Chapter 168.1

Chapter 168.1

His mouth froze. He couldn’t speak.

Did that mean his grandfather had ultimately decided his son over his wife? Did a person’s life weigh lighter or heavier when placed on a scale?

He did not know what the criteria for such a choice were. It was beyond the grasp of a boy who had just turned eight.

All he could grasp was this: his grandfather needed his grandmother more. She was someone he could not let go of.

And every night, that same man endured the wails of his tormented grandmother.

“Your family has been nothing but trouble for Maxim. Ever since your grandfather dragged home that foolish girl, I knew I should’ve stopped the marriage. It’s ruined even the children…”

The dictator’s lips curled into something that almost resembled a smile.

“Be smart, little Solzhenitsyn. Those stormy eyes of yours are a gift from Maxim. Living like your father will only make you the next sacrifice.”

“…!”

“What kind of black tea would you like to drink in the future?”

With that, the man turned and walked away, leaving behind only his chilling voice.

The boy could only glare at the retreating figure, his spine rigid, his fists trembling.

He didn’t know if it was from fear or rage.

But Yuri knew one thing for certain.

He must not live like his father.

His grandfather celebrated his birthday with a warning.

The boy stood in the biting cold, staring blankly at the vast lake. The Winter Castle he had entered after losing his parents was no longer his grandfather’s home or the mansion he wanted to boast about.

Could a man who could so mercilessly kill his own son not kill his grandson? His once-thumping heart turned cold and hardened.

Then, who would protect him?

“….”

No answer came but only the lingering image of his parents’ lifeless bodies, burned forever into his mind.

The boy clenched his jaw and forced his tear-filled eyes wide open.

‘I will survive. I will live. To the very end.’

He would abandon the Solzhenitsyn name.

To do that, he needed to be a perfect Solzhenitsyn, surviving without any flaws. He had to recover his strength and buy time to torment his opponent. He needed to wait for his enemy’s power to weaken.

He had stepped into the cold, calculating political arena where seasoned politicians thrived.

That day, Yuri tossed aside his cherished skates without a second thought.

***

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with that boy?”

Through the crack in the door, he heard Daria Solzhenitsyn’s worried voice.

Daria Solzhenitsyn screamed through the night in madness, but when she returned to herself, she worried about him. She would tug at her hair, black as ink, and cry out “Ivan…”

Daria developed an obsession with inspecting everything her grandson consumed; his food, drinks, and clothes.

He hesitated to tell her what he had heard by the lakeshore, fearing that revealing the truth might drive her further into madness.

Even now, every time she saw Maxim’s face, she would become enraged and have fits; he could not provoke her any further.

So, he complied with his grandmother’s every demand, even if it meant a psychiatrist visiting once a week.

The boy sat silently during the consultation, drawing on the examination sheet.

“Yuri is sitting at the table where my son and daughter-in-law died, drinking tea as if nothing happened.”

“That’s…”

“I still feel like I can’t breathe. My throat closes up just thinking about it…”

His grandmother exhaled sharply, her voice trembling. After taking a moment to steady her breathing, she continued.

“He was such a sweet child. Quiet, yes, but honest and gentle. He adored his parents. Now he sits there like nothing happened. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t smile.”

The boy sat on a chair that was too high for him, idly spinning a cube. With a blank expression, he eavesdropped on their conversation.

It was another dull moment.