The Son They Threw Away for a Stranger

My father added,

“Son, just stay and help out. It’s New Year’s—relatives will be coming and going all day.”

I nodded reluctantly.

That night, my phone rang. It was Emily, her voice panicked:

“William! Help me! I’m at City KTV, Room 303!”

Without thinking, I ran straight there. The moment I pushed open the door, I saw Charles trying to force drinks on her.

I stepped in and pulled her behind me. Charles looked me up and down and smirked.

“Well, look who it is—the broke loser. What are you doing here? Playing hero?”

I didn’t respond. I just grabbed Emily’s hand and turned to leave. But then he dropped a bombshell that made me stop in my tracks.

“You know who came up with the idea to get her drunk and ‘seal the deal’? Our parents.”

That word—our—hit like a slap. Everyone in the room froze.

I was dressed plainly, shoes scuffed, my coat worn thin. He wore head-to-toe designer brands. The contrast couldn’t have been starker. Yet he’d just called me “brother.”

In that moment, all I felt was a deep, numbing anger.

My own parents… would scheme something like this?

Charles stepped closer, a twisted smile on his lips.

“You disgusting freak. Even your own parents can’t stand you. Just disappear, why don’t you?”

“I’m up here,” he sneered, gesturing to himself, “and you? You’re crawling in the dirt. If both of us were in trouble, want to bet who they’d save?”

I thought he was just bluffing. But seconds later, the door burst open.

A group of men in black stormed in.

Charles froze.

“Who are you?!”

They didn’t answer. Without a word, they grabbed us both, tied us up, and shoved us into a van. One of them turned to Emily.

“Go home. Tell his parents.”

When they finally removed our hoods, we were at an abandoned construction site. Charles’s face was pale. Our hands and feet were tied to chairs.

A masked man paced in front of us, chuckling.

“Charles, you love flaunting your money. We’ve been watching you for a while.”

He raised a phone, recorded a quick video of us, then made a call.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pierce,” he said coldly, “we’ve got both your sons. Be smart—pay the ransom. Don’t call the police unless you want two corpses.”

The moment my parents saw the video, their act dropped. My mother’s voice shook:

“Please don’t hurt them! How much do you want? We’ll pay!”

Before the kidnapper could answer, Charles burst into sobs.

“Mom! Dad! Help me! I’m scared!”

I tried to speak, to shout, but his crying drowned me out.

Then the masked man said flatly,

“Five million per person. You’ve got thirty minutes. No delays. Or you’ll be identifying bodies.”

My parents panicked.

“Please don’t kill them! We’ll give you the money! But… five million each is a lot. Can’t you let both go for five million total?”

The kidnapper laughed coldly and looked between us.

“I’ve been watching both your sons. One of them lives lavishly, spends money like it’s air. The other looks like a ghost, juggling two jobs just to survive. You clearly favor one.”

“So I’ll make it easy. Five million—choose one.”

Dad hesitated, visibly torn. I could hear my mother’s voice faintly through the phone, whispering urgently.

“The company’s cash flow is tight. We can’t pull out ten million that fast. Let’s just rescue one first. I don’t think they’ll really kill the other.”