The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 199: Chapter 199 - Weight of the decision

Bian’s hand hovered at the edge of the door for a second longer, his breath caught in his throat. The sound of children’s laughter filtered through the sealed room like a ghostly echo. He felt a strange pull in his chest—something soft and distant that he immediately crushed down.

Then, with a jerk, he pushed the door open.

The room was simple, warm, and filled with scattered toys and cushions. Two children were playing on the floor with odd alien building blocks. One of them—smaller, younger, his nose running and cheeks flushed with excitement—saw Bian and immediately lit up.

”Brother Jian!!” the child shouted, running up to him with outstretched arms.

But Bian recoiled as if struck, twisting away sharply and stepping back with disgust in his eyes. ”Why is this kid trying to touch me?” he snapped, glaring at the boy like he was something contagious. ”Dican, get rid of him.”

Dican didn’t hesitate. With a grim expression, he stepped forward and picked up the child effortlessly, holding him in his arms as the boy blinked up at Bian in confusion.

”You’re not... brother Jian?” the boy asked softly, his eyes wide as he stared at Bian. ”But you look like my brother...”

A muscle twitched in Bian’s jaw. The boy’s words grated against something deep inside his chest, but he refused to let it show. He couldn’t afford to let it show.

”Bian...”

The soft, familiar voice cut through him like a blade dulled by time but no less sharp.

His gaze turned, and his breath hitched.

The old man had risen from the corner of the room, his hands trembling as he took a shaky step forward. His hair was more silver than he remembered, and his body frailer. But those eyes—still warm, still sharp—hadn’t changed at all.

”Grandpa...” Bian whispered.

He hadn’t meant to say it. It fell from his lips before he could stop it.

”Is it really... is it really you?” the old man asked, voice cracking with emotion. ”My boy... you’re alive...”

Bian stood frozen. The room fell silent. Even the children stopped fidgeting.

The room was heavy with silence, a strange stillness settling over the air as Bian snapped out of his dazed state, his arms crossed, a cold smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stepped in slowly, letting the sound of his boots echo across the floor.

”Ah, my human grandpa,” he sneered, voice dripping with mocking amusement. ”What a surprise to see you here... tsk tsk...” His eyes glinted with something bitter and sharp. ”Oh, how the wheels have turned.”

He strolled in without hesitation and sat down directly across from the old man, sprawling lazily on the seat like he owned the room, like he owned them.

”Did you have fun escaping the Graylings?” he added, voice light, taunting. ”Running for your pathetic little life with that brat attached to your leg?”

The older man didn’t move at first. He stood still, those aged eyes peering down at Bian like they were trying to look through him—to search for some trace of the boy they once knew.

”Why, Bian...” the old man said softly, voice rough with pain. ”I raised you well. So why have you become this... this monster?”

Bian’s expression twisted. He rolled his eyes so hard it was almost theatrical, the irritation already bubbling over.

”You didn’t raise me well,” he snapped, rising from his seat so quickly the chair behind him scraped harshly against the floor.

”You couldn’t even give me the basic necessities. What kind of joke is that?” he snarled, stepping forward. ”Did you buy me what I wanted? Did you give me safety, comfort, protection? Countless riches? Power?”

He laughed bitterly and scoffed.

”No,” he spat. ”You were just a poor fucking human. You had nothing. You gave me nothing. And now you’re here—clinging to others.”

His voice dropped into a growl as he turned away from his grandfather and shot Dican a sharp look.

”Can we have them thrown out now?” he snapped, the anger flaring hot under his skin. ”Out of this damn spaceship. I’ve had enough of their pathetic faces.”

Dican stood there silently. His mouth opened for a moment, as if to speak, but nothing came out at first. His eyes flicked from Bian to the old man and back, his face a mask of quiet conflict.

”I... I have orders from my father,” he said finally, voice low and hesitant. ”To safely escort them to my brother’s ship.”

His words felt like they carried weight—like even speaking them was painful under Bian’s stare.

Bian’s jaw tightened. The fire in his eyes only grew hotter, sharper. He stepped forward, eyes blazing.

”Fucking coward,” he hissed, shoving past Dican’s shoulder. ”If you won’t throw them out, then lock them in. They’re not to leave their fucking room as of today.”

The child, standing quietly in the corner, clutched his stuffed toy tighter, eyes wide. Grandpa stepped instinctively in front of him, shielding the boy with his body.

”Bian, you can hate me all you want,” the old man said softly. ”But these children have done nothing to you.”

”I don’t give a damn,” Bian muttered, already turning his back. ”He calls like brother and for that he deserves to be punished.”

Dican stood frozen, his heart aching as he looked between the two humans. His gaze lingered on the boy.

”...I’m sorry,” he whispered to them before quietly shutting the door. And this time, he locked it.

”don’t feed them anything. Fucking let them starve to death.” Bian growled glaring out into the space. ”I want Jian to suffer Dican. I want him to suffer so fucking much that he cant even live on anymore...”

Bian stormed off without another word, the echoes of his boots fading quickly down the hallway. The door slammed behind him with a heavy clang, leaving Dican standing there, frozen in place, the tension in the air still coiling tight around him.

Silence fell like a suffocating blanket.

Dican stood motionless for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Something about the way Bian left—his words, his expression, the venom laced in every syllable—kept ringing in his ears. He had heard Bian speak harshly before, lash out when agitated, but today... today it felt different.

Colder.

More distant.

Without realizing it, Dican’s hand slowly lifted to his chest. His fingers touched the smooth surface of the transparent stone pendant resting there—clear and pale, like a droplet of frozen water.

He kissed it gently.

A breath shuddered through him.

His heart... it felt heavy. Unsettled. The cold unease had started in his stomach the moment Bian told him to lock those people away—and now it had risen like bile in his throat.

Why did it hurt so much?

He had followed orders, just as a mate should. Just as a loyal husband must. His role was clear. He was to protect Bian, support Bian, obey Bian.

But was this really protection?

He turned slightly, eyes drifting to the closed room behind him where the humans now sat in forced confinement—where that little boy with the wide, innocent eyes had flinched when Bian shouted at him. Where the old man had stood up, not in anger, but in heartbreak.

They didn’t even fight back...

Dican’s brows knit together tightly. His jaw clenched. His hand still hovered near his pendant.

They didn’t even fight back... and I still shut the door on them.

A quiet dread grew heavier inside him, coiling like a serpent around his ribs. The weight of his loyalty and the echo of his conscience were starting to pull in opposite directions.

But he couldn’t go against Bian. He couldn’t.