The table was filled with dishes, the rich aroma of red wine lingering in the air. A towering three-layer cake stood proudly at the center, and a large bouquet of vibrant roses adorned the dining table.

Sabrina beamed as she approached, taking the bag from my hand.

"Zach, you're back! Everything is ready. I’ve been waiting for you to eat," she said cheerfully, then, seeing my confused expression, gently pushed me toward the dining area.

"Today is the kids’ birthday," she explained. "I wanted you to meet them properly and start building a bond, so I decided to hold the celebration at home."

Turning toward the children, she called out, "Mike, Mick, Macky! Come meet your Uncle Zach. Once you bow to him, you’ll officially have a godfather!"

That was when I realized why I’d been called back tonight—this was nothing more than a trap.

The three kids remained glued to the cartoon playing on the projector, barely acknowledging me. Only after Sabrina coaxed them did they shuffle over, clearly uninterested.

I studied them. They bore no resemblance to Sabrina at all—small-eyed, short, and chubby, with an unmistakable air of impatience and irritation. They were nothing like the gentle, quiet Sabrina I had once known.

"You’re Zach?" The tallest boy wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You’re so ugly. Not even close to how handsome my dad is."

"Mom, is this really the godfather you picked for us? I don’t want him. He’s old and ugly," another boy whined.

The youngest pouted, chiming in, "If big brother doesn’t want him, neither do I. He looks poor. It’s embarrassing to go out with him."

Sabrina quickly covered the boy’s mouth and laughed nervously. "Mick, don’t be rude. Did you forget what Mommy told you? If you call him godfather, he’ll buy you a big car, a big house, and lots of toys."

She then turned to me, her smile unwavering.

"Zach, since the kids are accepting you as their godfather, you should show some sincerity. I think three million per child from demolition compensation is fair. Plus, another million to buy a four-bedroom apartment for Mickey."

She spoke so naturally, as if discussing something as trivial as groceries.

"Money is just a material thing," she continued. "You won’t take it with you when you die. Sooner or later, everything you own will go to the next generation. If you win their favor now, they’ll take care of you when you’re old. I’m doing this for your own good."

The eldest, clearly the leader, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Dad said you’re really pitiful for not having kids. We’ll call you godfather if you want, but you better not be stingy. Otherwise, when you’re old, I’ll make you pick up garbage and lock you in a dark room to eat scraps."

Sabrina nodded eagerly. "See? My son is right. If your godfather treats you well, you have to treat him well too, right?"

"Don’t worry, your godfather is rich," she assured them. "Just tell him whatever you want."

She pulled me close, giving me a knowing wink.

I let out a cold sneer and shoved her away.

"Who said I wanted to be their godfather? And a house and a car? Your biological father is so ‘capable’—why don’t you ask him to buy them? What’s the point of finding a godfather with a different last name?"

The eldest’s face twisted with rage. Without warning, he charged at me, ramming his small body into my stomach and pummeling me with his fists.

"You dare talk about my dad like that? You’re just an old, stingy man! No wonder you don’t have a son!"

"We only asked you to buy us a house because we felt bad for you!" another boy sneered. "Who wants to be the son of an ugly freak like you?"

The youngest shrieked, "We don’t want you here, ugly freak! Get out!"

Before I could react, they all launched at me, scratching, kicking, hitting.

Sabrina tried to stop them, but they were relentless.

I grabbed one by the arm and yanked him away, but the others kept coming. Their small fists and feet struck with surprising force.

Then, out of nowhere, a sharp, agonizing pain shot through me.

One of them kicked me—hard—right between the legs.

I doubled over as the searing pain spread through my body, my vision blurring.

In excruciating pain, I instinctively flung the little boy away with all my strength. A sharp cry echoed through the room as the tall boy crashed into the coffee table.

Instantly, the living room was filled with earth-shattering wails.

Still clutching my aching crotch, I bent over, reaching out to help him up.

Before I could, my mother-in-law burst out of the kitchen. The moment she saw the child sprawled against the coffee table, she let out a frantic cry and rushed over, cradling him in her arms.

"My darling! My poor baby!" she sobbed.

Seeing the blood trickling from the boy’s forehead, guilt crept over me. Just as I was about to speak, another figure stepped out of the kitchen.

It was my first time seeing Mickey in person.

Just like in the videos, she was tall, fair-skinned, and carried an air of elegance. Every feature of hers was exquisitely refined.

I couldn't help but glance down at myself—worn-out factory sportswear, faded gray sneakers, and the exhaustion from sleepless nights etched on my face. I must have looked old and haggard. A wave of indescribable emotions washed over me.

Mickey's eyes widened at the sight of the blood on the child's forehead. Panic flashed across her face as she rushed to his side, gently cradling him and checking his wound.

"Dad, it was him! He pushed me so hard!" The boy whined, pointing at me.

Mickey scooped him up, then turned to me with an icy glare.

"Brother Zach, how could you lay a hand on a child?" she demanded. "I know you’ve never been a father, and maybe you lack fatherly love, but that doesn't mean you have to be so cruel."

She then shifted her furious gaze to Sabrina.

"Sabrina, I know my brother has never liked us. That’s why I listened to you and stayed away from Brooklyn all these years. I only wanted to raise my child in peace, never to fight with anyone over you. But today, you told us he had agreed to meet, and I was overjoyed—I thought we could finally reunite as a family."

Her voice trembled with disappointment.

"But instead, this is how he treats Mike? Sabrina, I can’t stay here. I won’t let my child suffer under someone else’s roof, and I refuse to watch him be treated this way."

Mickey picked up Mike and reached for Mick and Macky, ready to leave.

Sabrina panicked. She clutched Mickey’s arm, her voice desperate.

"Mickey, don’t go! You can’t leave! This is your home, you and your child’s! Where will you even go?"

She turned to me frantically, dragging me forward.

"Zach, apologize to Mike. Tell him you didn’t mean it. Hurry!" She dug her nails into my arm, her grip tight with urgency.

Her voice lowered into a sharp whisper.

"Promise Mickey that you’ll treat the child as your own. Swear that you’ll never lay a hand on him again."