2025-01-23 04:52:41Pa Stanley smashed the phone against the wall, the screen cracking on impact as shards of glass scattered across the room. His hands were trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief. Lucas Henry. The audacity of the man! His grandson lay in critical condition, and yet Lucas had the gall to demand the ancient Rays Painting?
The Rays Painting was no ordinary piece of art. It was a rare masterpiece, said to have originated from the ancient and mysterious Amaya Kingdom. Painted by the elusive and legendary artist MAYOS, it was worth a fortune—perhaps more than anything else Pa Stanley owned. He had stolen the painting years ago from Pa Maverick’s private library, then lied about its origins, claiming he had bought it. Many suspected the truth, but no one dared speak openly about it. Without proof, Pa Stanley’s deception remained unchallenged. The painting, with its vibrant colors and rich history, had become more than just a treasure—it was a symbol of power. The Stanley family’s fortunes were uncertain, and if things ever turned south, Pa Stanley could easily sell the painting and secure wealth beyond his wildest dreams. But now, Lucas Henry demanded it, and he had no choice but to give it up, or else lose his only heir—the one person he could not afford to lose. A bitter thought twisted in Pa Stanley’s mind. Was his grandson’s life really worth the Rays Painting? The painting, after all, was the family’s most valuable asset. But then he thought about the future—what good was the painting if there was no one left to carry the Stanley name forward? “Damn it!” Pa Stanley muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling over. “That son of a bitch...” Turning on his heels, he stormed over to his assistant, who was standing silently in the corner, sensing the tension in the room. “Go into my inner study and bring the Rays Painting,” Pa Stanley ordered sharply. The assistant froze for a moment, wide-eyed with disbelief. “The Rays Painting, Master? You want me to take it now? But you’ve always kept it locked away in your study. You treat it like a treasure. I—I thought you never wanted anyone else to touch it.” Pa Stanley’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did I stutter? Go and bring it to me—now.” The assistant hesitated but nodded, a nervous bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He knew better than to question Pa Stanley when he was in this mood. He turned on his heel and made his way toward the inner study, his mind racing. Why the sudden change? Why now? As he entered the study, he felt the familiar awe that always gripped him in the presence of the Rays Painting. The artwork was far more than just an object—it was a masterpiece, its colors almost alive in the light. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, an aura of ancient power hanging over it. The assistant approached the painting slowly, almost reverently, but as he reached for it, Pa Stanley’s voice echoed from behind him. “What are you waiting for?” Pa Stanley demanded. The assistant froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned quickly and grabbed the painting, careful not to damage it. But as he began to move, the glass of a nearby cup flew through the air and struck his arm, cutting it. The assistant staggered back, biting back a cry of pain. Blood dripped from his arm, staining the floor, but he didn’t dare stop. Clutching the painting tightly, he hurried back toward the door, his heart racing. He could barely feel the pain in his arm now; the only thing that mattered was delivering the painting. At Henry Villa, Lucas Henry was throwing things around in a frenzy. Antique vases shattered against the floor as he furiously paced back and forth. His son, James, stood silently in the doorway, watching him with a mix of concern and uncertainty. “I couldn’t get through to him, Father,” James said quietly, his voice tinged with frustration. “He was so dismissive. He didn’t even give me a chance to introduce myself.He just walk out on me like I wasn’t important.” Lucas whirled around, his eyes blazing. “And you came home? You’re telling me you came home after that? James, you should have followed him. Even if he wouldn’t listen to you, you should have tracked him down. What are we supposed to do now? To think that We don’t even know where he is.” James bowed his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Father. I should have done more. But I’ll find him, I swear. I’ll make things right. I’ll find a way.” Lucas ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did everything I could to get Dr. Jos involved. What will I tell Pa Stanley when he arrives? Will he even be willing to give me the painting now that everything has gone sideways?” “I’ll make sure it’s sorted, Father. I won’t fail you,” James replied. " Stop apologizing! The important thing is that Pa Stanley will soon be here." James fell silent at this. Shouldn't his father have waited until he chatted with Dr. Jos before making the trade? Clearing his throat, James tried to change the subject. "Father, do you know why Pa Stanley needs Dr. Jos's help?" He asked carefully. "Of course! His son got into a fight with some mysterious person who nearly killed him. He’s half dead, for all we know." Lucas’s words were laced with disdain. "Ah..." James muttered, absorbing the information. Just then, the sound of a car engine approached, cutting their conversation short. James turned toward the door while Lucas, irritated, muttered under his breath. "Shouldn’t he have waited until tomorrow? Why the rush? It's not like his grandson’s going anywhere."
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