Just A Bit Wrong

When Tristan was five years old, his mother led him to a large house on the outskirts of London.

Memory is a fickle thing indeed.Tristan has forgotten many things that happened recently, but he clearly remembers that cold rainy night.He stood there, holding his mother's thin hand, and the slightest chill penetrated into his small body.The mother's body was shaking, and she squeezed his hand painfully.She was afraid, Tristan thought.He is also very scared.

"I'm so cold," he complained.

"Don't talk. You'll be warm soon," she started coughing violently.She let go of his hand and covered her mouth.She always suppressed herself like this, as if he couldn't hear anything, as if he was stupid enough to believe her.

Tristan looked away, waiting for her cough to die down, her breathing to slow down and sound less scary.A gust of wind blew him head-on, almost knocking him to the ground, and his vision became somewhat blurred.He hates this feeling.

"I want to go home," he whispers, even though he hates their home: it's small, cold, and infested with bugs and mice.

His mother sighed, and she bent down to meet Tristan's eyes.Her gray and thin face made her look very ugly, and her eyes were dulled by pain.Tristan didn't like her face either.Before, her face was not like this, she used to be the most beautiful woman there.The disease took away her beauty, and Tristan hated the disease, and also hated her mother like this.

"Baby," she said hoarsely. "Remember what you asked my dad about before? He has many homes, and this is one of them. You're going to live with him soon."

Tristan's eyes widened.He looked at the big house in front of him. "dad?"

"Yeah," she took his hand again, and led him towards the big house. "He's... he's a very important big shot, he'll give you anything you want. He'll... he'll take care of you."

As soon as she finished speaking, Tristan broke away from her hand and ran forward.a dad.his father!Billy has a father.Tom also has a father.Even that idiot Charlie Kane has a dad.a dad.It turned out that he also had a real father.Maybe his father can cure his mother's illness!

Tristan knocked hard on the door of the house.

"Trace—" his mother tried to dissuade him, but she was cut off by a sharp cough.

The door opened, and there stood a man.

He's not very tall, but he looks... nice.He wasn't like Tristan—everyone said Tristan looked like his mother—but the man's eyes were exactly like his.

The man - his dad - looked at him inexplicably, with a polite smile on his face.

Tristan's heart was beating violently.He smiled and said, "Hello."

"Hello," his dad replied gently. "What's the matter with you, young man?"

Tristan looked at him happily. "I'm Tristan."

His dad looked confused, looking past Tristan and behind him.

His mother stood behind, her coughing finally subsiding.

"Hello, Arthur," she said, still sounding scary from the cough.

His dad was staring at her, his face... expressionless.

Everyone was silent, and as time went by little by little, Tristan began to feel uncomfortable in his stomach.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't hear the knock on the door," a male voice full of apology suddenly came. "It's not your job to answer the door."

"It's okay, Barnes," his dad paused. "No important visitor. You can go."

Tristan frowned.Maybe he didn't recognize her yet?After all, she looks different now than before, because she...is sick.

"I'm your son, Tristan," he tried again, trying to give the man his sweetest smile.Billy's mother always said he was a "beautiful boy" and that his good behavior was always "irresistible".

His dad gave him a strange look.

Before he had time to say anything, there was a sound of running in the house.Then, a blond boy about Tristan's age rushed out and hugged Tristan's father's legs. "Daddy, we're not done yet!" He pulled the man's hand vigorously.

"James, go to the living room and wait for me."

The boy glanced at Tristan, then grimaced. "Just give that beggar something, let's go!"

Tristan glared at the boy angrily, and he realized with sudden pain that the boy was wearing neat clothes like Tristan had never seen before.Compared with him, he really looked like a beggar. "Take back what you just said!" He rushed over and pushed the boy. "I'm not a beggar!"

"Tristan—" His mother tried to say something, but was cut off by another cough.

"Daddy!" the boy yelled, trying to push Tristan away.

A pair of hands grabbed Tristan by the collar and pulled him away from the boy.

Tristan looked up to see his dad looking at him angrily.His stomach started to feel sick again.

"I'm not a beggar, tell him," he whispered. "Tell him I am your son."

A look of inexplicable emotion flashed across his father's eyes, as if hesitating.He looked over Tristan's shoulder to his mother,

"Arthur, please," she choked out. "He has no one to rely on. When I leave, he..."

"Daddy, who are these people?" the boy whimpered beside him.

"Arthur?" An elegant female voice came from inside the house, followed by footsteps gradually approaching the door. "Who's out there?"

His father swallowed the words and let go of Tristan's collar.

"No one," he said, and closed the door in Tristan's face.

Memory is a fickle thing indeed.Tristan forgot what he had said to his mother after that, nor how she had answered it.He only vaguely remembered her dying a few months later.But 16 years ago, when he stared at the imposing white door, he still remembers the feeling at that time: inferior, completely insulted and hurt.And anger, endless anger.

Tristan shook his head, a wry smile.God, he is too pitiful.He knew he was a textbook case.If Freud was still alive, he would definitely be willing to use him as a research object for a day.Tristan knew that the reason he couldn't stand Gabriel was because he projected all his hatred for that boy, his own brother, on Gabe, not to mention that he always made him feel uncomfortable. The beginning feeling.

Gabriel often accused him of being not only a two-faced jerk, but also a manipulator.He was right.But also not right.Tristan really wants to be the villain Gabe thinks he is, but the truth is often simpler and makes him feel inferior: the reason why Tristan desperately pursues other people's love is simply because he needs to be loved by others.

However, knowing your problem and actually finding a way to solve it are two different things.Six years on, and when he gets rejected, he doesn't react any better than he did when he was a kid.Humiliated, cast aside, trampled underfoot, he still hated them.

He hated Zack more than he did now.

Tristan closed his eyes, trying to forget what had just happened, but his mind was filled with his own trembling, hungry voice, and he begged Zach with such a voice, but was severely rejected by the other party.Sure, Zack might want to fuck Tristan, but he's about to marry his flawless little girlfriend—so of course he'd say no to Tristan.

Tristan's father would definitely approve of Zach's decision.

Tristan shook his head and couldn't help a low smile.No, he wouldn't let Zach make him so pitiful, and he wouldn't wallow in self-pity.Didn't Zach just reject him?so what?This is a good thing.No matter how much his refusal hurt Tristan's face, it's a good thing—because Zach braked in time before he could pull off.If Tristan did sleep with Zack, he would regret it now.It's not worth risking his self-esteem just to get a shot.He was no "other woman," and he would never make the same mistakes as his mother.So Zach can go eat shit and Tristan doesn't care about him.As a world-renowned football star plus a millionaire, Tristan Dewar is already very awesome.Millions wanted to be him, and as many wanted to have him.And Zach is nothing.To Tristan, he was nothing more than a penniless little man.Not even to kiss his boots.Now, Zach provoked him and wanted to leave?There are no doors.

Tristan gritted his teeth, took out his cell phone, and called Zach.

"Listen to me," Zach finally answered the phone. "About what just happened..."

"You've been dereliction of duty for two full days," Tristan interrupted him coldly. "I hope to see you tomorrow morning."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Finally, Zach said, "I'm going to see Jared now. I'm going to hand in my resignation."

"Why?" Tristan asked.

Zach sighed heavily. "Trace—"

"No, I really don't understand why you resigned." Tristan laughed, trying to sound sarcasm. "If it's because of what happened this morning, just forget it. Obviously this kind of thing won't happen again. Because I don't even know what I was thinking at the time." Tristan had a sneer on his face.His voice sounded casual, even boring, and he was pleased with his performance. "You will come over early tomorrow morning."

"I'm resigning, Tristan."

"Ah, I see," he said peacefully. "You're afraid, afraid that you won't be able to bear it and touch me again."

"I'm not afraid of that kind of thing," Zach said grumpily.

"Then prove it to me," Tristan said softly. "But I don't think you can. Because you don't dare to stay with me."

"You have such severe macrocephaly, how do you get in every day?" Zach asked him with a smile.

"It's a special talent. I'm a very talented person. Don't be late tomorrow." Tristan hung up the phone, knowing that this round, he won.

Or maybe he lost, whispered a voice deep in his heart.

In fact, he was also very scared.