. "Xion has challenged me to a duel today. Again. I'm going to meet him and we'll probably hang out afterward."

"Xion, the blond one, right?"

"Yes, father."

"Hmm, good. Come back early tonight. I'll give you another mission. And get your hair cut before the meeting."

"Alright, Father. Wait, what?"

Was he... not mad? Before we discussed the mission, I had to clear this up.

"Father... you're not angry with me?"

"'For messing up your room? I've gotten used to it. A new one will be ready for you tonight, along with some new clothes," he said with a mocking tone.

"So what was with the angry looks?"

If he wasn't angry, why was he staring at me like that?

"Because otherwise, you don't listen. The moment I need you, you start sulking."

Ah, so that's what it was. My father had found out how to handle me. Now I couldn't even take the risk of acting out, wondering if he was really upset. He had me cornered, but I felt somewhat relieved.

"And what's with all these missions lately? You rarely give me any, but this is the second one this week. What's going on?"

His tone changed immediately. "Have you forgotten the rule? No questions about missions. Just do them."

"Alright, alright, I got it."

"You'll find the detailed file in your room when you get home tonight."

"In that case, I'll take my leave now, Father."

He didn't say anything, just waved me off dismissively with his hand. I closed the door behind me and let out a deep sigh of relief. I didn't like the mission, but staying out of trouble was more important right now.

I made my way back to the dining room. My sister greeted me with curious eyes. "So? Looks like you didn't get your ass kicked."

"You little---"

"'Alright, alright, calm down. Are you going out?"

"How did you know?"

"You got a message on your phone. Here you go." She shoved my phone in my face, clearly enjoying getting under my skin. Like me, she took pleasure in annoying me.

I made my way to the lift.

"I'm leaving."

A shrill voice followed me. "Don't be late!"

Ugh. She sounded like classic Mums.