Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine novel Chapter 280

Chapter 280 The Special One

KYLE

There’s a saying that the youngest ones always get more attention.

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It’s what people like to joke about, isn’t it? The baby of the family is spoiled, showered with love, and never left to fend for themselves. Maybe for some, that’s true. But for me… it never was.

In our household, it wasn’t about age. It was about your worth.

The more special you were, the brighter you shone, the more attention you’d get.

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I was never special.

Not in her eyes.

Not in anyone’s.

If you are born not from love, you cannot expect to be raised with love, can you? That’s what I told myself as I grew. If I lowered my expectations, maybe it would hurt less when they weren’t met.

But the truth is… I always expected.

Time and time again.

Even when I knew better. Even when I saw it clearly with my own eyes, I knew her heart belonged only to my sister.

I still expected.

I was her son. That should have been

enough.

But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, the shadow of my sister swallowed me whole. She was brilliance incarnate–talented, loved, and chosen. She didn’t even have to try; she simply existed, and the world bent toward her.

Meanwhile, I thought if I worked hard, if I was good, if I endured… maybe she would see me too.

When my sister left, when she finally disappeared, I thought, this is it.

I thought the day had come when my mother’s gaze would turn to me at last. I thought I would no longer be invisible. I thought I would finally be–what’s the word?

Loved.

Was that it? Was that all I wanted? Was that the thing I had been craving, bleeding for, breaking myself against?

Was “love” the prize I believed would fix me?

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1120 MOn, zy dept

Chapter 280 The Special One

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I don’t even know anymore.

But I remember the moment. I remember thinking, if I just give her something now, if I just make her smile… maybe it would start.

i was ten years old. I knew nothing about cooking or how long you were supposed to let things sit. But I knew my mother was sad. She hadn’t eaten in days. Her face was hollow, her voice brittle when she shouted my sister’s name into the empty air.

So I thought if I gave her food, she would cat. Maybe if I shared it with her, she would let me sit beside her. Maybe she would look at me–not through me, not around me–but at me.

The pot hissed. The smell of burning metal filled the kitchen. My hand slipped on the ladle, and boiling broth splashed against my wrist. My skin blistered instantly. Still, I bit my tongue until blood filled my mouth, and I poured the soup into a new bowl.

My hands trembled as I carried it down the hall, steam rising in ribbons that scalded my face. The door to her room was heavy, but I nudged it open with my foot.

Inside, the curtains were drawn tight. She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. Her shoulders. shook, but no sound came out. I stood in the doorway, clutching the bowl like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Mom?”

“It’s… It’s time to eat.”

She didn’t look up.

I forced a smile, though my burned wrist throbbed and the bowl’s heat seared my palms. “Let’s eat together. I made soup.”

Finally, she lifted her head.

Her eyes were bloodshot, swollen from days of crying. Then, her gaze hardened. “You dare make something like this,” she spat, “when your sister is missing?”

Before I could answer, her hand shot out. She struck the bowl from my

hands.

The soup flew, steaming liquid splattering across my arms. The burn was instant, a searing agony that tore a cry from my throat. But I swallowed it down. I clenched my fists and held my breath. Tears welled in my eyes anyway, hot and ashamed.

She looked at me with disgust. The soup dripped down my shirt. The skin on my arm bubbled angry red.

Then, she turned away.

“Get out,” she muttered. I stood there, burned and broken. My vision blurred with tears, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.

And at that moment, I understood.

It didn’t matter how much I gave.

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Chapter 280 The Special One

45 Free Coins

It didn’t matter how much I hurt.

It didn’t matter that I was her son.

I would never be enough.

I looked down at my arm. The scar was still there, serving as a warped reminder of a kitchen, a bowl of soup, and a mother’s eyes colder than winter. The skin never healed properly. Every time I flexed my hand, the tissue pulled, aching like an echo of the past.

Now, under a hundred shadows, it glimmered.

Around me, shards of broken glass, jagged blades, bent spears, and swords–all of it–rose at my command. I hadn’t cast a spell this entire time, so I was able to summon so much power during this

moment.

They hovered in the air, trembling like wild animals straining at a leash, their points glinting as they turned toward the wolves. I took in their faces one by one. They all reeked of desperation.

Desperation has a smell. I had known it since I was a child. However, why did their desperation smell different? It wasn’t the stench of hunger or cold. It was the smell of hearts breaking before my eyes. The kind of desperation that comes from losing someone you’d do anything to protect.

“How does that feel, huh?”

I raised my scarred arm a little higher, and the blades tilted more sharply toward them. “To have something you love so deeply you’re afraid they’ll leave?” My eyes moved from Tessa and her mate, Rowan, who held onto her for dear life. “Or to be loved by someone so much that they’re terrified you’ll be gone?”

The words didn’t hurt them. They hurt me.

Because I had never felt that. Not once.

I had never known what it was to be loved like that, or to love like that. To live in fear of losing someone because they were your whole world.

For a moment, I wondered what it must be like.

A small smile curved my lips. “I guess,” I whispered, “I’m not afraid of that.”

My hand tightened, and the metal storm obeyed, hovering at its apex.

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