Bullied and Dumped, But She Won in the End (Adriana) novel Chapter 170

**When Time Tried to Heal Me But I Refused to Listen by Kael Niro Senn**
**Chapter 170: His Disdain**

Curtis’s face remained an impenetrable mask, devoid of any emotion. “I was on my honeymoon with my wife,” he stated flatly, his voice steady yet laced with disbelief. “Are you seriously telling me you dragged me all the way back here for this?”

With a languid motion, he sank into the chair, his posture relaxed but his mind anything but. He picked up the golden horse statue from Harold’s desk, its polished surface gleaming under the dim light, and began to spin it idly between his fingers, as if it were a mere toy rather than a symbol of hard-earned success.

In an instant, Harold snatched the statue from him, his jaw clenched in frustration. He was acutely aware of Curtis’s strength; the boy had the power to crush the delicate piece without a second thought, and that realization sent a shiver down Harold’s spine.

“Your father called me yesterday,” Harold said, attempting to inject some urgency into the conversation.

Curtis remained silent, his eyes icy and unyielding, like a winter landscape devoid of warmth.

With a heavy sigh, Harold pressed on, “He might be in trouble. It’s been years since he left. He’s still your father, Curtis.”

There was a softness in Harold’s voice, a hint of vulnerability that had been absent before. The years had chipped away at his once fiery spirit, leaving behind a man who was weary yet still hopeful.

Michael had vanished from their lives for decades, and now, his sudden reappearance meant something significant. Harold felt the anger he once harbored begin to dissipate, replaced by a reluctant understanding.

Curtis leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the armrest with a rhythm that mirrored his agitation. “I get it, Harold. You’re a father. You care about your son. But every single thing the Lincolns have now? I earned it. You don’t get to just hand him my money.”

Harold’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “You’re being ridiculous. He’s still family, Curtis.”

He didn’t need Curtis’s wealth to assist Michael; he had built his own fortune. Yet, hearing Curtis speak with such disdain made a knot form in Harold’s chest.

Curtis’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, his disdain palpable. “That man destroyed someone’s life. Her life. He walked away without a second thought, boasting that he didn’t need a dime. And now he’s back, begging for help?” His disdain was thick, almost suffocating. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “He made his choice. He can live with it.”

Curtis rose from his chair, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably. “Grandpa, I’m doing better than he ever did. If I ever decide to walk away from the Lincolns, I won’t come crawling back like he did.”

Harold felt his heart sink. He recognized the gravity in Curtis’s voice, the finality that echoed through the room.

He had raised that boy, nurtured him through his formative years. He knew that tone well; it wasn’t mere defiance—it was a promise, one that sent a chill down Harold’s spine.

Curtis’s words were as clear as day. If Michael dared to return, Curtis would leave without a second thought.

Harold’s gaze lingered on Curtis, the weight of unspoken years pressing heavily against his chest. Curtis was no longer that reckless child; he had transformed into a man, colder and sharper than before. If Michael hadn’t fled when he did, Curtis might have dealt with him in a far more permanent manner.

“I’m not asking you to let him come home,” Harold finally said, his voice low and steady. “He called me. He’s in trouble. He’s in Haldoria now. He has another family. A son. The boy is 19. Curtis, that kid didn’t do anything wrong.”

Harold’s internal conflict raged. *What am I doing? Am I losing my mind?* But he couldn’t ignore the truth: that boy was also his grandson.

An intense fire ignited in Curtis’s chest, a burning sensation as though someone had reached inside and twisted his heart. The pain was profound, buried deep where no one could touch it.

“Do whatever you want,” he replied coldly, his hand twitching against the armrest, fingers growing numb. “I don’t care.”

If Harold had been seeking peace, he had chosen the wrong moment to speak.

“Curtis,” Harold said softly, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone, “it’s been years. You still can’t forgive him?”

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