The Forgotten Son's Revenge My Mother Chose Him Over Me

"Marcus, I won't take the job at Tengan. I'll turn it down right now. Just don't blame Mom for this."

Nathan dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.

"I was wrong! I'll beg for your forgiveness if I have to!"

Before he could lower his head to the floor, Mom yanked him up by the arm.

"Get up! You are not quitting," she snapped. "You earned that spot with your own blood and sweat. Why should you sacrifice your future just because he throws a tantrum?"

"No, Mom," Nathan pleaded, his voice trembling with practiced martyrdom. "I can't let this family fall apart because of me."

A flicker of pain crossed Dad's face, but he stayed silent, averting his gaze.

Mom turned her glare on me, eyes burning with disappointment.

"Look at Nathan! Look how sensible he is compared to you. You don't understand the first thing about family duty. How can your father and I ever rely on you?"

"Rely on me?"

I scoffed. A cold, bitter smile touched my lips.

"Since Nathan is the sensible one, why do you need me at all? From now on, let him be your only son."

I didn't wait for a response. I slammed the door and walked away.

Heavy footsteps thundered behind me—Dad and a frantic group of relatives giving chase. I strode into the elevator and hammered the close button.

Just as the doors slid shut, shattering porcelain echoed from the private room, followed by Emily's furious shriek.

"Let him go! No one goes after him! Let's see how long he can keep up this act!"

The elevator descended. Silence enveloped me.

A stinging heat pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked it away. I wouldn't cry. Not for them.

When I stepped into the lobby, a massive digital display dominated the entrance:

[Congratulations to Young Master Whitmore for securing the top spot in the Tengan Corporation interviews!]

Young Master Whitmore.

The title felt like a cruel joke. I stood there, staring blankly at the screen.

A waiter collided with my shoulder, jarring me from my thoughts.

"I'm so sorry, sir!" He balanced a tray, flustered. "The guests in Room 606 ordered another rush cake. They want the head chef to decorate it personally."

Room 606. Nathan's celebration.

"Why order another one?" I asked flatly.

"Apparently, someone ruined the first party," the waiter gossiped, lowering his voice. "The young master's mother is furious. She wants to restart the celebration, bigger and louder. Their son got into a Fortune 500 company—big deal, I guess."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

Fortune 500.

I had taken the provincial civil service exam alongside Nathan's corporate interviews. I placed first. I was now an officer at the Tax Bureau—the very agency that investigated companies like Tengan.

But from start to finish, the Whitmore family only had eyes for Nathan.

Not a single person asked if I passed. Not one asked where I was going.

I left the hotel and returned to my apartment. I spent the rest of the day staring at the wall, numb.

That night, a notification popped up on my phone. Nathan had updated his feed.

A video.

Emily and Nathan stood in front of a massive, fresh cake, surrounded by beaming relatives. The earlier tension was erased, replaced by champagne and cheers. Nathan flashed a peace sign at the camera, his smile radiant.

The caption read:

[Thank you, Mom and Dad, for always having my back when it matters most.]

I powered off my phone and tossed it onto the couch.

I didn't return to the Whitmore estate that weekend.

Instead, I drove to the University District.

This was where Emma and I had spent three years mapping out our lives. Where to buy a house. When to have children. Where we would retire when our hair turned gray.

I never expected my interview at Tengan—the one I was guaranteed to ace—to be blocked by my own mother just so Nathan could shine.

Emma, however, got in.

A month later, she dumped me.

I can't do long-distance. I need stability.

I was helpless, but I accepted it. I had nothing to offer her then.

Seeking a moment of peace, I walked into the small bistro where we used to eat. As I settled into a booth, a couple at the adjacent table caught my attention.

The woman's voice was unmistakably familiar.

"I used to eat here all the time in college. The fish is amazing—try it."

"All the time?" A man's voice replied, dripping with playful jealousy. "Who did you come here with?"

A coy giggle. "Don't worry about it."

I froze. A chill ran down my spine.

"Emma?"

The name slipped out before I could stop it.

The woman's back went rigid. Slowly, she turned, her eyes widening as they locked with mine.