After My Son Tripped a Billionaire, He Publicly Humiliated Him and Kicked His Prosthetic Leg — Then He Vowed to Ruin My Life
Alaric Beaumont sat at the head of the boardroom table, his usual composure a brittle facade. The tremor in his hand was becoming more frequent, less dismissible. His sleep was plagued by the recurring nightmare of his collapsing mansion, each detail growing sharper, more terrifying. He could almost feel the dust settling on his skin as his empire crumbled.
Today, however, was worse.
During a tense negotiation with a rival CEO, a crucial point of leverage had slipped his mind, replaced by a sudden, irrational urge to shout. He tried to rein it in, to maintain his polished demeanor, but the words exploded from him. “You insolent fool! Do you think I’m playing games? This is my territory, and you will bow!”
The room fell silent. His own executives exchanged bewildered glances. The rival CEO stared, open-mouthed, clearly stunned by the uncharacteristic outburst. Alaric felt a flash of self-awareness, a horrifying moment of clarity where he realized he had lost control, completely.
A hot flush spread across his face, not of embarrassment, but of uncontrollable fury. He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the crystal water glasses. “Get out!” he roared, pointing an accusing finger at the rival. “Get out of my building, now!”
The CEO, visibly shaken, gathered his papers and beat a hasty retreat, his team scrambling behind him. Alaric’s own team remained frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and fear. He could feel their judgment, their unspoken questions, and it only intensified the raw, burning rage within him.
“What are you looking at?” he snapped, his voice hoarse. “This meeting is adjourned. Everyone out!”
As the last executive quietly shuffled from the room, Alaric felt an agonizing, disorienting headache seize him. It started behind his eyes, a throbbing pulse that quickly spread, engulfing his entire head in a vise-like grip. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the conference table, his vision blurring.
He gasped, a sound torn from his throat. The headache was unlike anything he had ever experienced, a blinding pain that rendered him momentarily incapacitated. He felt a wave of nausea, his stomach churning violently. He barely made it to the private restroom adjoining his office before he doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach.
When the worst of it passed, he leaned against the cool marble wall, his body trembling uncontrollably. His face was pale, slick with sweat. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeing not the invincible billionaire, but a pale, haunted stranger. His eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, were bloodshot and filled with a terror he refused to name.
This wasn’t stress. This wasn’t a coincidence. The recurring nightmare, the tremors, the uncontrollable outbursts, the searing headaches—they were all connected, escalating with each passing day. And always, always, they seemed to follow his moments of particular cruelty or dismissiveness, especially concerning Elara or Ethan.
He tried to dismiss it, to rationalize it away. Perhaps he was pushing himself too hard, working too many hours. But deep down, a cold, creeping fear began to take root. It felt like a malevolent force, a shadow from his past, directly punishing his actions. The old family whispers of a “curse” resurfaced in his mind, dismissed since childhood, but now carrying an unnerving weight.
He clenched his jaw, trying to reassert control, but his body felt alien, a puppet controlled by unseen strings. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to erase the physical evidence of his breakdown. He was Alaric Beaumont. He was in control. He would conquer this, whatever “this” was.
But as he stared at his reflection, the tremor in his hand returned, a relentless vibration that seemed to mock his resolve. His eyes darted to the empty conference room, the scene of his public collapse, then to the closed door of his office. He was losing control, rapidly, and he had no idea why. The world felt like it was closing in, haunted by omens he couldn’t explain and symptoms he couldn’t deny. He was being hunted, he realized, not by an external enemy, but by something festering within him, something dark and deeply wrong.
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