Chapter 1631: Don’t embarrass yourself further, nephew.

[Short Flashback]

"Why?"

Jonathan paused mid-sip of his wine, lifting his gaze to the woman seated across the dining table.

A glamorous woman tilted her head, cupping her face as she leaned forward. Her eyes swirled with curiosity, glancing up at him.

"Why do you hate your... uncle?" she asked, her voice laced with deep intrigue.

Jonathan smirked and chuckled, setting the wineglass down. "What makes you think I hate my uncle?"

"You don’t?"

"I don’t like him, but that doesn’t mean I hate him," Jonathan shrugged, chuckling. "He’s... you could say, the biggest antagonist of my life. But he’s also the reason the two of us are here. If not for him, I don’t think you’d have anyone eating this dinner with you — or drinking such an exquisite wine."

He didn’t even think she would ever get to taste this kind of wine in her life.

"Then I will not dislike him!" the woman declared. "As long as he treats you well."

Jonathan snorted, making the woman furrow her brows.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It’s nothing." He waved a hand. "Let’s just not talk about him, okay? I want to finish this meal, and talking about other people ruins my appetite."

"Okay..." The woman hummed, tucking a portion of her hair behind her ear. She pouted a little and sighed.

"Anyway, I heard not long ago that... you were actually married?" she asked, frowning. "You told me I was the only one."

Jonathan chuckled. "Come on. You don’t actually believe that, do you? You already knew I was married the night we met, but you still willingly spent the night with me."

"Babe..." the woman pouted as he mildly pinched her cheek. "Ouch. This is not fair."

"This world never promised fairness, babe, but on a side note, that’s actually your charm," he chuckled. "Don’t worry about my wife. She’s going to be fine on her own."

---

[PRESENT TIME]

It was true that Jonathan never truly hated Zoren.

Not when, in his eyes, Zoren was nothing more than a pitiful child clinging to anything he could hold on to just to feel in control. The only time Jonathan had felt true hatred was when he was thrown into prison—dragged down by Zoren in a scandal that involved the entire Pierson Corporation.

Back then, Zoren had tossed everyone—family members, higher-ups, even small-time employees—into the fire with him.

Still, Jonathan hadn’t lived long enough for that hatred to root itself deeply in his bones. So, no, he couldn’t say he hated Zoren to the core. He understood that, for now, he needed the man to stay alive.

"I am very sorry, Zoren Pierson. But I can’t let you walk to your death. Not yet. Not when you owe me an entire lifetime to live."

Jonathan quickly shifted his hand and picked up the pistol instead of the phone. Without hesitation, he pointed it at Zoren with a shrug.

At the same time, he was aware that the number of laser sights trained on him had doubled. After all, he was now holding Zoren at gunpoint.

"Let’s not hurt each other, Zoren," Jonathan proposed. "Why don’t you just leave, hmm? I mean, if you really want to find the person pulling the strings, go look for them. But I’m not the one who’s going to take you to them."

Meaning: Jonathan wouldn’t let those people kill Zoren—the very person keeping him alive.

Jonathan flashed an ironic smile, blinking innocently. With the pistol in hand, his confidence surged.

Zoren, on the other hand, stared calmly at the muzzle, then at Jonathan’s smug expression.

"..." Without a word, he took a step forward.

Jonathan furrowed his brows at the movement.

"Hey," he warned, keeping the gun aimed at him. "Stop right there. I’m not joking, Zoren Pierson. I might not shoot your chest, but I’ll shoot you somewhere else."

"If you do, they’ll shoot you," Zoren replied, taking another step. "And they won’t miss your head."

With Zoren approaching, Jonathan staggered backward. He still gripped the pistol, finger hovering near the trigger.

"Zoren Pierson," he called again, raising his chin. But then he froze—Zoren had stopped just as the muzzle pressed against his chest.

Jonathan’s breath hitched. Zoren? Not even a blink.

He kept a cold, unreadable expression, locking eyes with Jonathan as if there wasn’t a pistol aimed at his heart. He said nothing—no smugness, no taunting, just unrelenting calm.

Yet Jonathan felt the message loud and clear.

"..." Jonathan gulped, his gaze never leaving Zoren’s. After a second, he exhaled sharply, realization dawning on him. "It’s empty."

"Mark is more paranoid than my wife when it comes to things like this," Zoren said as he calmly reached for the open drawer and picked up the spare phone. Holding it between them, he added, "If you’ve handled guns before, you’d know it’s empty. Jonathan, have you ever killed someone?"

Silence.

"Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t either—not in this lifetime, yet," Zoren went on, speaking with an almost casual tone, "but that doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it."

He glanced at the gun. "I used to play with those things a lot in the past, so I can tell at a glance whether it’s loaded or not."

Jonathan’s face soured as he studied Zoren’s unchanged demeanor. Zoren held the phone calmly between them—steady, composed.

Just when Jonathan thought he had the upper hand... but then again, why was he even surprised?

Was there ever a time anyone had the upper hand against this man?

"Make the call," Zoren urged, pushing the phone closer to him. "And drop the gun. Don’t embarrass yourself further, nephew."

"Tch." Jonathan hissed and swallowed the bitter taste of pride rising in his throat. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly placed the pistol down and slammed it on the desk. Just to be sure, he disassembled it the way he remembered—and sure enough, it was empty.

"Like I said, Mark always lowers the risk," Zoren remarked, watching Jonathan’s distressed expression. Nudging the phone toward him again, he added, "Now, make the call."