The Forgotten Son's Revenge My Mother Chose Him Over Me

"Marcus, I won't take the job at Tengan. I'll turn it down right now. Just don't blame Mom for this." Nathan dropped to his knees with a heavy thud. "I was wrong! I'll beg for your forgiveness if I have to!" Before he could lower his head to the floor, Mom yanked him up by the arm. "Get up! You are not quitting," she snapped. "You earned that spot with your own blood and sweat. Why should you sacrifice your future just because he throws a tantrum?" "No, Mom," Nathan pleaded, his voice trembling with practiced martyrdom. "I can't let this family fall apart because of me." A flicker of pain crossed Dad's face, but he stayed silent, averting his gaze. Mom turned her glare on me, eyes burning with disappointment. "Look at Nathan! Look how sensible he is compared to you. You don't understand the first thing about family duty. How can your father and I ever rely on you?" "Rely on me?" I scoffed. A cold, bitter smile touched my lips. "Since Nathan is the sensible one, why do you need me at all? From now on, let him be your only son." I didn't wait for a response. I slammed the door and walked away. Heavy footsteps thundered behind me—Dad and a frantic group of relatives giving chase. I strode into the elevator and hammered the close button. Just as the doors slid shut, shattering porcelain echoed from the private room, followed by Emily's furious shriek. "Let him go! No one goes after him! Let's see how long he can keep up this act!" The elevator descended. Silence enveloped me. A stinging heat pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked it away. I wouldn't cry. Not for them. When I stepped into the lobby, a massive digital display dominated the entrance: [Congratulations to Young Master Whitmore for securing the top spot in the Tengan Corporation interviews!] Young Master Whitmore. The title felt like a cruel joke. I stood there, staring blankly at the screen. A waiter collided with my shoulder, jarring me from my thoughts. "I'm so sorry, sir!" He balanced a tray, flustered. "The guests in Room 606 ordered another rush cake. They want the head chef to decorate it personally." Room 606. Nathan's celebration. "Why order another one?" I asked flatly. "Apparently, someone ruined the first party," the waiter gossiped, lowering his voice. "The young master's mother is furious. She wants to restart the celebration, bigger and louder. Their son got into a Fortune 500 company—big deal, I guess." I let out a dry, humorless laugh. Fortune 500. I had taken the provincial civil service exam alongside Nathan's corporate interviews. I placed first. I was now an officer at the Tax Bureau—the very agency that investigated companies like Tengan. But from start to finish, the Whitmore family only had eyes for Nathan. Not a single person asked if I passed. Not one asked where I was going. I left the hotel and returned to my apartment. I spent the rest of the day staring at the wall, numb. That night, a notification popped up on my phone. Nathan had updated his feed. A video. Emily and Nathan stood in front of a massive, fresh cake, surrounded by beaming relatives. The earlier tension was erased, replaced by champagne and cheers. Nathan flashed a peace sign at the camera, his smile radiant. The caption read: [Thank you, Mom and Dad, for always having my back when it matters most.] I powered off my phone and tossed it onto the couch. I didn't return to the Whitmore estate that weekend. Instead, I drove to the University District. This was where Emma and I had spent three years mapping out our lives. Where to buy a house. When to have children. Where we would retire when our hair turned gray. I never expected my interview at Tengan—the one I was guaranteed to ace—to be blocked by my own mother just so Nathan could shine. Emma, however, got in. A month later, she dumped me. I can't do long-distance. I need stability. I was helpless, but I accepted it. I had nothing to offer her then. Seeking a moment of peace, I walked into the small bistro where we used to eat. As I settled into a booth, a couple at the adjacent table caught my attention. The woman's voice was unmistakably familiar. "I used to eat here all the time in college. The fish is amazing—try it." "All the time?" A man's voice replied, dripping with playful jealousy. "Who did you come here with?" A coy giggle. "Don't worry about it." I froze. A chill ran down my spine. "Emma?" The name slipped out before I could stop it. The woman's back went rigid. Slowly, she turned, her eyes widening as they locked with mine.

Nathan stared at me, feigning shock. "Marc?" "Babe, give me a second," Emma said, flashing Nathan a reassuring smile. Before I could react, she seized my arm and dragged me out of earshot. "Don't get the wrong idea," she hissed, releasing me. "We met after we broke up." "Bullshit." Heat flooded my vision, rage clawing at my throat. "He stopped being single this time last year. We were still together. You were already with him, weren't you?" She didn't answer immediately. I stepped forward, cornering her. "Emma, tell me the truth. Did we really break up because of the distance? Or was it him?" She bit her lip, then met my gaze with chilling defiance. "Fine. Yes, I cheated. So what?" I hadn't expected her to admit it so bluntly. The air left my lungs. "Marc, look at where I came from," she said, her voice hard. "My parents are blue-collar workers. They scraped every penny to get me out of that town. I fought tooth and nail to get here. When a lifeline appears, I grab it. I don't apologize for surviving." I frowned. "What are you talking about?" She sighed. "My interview scores weren't high enough. I wouldn't have made the cut on my own. Nathan asked his mother—the branch president—to pull some strings. She got me in." Disbelief paralyzed me. "His mother? You mean Emily?" "Yes." The ground tilted beneath my feet. I, the biological son, had been blocked by arbitrary rules and conflict-of-interest excuses. Yet Nathan only had to whisper a request, and a stranger—someone my mother had never met—was welcomed with open arms. I was the true heir. Yet I was the one standing on the outside. I clenched my jaw, fighting the sting in my eyes. "I never thought you were capable of this, Emma." "Don't play the victim," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You have no idea what it took to get here. Sure, I could have stayed with you, but if another man offers me a shortcut across social classes, why wouldn't I take it?" She paused, her gaze sweeping over me with pity. "And let's be honest, Marcus. If the roles were reversed, you would have dumped me just as fast." I stared at her, unable to recognize the woman I had once loved. "So don't blame me for being pragmatic. Blame yourself. Blame your lack of ability. Blame the fact that you aren't Nathan, and you certainly don't have a mother like Emily backing you." I froze. A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest. "You really don't know whose son I am, do you?" "Does it matter?" "What if I told you Emily is my mother?" She blinked. Then scoffed. "If you were really her son, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be in the Fortune 500 alongside Nathan." I was left speechless. "Em?" Nathan's voice cut through the tension. He approached, brow furrowed in mock concern. "Everything okay? Is there a misunderstanding?" "It's nothing," Emma said, dismissing me with a glance. "Just an ex who can't let go." She linked her arm through his and walked away without a backward glance. But just before they disappeared, Nathan looked back. His mask evaporated. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk of pure, triumphant malice. My phone buzzed. I answered mechanically, mind still reeling. It was my father. "Marcus," he barked. "It's Sunday. Are you still throwing a tantrum? Your mother is furious. Stop making trouble and come home." "I'm not making trouble," I whispered, staring at the empty space where they had stood.

I ended the call without waiting for a response and immediately dialed another number. "Jackson. The Tengan Corporation file. It's been handed over to our division, correct?" "Yes, Chief." "Emily Simmons recently took on a new protégé. Focus your audit there." "Understood." For the next few days, I buried myself in the investigation, ignoring every call from the Whitmore estate. I thought silence would be answer enough, but I underestimated their persistence. One evening, just as I left the office, a black sedan swerved to the curb, blocking my path. My father stepped out, looking harried. "Marc, we finally found you. Your mother's waiting at home." He reached for my arm. "Stop this nonsense. You haven't been home in a month. You need to come with me tonight. We're family—there's nothing we can't resolve." I opened my mouth to refuse, but noticed my superior's car pulling out of the garage behind me. Causing a scene here would only damage my professional reputation. I swallowed my protest and climbed into the backseat. The atmosphere inside the Whitmore house was suffocating. Nathan was already there, playing the dutiful son as he poured tea for my mother. Emily sat at the head of the table, her expression souring the moment I walked in. "So, you actually decided to show up?" Her voice dripped with disdain. "If my presence is such a burden, I can leave right now." I turned to walk out, but my father caught my arm. "Marc, please," he hissed, before turning a placating look toward his wife. "What could possibly keep you so busy?" Emily scoffed. "Work." "Work?" A mocking smile twisted her lips. "A civil service job you scrounged up yourself, paying a few thousand a month? You think that's worth neglecting your family for?" She sipped her tea without looking at me. "Without my support, what kind of decent job could you possibly find?" "Support?" I almost laughed. The word tasted like ash. "Ms. Simmons, from childhood until this moment, what exactly have you supported me with?" Her hand froze halfway to the saucer. The room went silent. "Most mothers, even those with nothing, wouldn't dream of tearing down their own son's achievements," I continued, my voice steady. "But you're different. Even when I stand on my own two feet, you feel the need to kick them out from under me. All your resources, all your care, went to an outsider. When did you ever spare a crumb for me?" I took a step closer. "Since you never gave me anything, what gives you the right to threaten to take it away?" "You—!" Emily shot to her feet, face flushing. Nathan rushed to her side, grabbing my arm with feigned desperation. "Brother! How can you talk to Mom like that? Apologize, right now!" Emily pressed a hand to her chest, finger trembling as she pointed at me. "Do you see this? This is why I help Nate and not you! He has a heart. You have a stone where yours should be!" My father patted her shoulder, shooting me a disappointed look. "Marc, I brought you home to make peace, not start a war. Look at Nate—why can't you be sensible like him? Just apologize." I ripped my arm from Nathan's grip. "I don't need to be sensible. You have Nathan for that." My voice dropped. "It doesn't matter anyway. You've never treated me like a son." "How dare you!" Emily shrieked. "Am I wrong?" I stared straight into her eyes. Crash. A teacup shattered at my feet. "Fine! Go!" she screamed. "Get out! I want to see what you amount to in Ashford City without my name backing you!" I turned to leave. Nathan reached out as if to stop me, but his hand merely grazed my sleeve—a calculated gesture designed to fail. "Brother, don't be like this! Just say you're sorry!" "Nate, let him go!" Emily yelled. "Ungrateful wretch! When he hits a wall and comes crawling back, he'll realize how wrong he was!" I walked out. The heavy door slammed shut behind me. Even though I had long since hardened my heart against them, the sting lingered. A tightness constricted my throat, but I refused to let tears fall. I hailed a cab and gave the driver my office address. Back at the bureau, the silence was a relief. On my desk sat the file Jackson had compiled. I flipped it open and scanned the financial records. A cold satisfaction settled in my chest as I traced the irregularities. I tossed the file back onto the desk. I knew it. "Nathan Whitmore," I murmured. "You aren't nearly as clean as you pretend to be." Year-end audit season hit like a guillotine. A fleet of black inspection vehicles screeched to a halt outside Tengan Corporation headquarters. We didn't waste a second. Straight past security, into the elevators, and up to Nathan's executive suite. "Investigate me?" Nathan was lounging in his leather chair when we entered. He heard the team's declaration and sneered, not even bothering to stand. "Do you have any idea who I am?" He tossed a pen onto his desk. "Who authorized this?" "I did." The color drained from his face. The inspectors split down the middle, clearing a path. I walked through, badge raised. "Tax Investigation Division, Marcus Whitmore. We have substantial evidence of tax evasion and fraudulent underreporting. You will cooperate immediately."