Kyle Faulkner had learned early that the answer was never simple.
To anyone looking in, he lacked nothing. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find the one thing that mattered most.
There was no happiness in his life. No love, either. The sparkle in his eyes had faded long ago; he no longer knew how — or even wanted — to love and respect himself.
For a long time, no one else did either.
Kyle existed like a prisoner in a huge mansion, surrounded by ostentatious luxury meant to soften the truth it concealed.
His father, Martin Faulkner — a wealthy and influential businessman — never showed him any support.
When Kyle was only six, his mother died after a long illness.
After that, the house changed.
His father stopped talking to him, then stopped noticing him, as if Kyle were not his son — as if he did not exist.
Perhaps his resemblance to his mother reopened something Martin refused to face. Or perhaps seeing him was simply too much.
It wasn't just his father.
The entire Faulkner family — uncles, aunts, cousins — looked down on him. From the moment he was born, Kyle was despised for being the son of a woman they considered beneath them.
They hated him, sometimes openly, sometimes in ways that didn't need words. They wished he had never been born.
"We don't need an heir like that," Uncle Mike would sneer during rare family dinners.
After his mother's death, there was no one left to shield him.
It went on like that for years.
Kyle could have broken. Could have simply given up.
But he didn't.
Then, when his father remarried, something changed — slightly, but enough to matter.
Kyle's relationship with his stepmother never worked out. She shared her husband's opinion.
But he still found something he had never had before.
A real family.
Megan.
A sunny, golden-haired girl — who became the closest thing to home he had left.
She gave him something no one else in that house ever had: warmth without conditions.
They weren't related by blood, yet their bond was stronger than most.
To her, Kyle was a brother — not by blood, but by choice.
Megan was four years older and naturally took on the role of his guide. She understood him better than anyone else — his habits, his silences, his tastes.
She was always there.
When the time came to choose a successor, Mr. Faulkner chose Megan without hesitation.
From her, he demanded excellence. From his son, nothing at all. To him, Kyle might as well have been nothing.
Megan tried to change his mind — calmly, persistently. She argued that Kyle was capable, that he deserved a chance.
But he never listened.
Kyle wasn't surprised when the decision was made. He had always expected it.
Still, it hurt.
The weight of his own uselessness pressed heavier than before. An emptiness took root somewhere deep inside him.
Two years passed. Nothing changed.
Not his father's disappointment. Not his family's contempt. Not the quiet belief that something was fundamentally wrong with him.
Kyle adapted.
He became invisible. He endured everything in silence.
He didn't do it alone. Megan stayed.
They spent long evenings together, talking about everything and nothing.
Kyle helped her with her studies — especially programming, where his mind worked in ways people rarely did.
Sometimes he showed her things he found online. Small discoveries, hidden layers of the web. Code that made sense when people didn't.
After Megan graduated, she began preparing to take her place in the family business.
Their father was relentless. Demanding. Nothing less than perfection was acceptable.
Kyle supported her through it all, just as she had always supported him. They kept no secrets from each other.
Kyle knew about her hidden interests — the ones she never shared with the family.
He covered for her more than once when she slipped out to attend pride events, rallies, or fan meetings.
He never judged her. And he never let anyone else find out.
In this house, anything unconventional was condemned immediately...
Kyle blinked.
The room came back into focus slowly — the screen, the desk, the quiet pressing in from all sides.
For a moment, he didn't move, as if the past hadn't fully let go of him yet. Then he exhaled and leaned forward, his fingers settling back on the keyboard.
An unfinished assignment waited on the screen. Economics. Something his father would approve of.
He stared at it for a second longer than necessary, his gaze unfocused, like he wasn't really seeing it yet.
Then he started typing.
Numbers. Terms. Definitions.
Pareto efficiency — the idea that improving one position meant worsening another.
Kyle stared at the line for a second. It didn't feel like a theory anymore.
He could have been writing code instead. Something that would actually make sense. At least to him.
The keys clicked softly under his fingers, the rhythm familiar enough to follow without thinking.
He didn't rush. There was no one here to watch. No one to interrupt.
Just the quiet.
Kyle paused, his hand hovering briefly over the keyboard before dropping back down.
A message notification flashed in the corner of the screen — then disappeared. He didn't open it. He didn't need to check who it was. There was only one person who ever did.
Instead, he adjusted the headphones around his neck and kept typing.
Outside his room, the house carried on — distant, controlled. Inside, nothing shifted either.
Kyle's life could have continued like that — quiet, predictable, contained.
And it would have.
If he hadn't met him.