Chapter 201: Patrick Collins
Patrick Collins stood at the top of the stairs in the Collins’ mansion. When he’d left this place, he had thought--no,he’d decided--that he would never come back.
But here he was. Back to square one.
And as he stared at the large ’family’ photo hanging there, perfectly centered like a crown jewel, he felt a pang. A bitter, quiet sting. Was this how his father was supposed to be? The man in the photograph, arm around his wife, standing tall with that easy smile- it had once meant everything to him.
For most of his life, Patrick had looked up to Robert Collins as an exceptional man. He’d admired him. Wanted to be like him. Marry someone he loved. Build a home. Be happy.
Who would’ve thought that after more than thirty years of admiration, he’d be staring at that same man through a completely different lens? Because the truth had come out almost twenty years ago. And this truth was ugly.
The man he had once believed to be honest and kind, maybe even noble in his own way, was nothing but a manipulative jerk. No—worse than that. He’d worn the mask of a loving husband, a devoted father, while quietly pulling strings behind the curtain. And the people he hurt? His own family. His own brother. And the woman he claimed to love.
He had stolen the woman his brother loved, paraded it like some grand victory, stolen their son, and then-despite winning her, despite getting the one he supposedly couldn’t live without-he hadn’t stopped for a moment to cherish her. Not even close.
There were other women. Younger. Much younger. Girls, really. Ones who had been around the house, around the staff, always lingering just long enough to be noticed. Girls who were ’groomed,’ as Patrick now understood, taught and trained to care for Sir Robert Collins. To please him. To depend on him.
It made Patrick sick. And yet, somehow, the photo still hung there. With his mother still smiling. Still pretending that everything in this house had once been warm and good and worth admiring. What a joke.