Chapter 945 The Reason Connor Will Be Lonely for Life
"Fine! You call the shots," Tom conceded, his anger flaring only momentarily before he rushed out after Beck. He was determined to warn the man to stay away from Connor.
"Why push him into this?" Connor sighed, rubbing his temples as he looked wearily at Ethan. "Tom may seem carefree, but he's incredibly stubborn. If Beck threatens him with those old stories..."
"I don't care about that anymore, but Tom might find it... uncomfortable," Connor added, well aware that Tom was heterosexual and somewhat uneasy around gay men.
"After all these years, you're still so hard on yourself," Ethan said firmly. "None of what happened was your fault. Owen was the monster, and Beck and his crowd are disgusting. You take everything on yourself, but even if Tom knew everything, he would never think less of you."
Ethan was confident about this—Tom could distinguish right from wrong.
The incident had never been Connor's fault, yet it had cast a lifelong shadow over him, preventing him from normal relationships and interactions.
He'd wrapped himself in isolation, like a hedgehog covered in spines—hurting others while also wounding himself. He'd become a psychologist because he couldn't save himself but desperately wanted to rescue others. Without Connor, Jasmine would never have escaped her own darkness.
"Don't believe me? Let's make a bet," Ethan suggested, leaning against the doorframe.
Connor found Ethan increasingly childish, yet somehow felt drawn into the same behavior. "Fine..."
A bet to see how Tom would react when he learned the truth.
Moments later, Tom returned.
"Did you beat him up?" Ethan asked with a grin.
"No..." Tom scratched his head sheepishly.
"But you warned him?"
Tom looked guilty. "That bastard had eight bodyguards waiting downstairs. The moment I got down there, they surrounded him and whisked him into his car."
Ethan burst out laughing. "So you chickened out?"
Connor, leaning against the table, couldn't help but smile—a rare sight, but Tom always managed to amuse him.
"Chicken? Me?" Tom protested. "I was being strategic! Next time he shows up alone, I'll beat him so badly his own mother won't recognize him."
"Get some rest," Ethan said, patting Tom's shoulder before leaving, silently instructing him to look after Connor.
Once the door closed, Tom turned to Connor. "Why are you so afraid of him? Why do you let him threaten you repeatedly?"
He hadn't planned to ask, but it bothered him how Beck seemed to have such power over Connor.
Connor remained silent, his expression darkening.
Tom immediately regretted his question. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'm not pushing."
After a long pause, Connor sat down on the sofa. "It's not exactly a secret..."
Tom froze, suddenly unsure if he wanted to hear this after all, afraid of reopening old wounds.
"My mother was Marshall's second wife—a caregiver. He hadn't planned to marry her, but when she got pregnant with me, Marshall was thrilled to have a son in his old age. Everyone said it was a good omen for his longevity."
"He gave my mother his name mainly so I could officially remain part of the Hawthorne family and be groomed to inherit the Hawthorne Group." Clearly, Marshall and Owen had already been at odds.
"Owen's ambition was too great, and Marshall didn't care for his son. My arrival gave him new hope." Connor laughed bitterly. "Unfortunately, he underestimated Owen's malice."
"I barely remember my mother. She was gentle and without guile. Being a caregiver, she had a good heart. After marrying Marshall, she remained humble, but she passed away when I was five or six."
"When she died, I was still young. Marshall's health was poor then, too. After his surgery, he stayed in a convalescent home and left Owen to care for me."
By this point, Tom felt suffocated. Connecting this with the childhood abuse photos Owen had left at the door earlier, his fingers trembled—partly from anger, partly from fear. He was terrified by how calmly Connor recounted his past.
"Connor, are you hungry? Let me make you something," Tom said, standing up, desperate to change the subject.
"In Owen's hands, staying alive was enough to satisfy Marshall," Connor continued, his voice low. "Owen was insane, a pervert who liked children. He tortured me, manipulated me psychologically. He used gaslighting techniques, repeatedly telling me he was the only person in the world who truly cared for me, that I needed to obey him to be a good boy and earn rewards."
Connor's body shook.
What had tormented him most wasn't the physical abuse but the psychological torture. He had been so young...
"If I made mistakes, he'd make me kneel until he was satisfied. If I disobeyed, he'd beat me, abuse me, then constantly tell me he did these things because he loved me—that he was the person who loved me most in the world."
"That's a lie!" Tom exploded, slamming his hand on the table as he stood up, looking ready to tear someone apart. "Don't listen to that garbage—he was just trying to break you!"
Connor looked at Tom, amazed that events from so long ago could still provoke such a reaction.
He wondered what Tom was thinking. If they had known each other as children, perhaps Tom would have protected him, just as Ethan later stood up for him and confronted Marshall directly.
But he'd met Ethan too late. Owen's damage was already carved into his very being.
"As I got older, his punishments became increasingly unrestrained. Beyond kneeling and physical punishment, he started dragging me into the bathroom, making me undress, and stand under cold showers. He began doing strange things, but at that age, I didn't understand what he was doing—I just thought it was another form of punishment."
"He recorded everything and shared it with others in his club. He even promised them that when I turned fifteen, he would hand me over to them."
At first, Connor didn't understand the violations, thinking they were just physical punishments to be endured.
Later, as he began to comprehend the differences between men and women and human physiology, he started feeling disgusted, vomiting, experiencing anxiety attacks, and fighting back.
He frantically refused to let Owen touch him or come near him. He bit and struggled desperately, but he was too small to match Owen's strength.
Each act of resistance was met with increasingly severe abuse.
Eventually, in desperation, he bit Owen's genitals. Enraged, Owen nearly beat him to death, then locked him in a storage room, warning everyone in the Hawthorne family not to breathe a word.
During one of Owen's assaults, eight-year-old Avery had been hiding in the closet.
She too was a victim, which explained her cold personality, her distrust of everyone, her disbelief in love or men, and her hatred of anyone who solved problems through violence—all thanks to Owen.
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