The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes
Chapter 64- A game of vengeance

Chapter 64: Chapter 64- A game of vengeance

"I once loved a woman," Manfred said slowly, the words trembling in his throat. "To me, she was an angel..."

That word—angel—shook in his voice like a wound ripped open.

Janet saw it—an unmistakable glimmer of longing in his eyes. He must have loved her deeply, once. Maybe too deeply. And maybe... that’s why he ended up hating women so much.

"She... hurt you?" Janet asked quietly.

Manfred covered his face with one hand, his voice turning bitter, laced with scorn. "She was a whore—willing to spread her legs for any man who looked her way. And I... I found out too late."

He laughed—harsh, cold.

"Janet, do you know what it’s like to see the woman you love beneath another man?" His tone cracked. "Do you know what it does to you?"

It kills you. Inside and out.

The image flooded his mind again. That face—so deceptively pure, so heartbreakingly beautiful—just like Janet’s. But when he walked in that day, she was beneath another man. Not just any man.

His father.

The memory still made him want to throw up.

He never imagined she could be so good at pretending—playing the innocent, loving girlfriend while secretly sharing beds with multiple men. And the worst part?

She chose his father over him.

Because he didn’t have money. Because everything he owned came from the Shang family. Because for her, benefit always came first.

Maybe she had loved him, once. But her body had betrayed him long before her heart ever could.

That scene from five years ago—so vile, so humiliating—was etched deep into his soul like a brand. Since then, every woman’s smile looked fake. Every glance, manipulative. He hated them all. Their lies. Their masks. Their scent.

That was why he left it all behind and went to America.

And there... he met August.

Manfred used to think he was the one cursed by the gods.

But in truth... it was August who was truly abandoned.

"No..." Janet whispered, shaking her head. "How could something like that happen...?"

She could barely picture it—how a woman could sleep with both Manfred and his father. And more. What kind of devastation would that bring to a young man’s heart?

It was brutal. Unforgivable.

"Do you think I’m pathetic?" Manfred smiled, a broken, hollow curve of his lips.

Janet didn’t answer. But her heart clenched painfully.

Manfred turned his face away, the wind catching his hair as he spoke again.

"No. The one you should pity... isn’t me."

His voice dropped.

"It’s August."

He looked at her then—his gaze heavy with memories.

"Do you want to know how we met?"

Janet shook her head in disbelief.

She never imagined that Manfred and August had known each other since their days in America. A wounded soul like Manfred had cast away everything he once owned... only to build the empire known as ZT Group. Perhaps, in some twisted way, he should thank that woman who broke him.

"I first met August," Manfred began, his tone cold and distant, "in the most infamous host club in Chicago."

Janet froze.

"I had already grown numb to women’s filth by then. But that night... I witnessed something even more unbearable." Manfred paused, eyes dark. "There was a man more broken than me."

His voice trembled.

"Do you know what I saw? August—he was only twenty at the time—was being forced to work as a host. That night alone, they made him serve fifty clients."

Janet’s heart clenched.

"When I found him, he was lying there... half-conscious, covered in blood."

Manfred’s voice choked. "That was the first time I ever cried. For a man. For him."

Others would never understand the bond they shared—something deeper than friendship, beyond labels. Only the two of them knew what it meant to be shattered by the same kind of pain.

Manfred’s eyes glossed over, distant in memory. He could still see it—August lying on the floor, bruised and bleeding. And yet, when Manfred crouched down beside him, tears falling freely...

August smiled.

He had the nerve to smile at him.

"Why are you crying?" August had asked.

Manfred couldn’t answer.

From that moment on, he took August away. He learned everything—all of it. August had been sent to America by his uncle, not to study or live a better life, but to be thrown into hell.

His very first year in America, he was trafficked into a host club. His body was sold night after night in a world soaked in blood and shame.

Only those who’d witnessed such carnage—who’d seen the rivers of blood and heard the cries that tore through bone—could understand the depths of that hate.

"They tore him apart," Manfred said, his fists clenched. "Those women... like ravenous beasts. They chewed up a twenty-year-old boy and spat out what was left."

He was tall, yes—but skin and bone. A walking corpse.

"The first time I helped him bathe," Manfred continued, his voice dropping, "his veins weren’t even visible. Just skin over bones."

And the club owner?

A sadist.

He would break August’s bones for fun. Twist his joints. Tear at his body as if he were nothing but a toy.

All of it... orchestrated from the shadows. By one man.

Derrick.

The same Derrick who had destroyed August’s family—who had murdered his parents and buried him alive in shame.

Now, August lived with only one thing fueling him:

Hatred.

From that day on, August developed a deep, almost pathological fear of women.

Even during his time at school, no female students were allowed within a hundred meters of him. And apart from Manfred, he let no one get close.

To August, Manfred wasn’t just a friend—he was a guardian angel. His only light in a world drowned in shadows.

Ever since, August wore only white.

Not because he liked it, but because his heart had become too dark. If he didn’t surround himself with something bright... he feared he would sink forever into the mire of his memories—memories too horrific to name.

Even now, he woke from nightmares drenched in sweat, gasping for breath.

Only sleeping pills kept the night terrors at bay.

And only Manfred knew all of it.

They had endured five years of hell together—and finally, they had returned to this city.

Janet’s eyes blurred with tears.

"No... That can’t be true!" she cried, shaking her head. "It’s not possible!"

How could a man like August—a man so pure, so refined—have suffered something so cruel?

She remembered the first time she saw him: just a silhouette, clad entirely in white.

She’d thought his obsession with cleanliness and his harsh rejection of women was strange...

Now she understood.

They weren’t quirks.

They were scars.

"Of course it’s true," Manfred said quietly. For the first time, he revealed the truth about him and August—to her, the daughter of their enemy—as if she were the only one in the world he could trust.

Janet trembled.

"How... How could anyone be so cruel?" she whispered.

Her heart ached. For August. For the innocent man who looked like an angel but had been dragged through hell.

He wasn’t dirty. Not at all.

"He’s not like that because he’s weak, Janet," Manfred said, his voice low but laced with fury. "It’s because Derrick is a monster. Now you see it, don’t you? Cold-blooded. Calculating. Manipulative."

Janet’s breath hitched.

"His son... Charles... is no different."

Manfred’s words fell like hammers. "They’re trying to destroy August. Just like they destroyed his parents."

"No—stop!" Janet covered her ears, refusing to listen. "My father would never...!"

But even as the words left her lips, she knew how empty they sounded.

Derrick.

A man who had already tried to kill her unborn child—his own grandson.

Would he hesitate to crush a nephew he never cared for?

Her whole body shook.

She clutched her belly as if to shield the child growing inside her.

It was all too much.

From the moment she met August, she realized—she had been caught in something far darker than she ever imagined.

A game of vengeance.

A cycle of pain.

And now, she was part of it.

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