THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 129: Make use of him...

Chapter 129: Make use of him...

"Father!" Tryson roared, his voice echoing through the room. His fury ignited like an uncontrolled fire, raw and volatile.

But Alex didn’t flinch. He had expected this reaction. He had prepared for it.

Alex locked eyes with Tryson, his expression unreadable—serious, almost contemplative—for a fleeting moment.

But then, unexpectedly, a dry chuckle escaped his lips.

Lifting the cup in his hand with an air of casual dominance, he took a slow, deliberate sip, his gaze turning ice-cold as it bore into Tryson.

The tension between them was palpable, thick like a storm brewing in the distance.

After setting the cup down with a soft clink, he raised a cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply before exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke into the dimly lit room.

Then, he spoke, his voice carrying a weight of disappointment that cut through the air like a blade.

"I never imagined I’d live to see the day my own son would raise his voice at me—like he’s planning to put a knife in my back," Alex said, his words laced with quiet resentment.

Tryson’s anger wavered. His initial defiance softened into hesitation, guilt flickering in his eyes as he instinctively lowered his tone.

"Father—" he began, his voice touched with regret, but before he could say more, Alex cut him off with sharp precision.

"Tell me, Tryson," Alex continued, his voice carrying an ominous calm. "What in the world made you so certain Angel was pregnant with Arthur’s child?"

The air grew heavy, thick with unspoken words and restrained fury. Alex’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a fire in his eyes, a silent warning that he wasn’t here for excuses or pleasantries.

On the other side of the room, Tryson clenched his jaw, his lips pressing into a tight line as his fingers curled around the cup in his grasp.

His temper was simmering beneath the surface, but he held it in check, swallowing down his irritation before speaking in a low, clipped tone.

"She told me so," Tryson admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alex scoffed.

The sound was laced with ridicule, as though Tryson’s answer was the most pathetic thing he had ever heard.

Pushing himself up from his chair, he took slow, deliberate steps toward Tryson, his every movement calculated and intimidating.

His presence loomed, radiating authority, as he stopped just inches away from his son.

"And you didn’t even bother to verify?" Alex’s voice dropped, colder now, sharper, like ice cutting through flesh.

His piercing stare bore into Tryson with unmistakable disappointment.

"I didn’t think I needed to," Tryson admitted, though even he knew how weak his excuse sounded.

Alex shook his head, his disapproval evident.

"That is exactly why I had Arthur take Angel away," he stated bluntly. His voice held the weight of finality, a decision that had already been set in stone.

"Tell me something, Tryson—who is this man standing before me? My son?" His tone dripped with disdain, his disappointment cutting deeper than any insult ever could.

"Father, she was pregnant—"

"I don’t care!" Alex snapped, his voice rising for the first time, crackling with frustration. "I don’t care about her situation. You had one task—just one—and yet you kept stalling, dragging it out, making excuses. And now? Now, Arthur will do what you should have done long ago. If only you had acted when I first told you to, we wouldn’t be standing here facing this mess head-on. But instead, you just stood by and watched."

Tryson’s fingers trembled as they tightened around his cup, his breathing uneven, his pride wounded. But despite the fire burning in his chest, he knew his father was right.

"Father," he said again, quieter this time, a last plea laced with urgency. "The girl is pregnant. She can’t lose that child."

"You know how our system works, don’t you?" Alex’s voice was low but carried an unmistakable authority. His piercing gaze never wavered. "The fact that I’m still considering letting her live—shouldn’t that be something you’re grateful for? Instead of standing here wasting time, I expected you to do what was necessary."

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. "It took you hours—hours—to finally realize that you’re the father of the child growing inside her. And now, you expect me to believe that it never crossed your mind before? The son I raised wouldn’t have let that much time slip by, wouldn’t have stood there paralyzed while everything unraveled around him. But you? Look at yourself, Tryson. You’re losing. Horribly."

Alex’s tone turned colder, sharper. "You’re falling short of everything that was meant for you. And frankly, I don’t care what emotions you’re wrestling with. I make the decisions, and I expect you to follow them. No questions. No delays. You will do as I’ve asked."

Tryson stared at his father, his entire body rigid with barely restrained anger. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw locked, but behind his fury, a quiet voice inside him whispered the truth.

His father was right.

He had let this situation slip beyond his control. He had failed the expectations placed upon him—not just as a son, but as a man. That realization stung like salt in an open wound.

But despite all of it, he couldn’t turn his back on Angel. He loved her. And no matter how much he had disappointed his father, he wasn’t about to let her suffer for it.

With a slow inhale, Tryson pushed down his frustration and lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Who’s giving these orders?" he asked smoothly, his voice calm, measured—yet laced with defiance.

Alex’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, amusement creeping into his features. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

At that moment, he knew—Tryson wasn’t just questioning his orders.

He was questioning everything.

His son would have never questioned him. Never.

But the man standing before him now?

This was not his son.

Alex felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—shock, perhaps—but he buried it quickly beneath a layer of practiced calm.

His expression remained composed, his demeanor unshaken, yet deep down, he recognized the shift.

"Liam," Alex stated clearly, his voice sharp and deliberate.

As he spoke, he exhaled a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the thick smoke to curl into the air, clouding Tryson’s vision like an omen.

Tryson didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. His gaze remained locked onto his father’s, unwavering and intense.

Then, without another word, Tryson lifted the glass of wine in his hand, took a slow gulp, and turned on his heel, striding away from his father with silent determination.

Alex watched him, his piercing gaze following Tryson’s every movement. But the moment Tryson’s hand gripped the door handle, his father’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

"And where do you think you’re going?"

Tryson paused but didn’t turn around. His grip on the handle tightened.

"I’m going to get her," he said, his voice steady, final.

Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and stepped out, vanishing into the night beyond.

Alex stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he clicked his tongue against his teeth, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Sliding a hand into his pocket, he retrieved his phone, raising it effortlessly to his ear.

The line connected.

"He’s out," Alex said smoothly. "It’s your turn to make use of him."

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