How the Ice King Became my Doting Billionaire Husband

Stuart stepped out of the school gates and drove straight back to Hetfield Homestead. The wind outside the car window helped clear his head a bit. It was time to have a talk with Norbert.

Lately, the atmosphere at the old mansion had been suffocating. Even Orson Brown, usually carefree, could sense that Norbert's health was declining. But he couldn't quite put his finger on the cause, leaving him unsure whether to inform Mrs. Hetfield. Orson had been in a funk these days, with Norbert out of spirits, and himself feeling down. Suddenly, he heard footsteps.

"Hey there, Mr. Hetfield," Orson greeted lazily.

Stuart, enveloped in gloom, ignored him and headed straight upstairs to the study. The usually sluggish Orson perked up a bit. Mr. Hetfield seemed unusually agitated. Worried that Stuart might confront Norbert with his fiery temper, especially given Norbert's frail health, Orson followed but decided to wait outside the study, not wanting to eavesdrop or peek.

Stuart entered the study and shut the door behind him. Norbert, holding a mug, sniffed at it and put it down, seemingly oblivious to Stuart's dark mood, and said with a smile, "Morwenna's got me on a tight leash, no more whiskey for me. Just getting a whiff is all I can do now."

Norbert had been a heavy drinker for decades but had not touched a drop since promising Morwenna he'd quit. He would often hold his mug, now filled with tea instead of whiskey, and just smell it without drinking.

Stuart cut straight to the chase, "Did you send that disgrace out there to embarrass us?"

Norbert's face turned serious, "Stuart, there's no need for such harsh words."

"Harsh? I'm just stating the facts. My father and his sister's child-if not a disgrace, what is he?"

Norbert's face went pale as if Stuart had touched on a deeply painful truth, and he began to cough violently.

Stuart remained emotionless, his voice cold, "If you don't want that disgrace to die, better keep him away from me. Forever."

"Stuart, they've wronged you, but

they're dead now. Claude is sick, not long for this world. He wanted to see

the world, and I couldn't deny him that."

"Better off dead now, then," Stuart scoffed.

Norbert, coughing, pleaded, "Stuart! I'm dying. Do you want me to die with this on my conscience? Claude is innocent."

Stuart's voice grew colder, "Old man, I've told you not to threaten me, even with your death."

A burst of laughter broke from Stuart, the word "innocent" tearing open all his restraints. "Innocent! You talk to me about innocent! What about me? At eight, my mother sent me back to the Hetfield family, to my Sed father, promising a better life. But what I got was my dear father and his sister locking me in a basement, torturing me for five years. One was my biological father, the other my blood-related aunt."

Stuart unbuttoned his shirt, revealing scars, "See these? Have you not seen them before? Let me think, three life-threatening injuries, twelve fractures, twenty-six needles pulled out of my body, countless scars. I was locked in that basement like a sewermat for five years. My so-called cousin Phineas Hetfield stumbled upon me but didn't care. Aunt Yara Hétfield, walking past the little iron window above, pretended not to see to avoid trouble. And you, Norbert Hetfield, the respected head of the Hetfield family, never saw me once in those five years. You never thought of me. That's the Hetfield family for you! And you talk to me about innocence!"