Chapter 146: I Want To Be Alone...
Years ago—
Every year, the International Alpha Leadership Conference gathers the world’s most powerful Alpha families and business leaders beneath one roof. They come from distant countries, from sprawling estates and towering corporate headquarters, their names etched into the fabric of history, their wealth measured not in currency but in the weight of generations.
Inside a luxurious private hotel in Wii Country, the grand ballroom glows beneath cascading crystal chandeliers. Their light fractures into a thousand tiny sparks, scattering across the polished marble floors like frozen starlight. Elegant floral arrangements tower at every corner—white lilies, deep crimson roses, and fragile orchids—their perfume thick and cloying, mingling with the sharp scent of expensive champagne and the faint metallic undertone of ambition.
Guests drift in small clusters, their laughter polished, their smiles measured. Crystal glasses clink like distant bells as soft music winds through the air like silk, weaving through conversations that mean everything and nothing. The men wear impeccably tailored suits, every stitch a quiet display of wealth and influence. The women shimmer beneath diamonds that catch the light and cast it back like tiny, glittering stars.
Elias Roselle stands near the center of the room, his posture impeccable, his smile practiced. He is a man who knows the weight of his name and carries it with effortless confidence. Beside him, his longtime friend, Silom Stoneheart, mirrors the same quiet authority. Together, the two titans of industry command attention without demanding it, their presence alone enough to draw every eye in the room.
They sip their champagne, their conversation low and unhurried—the easy rhythm of men who have known each other for decades.
Twelve-year-old Ellis Roselle walks into the hall.
His steps are measured, unhurried, but there is something in the set of his shoulders—a stiffness, a quiet resistance that speaks of a boy who has already learned that showing what he feels is a weakness. His face is cold, unimpressed, the expression of someone who has been dragged to far too many events he never wanted to attend.
He does not want to be here.
His gaze sweeps across the ballroom, scanning the crowd with practiced disinterest.
The noise is unbearable.
Not the chatter of voices. Not the clinking of crystal glasses or the soft strains of music. Something else. Something deeper. Sharper.
Thoughts. Uninvited. Relentless.
They spill from every mind in the room—a torrent of hidden intentions, silent judgments, whispered cruelties. They crowd the edges of his consciousness, pressing harder and harder until it feels as though invisible hands are squeezing his skull.
His fists clench at his sides, nails biting into his palms.
Then he spots his father.
He walks toward him.
Elias’s hand settles on his shoulder with a proud, proprietary weight.
"Ellis. Where have you been?"
His voice carries the faint edge of reproach, the unspoken question lingering beneath the words.
{Why weren’t you at my side when I needed you to be seen?}
"I was with Everic."
Elias’s gaze shifts to Silom, his smile widening with the practiced warmth of a man who knows how to present his family.
"This is my youngest. Ellis." His hand gives the boy’s shoulder a light squeeze. "Ellis, say hello to Uncle Silom."
Ellis lifts his gaze. His voice is quiet but steady, a small anchor against the endless sea of noise.
"Hello, Uncle Silom."
Silom smiles, genuine warmth softening the lines of his face. His eyes linger on the boy, studying him with quiet curiosity, as though trying to read a story hidden behind those young, guarded eyes.
"Hello, little one."
Elias swirls his champagne, the golden liquid catching the light.
"What about your youngest? I heard you brought him along this year."
Silom takes a slow sip, his gaze drifting toward the tall windows overlooking the garden.
"Yes. But he doesn’t care for crowds. Or noise." A small, fond smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "He’s quiet. Shy."
Elias chuckles softly, shaking his head.
"Is that so?"
Silom nods.
"Yes. He’s more comfortable in his own world."
Ellis lowers his gaze to the marble floor, tracing its patterns with his eyes—anything to escape the weight of the room, the relentless press of voices against his mind.
He can feel his control slipping. The walls inside his mind begin to crack.
His fists clench tighter at his sides.
"Dad." His voice is small, but steady. "Can I go outside? Just for a bit?"
Elias’s hand finds his shoulder again—a brief, distracted pat from a man whose attention is already drifting back to the conversation.
"Yes, of course."
Silom looks at Ellis, his voice gentle and unhurried.
"My son is in the garden as well. I’m not sure you’ll get along—he’s very quiet." He pauses, a faint smile crossing his face. "But you might give it a try."
Ellis nods.
A small, almost imperceptible movement.
He turns and walks toward the door.
The hallway stretches before him, long and golden, sunlight spilling through tall windows in warm, dusty beams. The noise of the ballroom fades behind him, retreating like a tide.
But the headache remains.
A dull, relentless throb behind his eyes—the echo of a hundred minds pressing against his own.
Then he feels it.
Warmth.
Something trickles beneath his nose.
He touches his upper lip.
His fingers come away red.
Blood.
Oh no... Not again.
Ellis pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to his nose. The white fabric blooms with crimson, the stain spreading like a flower opening in slow motion.
A passing servant notices. Concern flashes across her face as she hurries toward him.
"Little boy—are you alright? What happened?"
Ellis doesn’t meet her eyes. He quickens his pace, slipping past her outstretched hand.
"I’m fine."
His voice is clipped.
Dismissive.
He doesn’t stop.
The servant watches him disappear down the hallway, confusion and worry etched across her face, her hand still suspended in the air.
Ellis steps into the garden.
Fresh air greets him, cool against his flushed skin. It carries the scent of damp earth, crushed grass, and the distant sweetness of blooming flowers. Warm sunlight brushes his face, a gentle contrast to the cold marble and suffocating air of the ballroom.
Caretakers and bodyguards stand along the edges of the garden, their watchful eyes following the children playing across the lawn. Their voices are distant, muffled, as though drifting through water.
His caretaker hurries toward him, a bag clutched tightly in her hands, her face drawn with worry.
"Young master—what happened to your face? Are you hurt?"
Ellis’s expression doesn’t change.
"Nothing. Just give me my book."
She blinks at the abrupt request but quickly opens her bag, retrieving a book before placing it into his waiting hand.
He takes it without a word. Without meeting her eyes. Without slowing his steps.
He doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t look back.
He walks deeper into the garden, past the playing children, past the watchful staff, past the carefully manicured hedges and the fountains murmuring softly among the flowers.
I want to be alone.
So no noise can touch me.