Chapter 651
Neal’s legs felt as if they were rooted to the floor, refusing to move.
“What’s wrong with you?” The man’s voice grew more demanding. “I came all this way to see you, and you won’t even let me inside?” He hissed in a crude, disrespectful tone, his volume rising as if to challenge Neal’s patience. His shouting made Neal wonder if the entire building could hear.
“Quiet down. You’re disturbing the neighbors,” Neal finally said, his voice edged with frustration.
“You little brat,” the man shot back, his voice growing even louder, like a child throwing a tantrum. “What’s the problem? What do others care if a father talks to his son?”
The sound of a door creaking open upstairs sent a jolt of panic through Neal. Heart racing, he yanked the man up the stairs, shoved him inside his apartment, and slammed the door shut with a force that echoed through the hallway.
Footsteps reverberated down the hallway, growing louder as they neared Neal’s door.
Neal had no desire for anyone to witness the absurdity of the encounter unfolding with his estranged father.
Meanwhile, the man’s eyes swept across the room, his face twisted with open contempt.
“What’s this?” he scoffed, eyes narrowing as he took in the room’s state. “You really live in a place like this?”
“Why are you here?” Neal demanded, his voice steady despite the tension.
“You need to get out of here. You shouldn’t be living in a dump like this.”
“Say what you have to say, or leave me alone. Don’t waste my time.”
The man scoffed again, his gaze falling on the bed. “What kind of pathetic bed is this?” He collapsed onto it without a second thought, pressing down on the mattress. “It’s like lying on a rock. How do you sleep on this?”
“What do you want from me?” Neal frowned.
The man had already stretched out on Neal’s bed, ignoring the dirt on his clothes as they stained the pristine gray sheets.
Neal approached the man, his gaze falling on him from above.
It had been over two years since their last encounter. The man was gaunt, his skin darker than before, but Neal recognized him instantly.
This was the man who had given him life—his father.
Despite the years and changes, there was still a faint trace of their shared features. The greasy, ill-fitting suit and the unkempt hair made him look like someone who had seen nothing but struggle. If Neal had encountered him on the street, he might have mistaken him for a homeless person.
Admitting that this was his father was a struggle.
The father he remembered was always polished—clean, neat, and attentive to detail.
His father changed his shirt daily, his tie never creased, and he carried himself with a composed, courteous demeanor. He never raised his voice.
However, this was a far cry from the man lying in front of Neal now. After a moment of lying still, the man stirred and grumbled, “I’m starving. What do you have to eat?”
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