Exiled Son Reborn for Revenge

“You three can pack your things and move out. From now on, live on your own ways!”

Those words struck like thunder on a clear day. My father froze, his face drained of color.

The pretense of his so-called ‘parenting method’ shattered instantly. Panic and disbelief spread across his face.

“Dad! You can’t do this!” he shouted.

“I’m your only son! How could you take everything back? How are we supposed to live now? Even the company’s cash flow depends on the rent!”

He stumbled forward, voice full of desperation and confusion, completely different from the confident man who had been preaching about independence just minutes ago.

Grandpa looked at him with growing disappointment, his gaze colder than ever.

“Only son? Now you remember you’re my son? When you kicked my grandson out, did you remember that? You’re in your fifties, forcing your newly graduated son to live on his own, while you live comfortably off your old man’s money! Don’t you have any shame, Wayne?” His voiced cracked with deep disappointment.

“Get out! Leave this house right now! Go live your life ‘independently’!”

My father froze in place, his face shifting from pale to green, then to red.

He glanced at Grandpa’s icy expression, then at Grandma’s tearful yet resolute eyes.

Finally, his gaze fell on me.

His eyes were complicated—filled with anger, resentment and perhaps, somewhere deep down, a hint of regret.

The air was thick with silence.

“Dad, Mom, I... I was wrong,” he finally said, his voice dry and forced, deliberately softening.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I shouldn’t have treated Leo that way.”

Grandpa stared at him coldly, saying nothing. Grandma turned away, wiping the corners of her eyes.

Sensing the tension, my father quickly turned to me.

“I’m sorry, Leo. I just wanted you to succeed—I didn’t realize that I pushed you too hard. Please don’t take it to heart, okay? I’ll do better, I promise.” His tone was sincere, his expression full of regret.

But I remembered everything from my past life.

It was raining hard that night. I was riding my electric bike when a sudden sharp pain hit my chest. I lost control and fell on the side of the road.

My vision blurred, rain mixed with mud filling my nose and mouth. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw a familiar black Maybach slowly passing by. Traffic forced it to slow down—it even stopped five meters away at a red light.

The window rolled down and our eyes met.

My father’s eyes swept over me casually. No pause. No confusion. Not even a flicker of emotion. Just like seeing a dying stray dog by the roadside. Then the window rolled up again and as the light turned green, the car drove away.

So now, hearing his so-called apology, all I felt was disgust.

He wasn’t admitting fault—he was surrendering because Grandpa had cut off his money.

Once the crisis passed, he’d go back to being the same man as before—probably even worse after the humiliation he received today.

Unfortunate to me, Grandpa and Grandma’s hearts softened in the end.

Grandpa snorted. 

“Now you realize you were wrong? Where was that sense before?” Grandpa snorted. 

“This is the last time! If you dare mistreat my grandson again, I’ll write my will and donate everything immediately, you won’t get a single penny! You hear me, Wayne?” Grandpa warned. 

My father looked relieved, nodding over and over.

“Yeah, of course! I’ll change, I promise! Don’t worry, Dad!”

Before we left, I told Grandpa I wanted to stop by the store at the end of the village. He agreed to walk with me.