Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 197

Afternoon light spilled across Irene's living room as Wesley hovered in the doorway, gift boxes in hand. His clothes looked fresh, but his face told a different story—tired eyes with dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights.

"There he is!" Joseph's face lit up, though worry flickered in his smile. "Come in already."

Wesley stepped inside like he wasn't sure he belonged. He knelt before the triplets, who studied him with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Wasn't sure what you'd like," he said quietly. "Hope these are okay."

The children tore into the packages, revealing beautifully carved book sculptures showing scenes from mythology. Every tiny detail brought the stories to life.

Alex traced the edges with his finger. "Did you make these yourself?"

Wesley nodded. "Each one's different."

"So cool!" The kids beamed, instantly in love with their new treasures.

They huddled on the sofa, heads close together. Lucas ran off and came back with their mythology book.

"Look, it matches perfectly!" he gasped, pointing between the book and sculpture.

Wesley watched them, looking almost surprised by how happy they were.

Soft music played in the background as Joseph led his grandson to a seat. Wesley sat stiffly, barely sipping the tea in his hands.

"Your mom tells me the studio project's going well," Joseph said.

"It's fine," Wesley replied, his eyes never settling on anyone for more than a second.

"Been two years since I've seen you," Joseph continued.

Irene moved around quietly refilling cups. Her doctor's eye caught the slight shake in Wesley's hands and how he shifted away from bright light. She noticed the way he occasionally pressed his fingertips against his temples when he thought no one was looking.

The slight wince when loud laughter erupted from the triplets didn't escape her either. Whatever was wrong went deeper than just missing sleep—something neurological, perhaps. The kind of pain that medication might mask but not cure.

Golden evening light filtered through the windows as hours slipped by. Wesley stood up abruptly, as though suddenly remembering where he was. "Should get going now."

"No way." Joseph's tone left no room for argument. "You're staying for dinner. Family eats together."

"Don't want to be in the way—"

"Family is never in the way," Joseph said firmly.

At dinner, the triplets became Wesley's personal food committee.

"Have some chicken!" Lily pushed a plate toward him.

"You're too skinny," Lucas announced with brutal honesty. "And you're already handsome, so no dieting needed."

"Try this," Alex insisted. "Mom's crispy stuff is the best."

"We can't waste food," Lily added with big eyes. "Mom says so!"

Wesley ate automatically, clearly overwhelmed by all the attention. He looked like someone who'd forgotten the steps to a dance he once knew.

Irene caught Brandon's eye, both trying not to laugh at Wesley's deer-caught-in-headlights look.

As James cleared away dessert plates, exhaustion crept over Wesley's face. He pushed back his chair.

"Thanks for dinner," he said, voice fading. "Getting late. Should go."

"When will you come back?" The triplets looked up with hopeful faces.

Wesley blinked, clearly surprised. "I... when I can."

Joseph gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

At the door, Lily rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Wesley's waist. He froze completely, arms hanging in the air, face a perfect picture of confusion.

Later that night, Brandon balanced on his crutch while helping with dishes, his usual carefree grin nowhere to be seen. "Never thought Wesley would actually show up. He skips pretty much everything family-related."

"Nobody says no to Joseph," Irene replied, stacking plates.

Brandon's expression turned serious, a rare sight on the family daredevil's face. "Seriously though—is it just bad sleep? He looks terrible."

"I'm not a mind reader," Irene said, shaking water from her hands. "Can't figure out someone who won't even look at me. Whatever's eating him, he's locked it up tight. Won't come out, won't let anyone in."

Brandon absently rubbed the racing tattoo on his wrist, a memento from his championship days. "We used to be inseparable as kids, you know. Built forts, shared secrets—I taught him to ride a bike before I even knew how myself." He gave a hollow laugh. "Now we might as well be strangers."

His face clouded over, comparing the hollow-eyed man at dinner with the laughing boy who once followed him everywhere. Brandon might project an image of the carefree playboy racer who didn't take anything seriously, but beneath that was a brother who noticed when something was wrong.

"Play therapist some other time," Irene said, nudging him toward the living room. "Your treatment starts tonight. Finish whatever you need to do, then get to the guest room."

Adam looked up from his papers as they walked in. His fingers tightened imperceptibly on the document he was holding, and something flickered in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"What kind of treatment are you doing?" he asked, voice carefully casual though his shoulders tensed. "The same neural stuff as mine?"

The real question hung unspoken between them: *Will you be spending as much time with him as you do with me?*

Irene met his gaze, noticing the subtle change in his posture. "Similar but simpler. Fresh injuries heal better. His nerve damage isn't as bad as yours. Same idea but faster results."

His jaw relaxed slightly at her answer, though he quickly looked back down at his papers.

Brandon glanced between them, hiding a knowing smile. He might be the family daredevil, but he wasn't blind to whatever was brewing between these two.

The guest room now looked like a mini-clinic. Medical equipment lined the walls, everything perfectly arranged. Irene put on her white coat and gloves, switching to doctor mode.

Brandon sat on the bed's edge, watching her preparations with growing horror. Three small faces peeked through the doorway, fascinated by the whole setup.

When Irene revealed the equipment with its blue lights and thin metal pieces, Brandon went pale.

"Wait, what?" he whispered, voice cracking. "That's going in my leg? Are you sure that's right?"

Goosebumps spread across his arms as sweat appeared on his forehead. His eyes darted to the door like he was planning an escape.

Irene kept setting up, her face serious and focused.

The triplets watched their uncle's fear with barely hidden delight.

"Such a chicken," Lucas whispered with a grin.

"Uncle Adam never even makes a face," Lily said proudly.

"You'll be fine, Uncle!" Alex called out. "Mom's the best at fixing people!"

Irene's mouth twitched. "Want to walk again or not? Door's right there if you've changed your mind."

Henry shifted nervously nearby, catching Brandon's panic like it was contagious.

The room grew darker except for the equipment lights. Irene picked up the first thin metal piece, steady and confident.

"Just breathe," she said calmly. "This is how we get you back on your feet."

"Just... one time today, right?" Brandon's voice had jumped about ten levels higher.

"We need at least ten sessions." Irene's matter-of-fact tone somehow made it worse. "Let's see how tough you really are, hotshot."

Brandon gripped the sheets until his knuckles turned white, eyes squeezed shut, bracing himself as the metal hovered just above his trembling leg.

"Last chance to back out," Irene warned, her voice soft but clinical.

Brandon swallowed hard, then opened one eye. "Just do it already," he whispered.

The electrode touched his skin.

The racing champion who'd survived a 180 mph crash without screaming let out a yelp that echoed through the entire house.