Aaron sighed to himself, remembering how much Damian is adored by their father. Their father was never going to believe anything he said; he was just going to act on whatever his stepbrother and his stepmother told him.
Which, obviously, was not going to be good.
Interrupting his thoughts, Madam Judith screamed,
"I will personally ensure you both answer to Charles once he returns. Now get your filthy, unkempt selves from my sight!"
Susan—Aaron's mum—apologetically pressed her head harder against the ground.
"This one is sorry, this one is sorry, this one is sorry."
Madam Judith frowned deeply.
"I said GET LOST!"
Susan trembled visibly at Madam Judith's aggressive outburst. Then, hastily, she got to her feet, grabbed Aaron by the arm, and yanked him along with her in a bid to leave the veranda quickly.
Under the watchful eyes of the servants—who were excitedly whispering among themselves about the recently unfolded drama—they walked briskly along the corridors of the mansion to their assigned quarters. Aaron gently tried to pull his arm from his mother's grasp, but she tightened it, then shot him a warning glance as she led him to the room he shared with her and his sister.
Walking behind his mother, he heard the voice of one of the servants, who didn't bother to conceal his whisper:
"...That's not it. The little bastard is full of himself. He thinks he's special just because he's the Lord's son. He doesn't know he's ultimately the child of a slave."
Probably thinking he was gradually getting out of earshot, one of the servants added in a louder voice,
"How are you even sure he's the Lord's son? He looks nothing like the Lord and lacks the Lord's talent. One doesn't need the input of a soothsayer to know Lord Damian is the Lord's child. He has his father's talents, looks, physique, and character. But Aaron is just as useless and talentless as a slave—just like his mother."
The servants laughed loudly at the remark, then continued to chatter amongst themselves.
Aaron turned his head away dejectedly as his mother dragged him into their room, shutting the door tightly behind her.
On entering the room, Susan pleadingly fell to her knees and held Aaron's gaze. With watery eyes—signifying how hard she was trying to hold back her tears—she spoke in a shaky voice:
"A-Aaron, I... I have pleaded, commanded, warned, begged, and even bribed you..."
"Mum, please get up," Aaron protested softly as he also went down on his knees in front of her.
"...You just don't listen," she continued with quiet sobs.
"You know how much Damian hates you. You know you're not as strong as he is. You know he will hurt you at any opportunity he gets, yet you keep challenging him every time he hits Abigail."
Aaron turned his head sideways, then whispered to his mum,
"You know it's hard for me to overlook. It's—"
"Force yourself, Aaron," Susan interrupted with a pleading look in her eyes.
"Then force yourself to overlook it, Aaron. Please… I… I don't want to lose you. You're a smart kid. You have a bright future. Don't let Abigail's efforts go to waste. You know it's because of her and your own efforts that Lord Damian allowed you to attend the academy."
Aaron watched as Susan abruptly inhaled sharply to stop the drop of catarrh that threatened to slip from her nose. His face fell at the sight—this only happened when she had cried for too long.
Still kneeling, his head dropped as he stared blankly at the wooden floor in silence.
Susan quietly watched him with tearful eyes, then extended her arms and grabbed his shoulders.
"Four more years, Aaron. Endure, and in four more years you'll graduate from the academy, leave the mansion, and get a job."
Her wet eyes widened as she continued hopefully,
"With your wits, getting a high-paying job won't be a problem. In three to five years, with proper dedication, you should be able to save up three gold coins and pay for my freedom. If I'm free, Abigail will be free too, and we'll leave this place together."
Susan tightened her grip on Aaron's shoulders.
"Despite how much you hate them, you need them just as much. Please don't let Abigail's and my efforts go—"
There was a calm knock on the door.
Aaron and his mum raised their heads with expectant looks as they stared at the door, waiting for whoever knocked to identify themselves.
"It's me, Mum," Abigail announced as she gently pushed the door open and entered the room.
Susan stared silently at Abigail for a brief moment, then broke into another round of sobs.
Holding her mother's gaze, Abigail ruffled her already disorganized hair with a concerned look on her face.
"Mother, I've told you, crying is just going to make you look older than you already do."
She glanced at Aaron, who looked back at her with raised eyebrows, already knowing she was about to insult him.
"Plus, you already know your son is just as stupid as he is smart."
"Hey!" Aaron protested with an offended look.
"You know I got into trouble because of you."
Abigail shook her head in amusement.
"No. You got into trouble because you would not listen."
She hesitated for a moment, then added in a more serious tone as she walked towards him,
"And once again, you've allowed Damian to beat you up and set you up afterwards."
She stopped by his side, crouched beside him, and placed a palm on his back.
"How is your back?" Abigail asked with concern.
Aaron wanted to brag about how good he felt, but he knew it was impossible. His back was hurting—so badly that it showed in his voice. His mother and Abigail weren't foolish; they were aware of how much pain he was in, so pretending to be okay was out of the question. He tried to straighten his back slightly and felt a sharp, heavy pain again.
He frowned angrily to himself.
'Damn! That pompous fool didn't hold anything back.'