"What do you think you're doing?"
Samson glared at grandpa Porter with undisguised hatred, his teeth clenched so tightly they nearly ground to dust.
"You ruined me.
Now it's my turn to drag you down with me."
If it weren't for this old bastard's mix of coaxing and threats, he would never have dared to scheme against the main family—and he certainly wouldn't have ended up in this wretched state.
"Ruined you?"
Grandpa Porter sat down across from Samson, his brow deeply furrowed.
His eyes were pools of unfathomable darkness.
"Where did you get that idea?"
Before Samson could respond, a hoarse voice cut through the tension.
"Grandpa Porter, you're here."
Grandpa Luther?!
Grandpa Porter's pupils contracted sharply as he whipped his head toward the staircase.
There, descending with measured steps, was an elderly man dressed in traditional
American attire, lightly supported by Uncle Carlos.
