She Became Rich After Divorce

Chapter 708: Am I Really Your Son?

In Miller Residence, a dark figure suddenly appeared in the pitch-black house.

If it weren't for the fact that everyone in the villa had returned home for the day, he would have surely scared them.

Out of habit, he looked towards the small room on the second floor and instinctively called out, "Mother."

But there was no reply.

He couldn't help but mock himself for being foolish because... his mother had passed away a long time ago.

No one would ever bring him a bowl of steamy soup again.

His eyes grew dim.

He navigated through the darkness and made his way up to the second floor. After changing into a black robe, he picked up his phone and headed out, alone, to watch a movie.

"Hell," a film by the renowned director, was highly praised by others but ended up being boring for him, as he dozed off in the theater.

Still by himself, lonely, he made his way home.

While on the road, he noticed a small shop that was still open. A big red lantern hung from the eaves, emitting a warm, golden-red glow.

Benson pushed his hands deeper into his sleeves, resembling a disappointed and solitary swordsman, as he walked inside.

A moment later, he walked out again.

Just like before, only this time he had an oily paper package in his hands.

As he passed through the living room, he was about to turn on the lights when suddenly the crystal chandelier brightened, illuminating the entire hall, which was immaculately clean. "You are back," a chilly voice suddenly echoed through the hall.

The person sitting on the sofa slowly stood up, their deep and composed eyes fixed directly on Benson.

It had been almost eight years since they last met.

Benson looked at his father, with his white hair, and a wave of excitement washed over him. He couldn't help but let tears well up in his eyes as he softly called out, "Father!"

"Mm!"

The man, around fifty years old, stood tall and slender.

His neat short hair accentuated his well-defined features. With proper care, even his handsome eyebrows and eyes appeared to be in their forties.

He was Rohan, whom Cheyenne had encountered in the hall earlier.

"By the way, I've dismissed all the household staff. I'm going to Truphis tomorrow, and this time you're coming with me!"

He spoke while examining Benson, who, after all these years, had grown taller than him by almost a head.

He had become a full-fledged adult.

There was a resemblance to his deceased wife in his appearance, causing a hint of redness in his eyes. He suppressed his emotions, trying to meet his father's gaze with a calm look. "I'm going too? I won't go!"

Without hesitation, Benson refused his command and glanced upstairs, his peripheral vision catching a glimpse of the room.

His Adam's apple moved, and his emotions sank. "I want to stay here with Mom."

As soon as he finished speaking, an unexpected backhand slapped his face violently.

Almost instantaneously, his delicate and beautiful face bore a fresh imprint of five fingers, its deep-set eyes shimmering with a faint redness.

Benson looked up in astonishment at his father, whose face had turned frosty. His cold eyes resembled the harshness of winter as he declared, "You are not allowed to mention her again!"

"Why? Why am I not allowed to mention her? It was because of you that she died. If it weren't for you, she wouldn't be dead!"

Tears welled up in Benson's eyes as his voice turned icy, accusing his father of his selfishness and indifference.

Hearing that Benson was still resentful towards him about this matter, Rohan's figure trembled under the light, almost losing his balance and falling. Fortunately, he had a cane in his hand to barely support himself.

"You don't need to know why! You are my son, a member of the Miller family! So, you should follow my arrangements. Whatever I tell you to do you just do it!" Rohan exclaimed. en.swhovels.net

At this moment, Benson truly felt the irony of his existence.

He let out a deeply disappointed smile.

The bitterness and mockery contained in that smile made Rohan's heart skip a beat.

He glanced at his own palm with a determined gaze.

He didn't regret slapping Benson.

And Benson laughed because he found his own foolishness amusing.

From childhood to adulthood, he always walked on eggshells to please his father, studying hard, practicing the piano diligently, never

daring to let himself be hindered by

illness because his father liked

excellent children.

So, he practiced like crazy every day, devoting all his time to playing the piano and learning Praying Magic.

Yet, all he received was the same persistent coldness.

Because of him, the esteemed Rohan, the head of the Miller family, had plenty of children.

He didn't lack a single one like Benson.

After his mother's death, he wandered alone for eight years.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

In all these years, he never received a single word of concern, nor a greeting. Even when they met, it was distant and perfunctory commands, nothing more.

"I won't go," Benson firmly stated.

After making his decision, he turned on his heel and walked up the stairs.

When he reached the landing by the staircase, his towering figure suddenly stopped, standing beneath the dazzling crystal chandelier.

The glaring white light shone on his face, casting a cool silvery glow, making it impossible to discern the man's features.

He heard a low, magnetic and alluring voice in his ears.

He asked, "Father, am I truly your son?"

After saying that, he continued walking forward, closing the door.

He isolated himself from the man downstairs, leaving no connection between them.

That night, despite turning off the lights, Benson couldn't fall asleep. He touched the necklace his mother left behind, lost in memories.

In the corner, the food he had bought quietly lay in its box, gradually losing its heat with the passing of time.

It was his mother's favorite food.

The next day, before dawn.

Benson went downstairs and deliberately peeked into his father's room.

Once again, the empty room brought him to silently weep, biting his lip.

If his father didn't care, why did his father take even the favorite photo of his mother?

But if his father did care, why did his father never show concern for them?

Was he disappointed with them, and therefore, didn't want him as his son anymore?

After crying for a while, Benson

composed himself and walked downstairs absentmindedly. On the

long table, there was a hearty breakfast with chicken sandwiches and his favorite scallion pancakes.

For several consecutive days, he lived in melancholy.

This scene made the household servants unable to help but wipe away their tears, wishing Master Darren to be more accepting. After all, he was the most talented child in the Miller family.

If only he knew how to compromise, Rohan would surely shower him with affection.

Unfortunately, just like his mother, Master Darren would rather die than submit!