I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

"Only the strong survive," his father would often say, his voice devoid of warmth. "And the only thing that weakens a man is a woman."

It became a mantra that Nathan absorbed without question. Over time, he hardened his heart, suppressing his feelings and viewing women not as individuals but as trophies—ornaments to enhance his life, objects to make it more enjoyable. This belief became a cornerstone of his identity, shielding him from emotional vulnerability.

It might have stayed that way if he hadn't met Ayaka, Akane, and their mother.

Their mother was unlike anyone Nathan had known. She was a kind, compassionate woman whose warmth seemed to seep into even the coldest corners of his heart. For a time, she brought a flicker of light into his otherwise dark and rigid world.

But that light was fleeting.

When she died suddenly, Nathan was only ten. The loss shattered Ayaka and Akane, leaving them broken and inconsolable. For Nathan, however, loss had begun to lose its meaning. It wasn't that he didn't feel; it was that he couldn't allow himself to feel. The pain was too familiar, too expected. His stoic reaction to her death had a chilling effect on Ayaka and Akane, driving an emotional wedge between them.

Eventually, the twins returned to Japan, leaving Nathan alone once more.

The scene shifted again. This time, an eleven-year-old Nathan appeared, his expression colder, his presence heavier. He stood inside a training room, the walls adorned with weapons, equipment, and the faint echoes of countless hours spent honing his skills.

Across the room, his father sat at a large oak desk, pen in hand, working through a stack of papers. Nathan's small frame was battered—bruises darkened his cheeks, and dried blood clung stubbornly to his chin. Find your next read at My Virtual Library Empire

"You fought again," his father said, his voice even but laced with disapproval.

Nathan remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead.

"Answer me," his father demanded, the coldness in his tone sharpening.

"I did," Nathan eventually admitted, his voice calm and controlled.

"Why?"

"They insulted me," Nathan replied, his voice steady, though his fists clenched slightly at his sides.

His father paused, setting down his pen and lifting his gaze to meet Nathan's. The weight of his father's disappointment was palpable, but Nathan didn't flinch.

"The strength I am teaching you," his father began, his voice cutting through the tension, "is not for petty vengeance over mere insults. Those brats shouldn't even be worthy of your breath."

Nathan's jaw tightened, but his expression remained neutral. "Maybe," he said after a moment.

"Maybe?" His father's eyes narrowed, his tone darkening with irritation.

"They insulted Mother," Nathan retorted, his voice firm yet emotionless.

For a moment, silence filled the room. His father studied him, his expression unreadable, his piercing gaze searching Nathan's face.

"And?" his father finally said, his tone so cold it was almost a challenge.

Nathan's heart burned with anger, but he suppressed it, keeping his face impassive. "And they shouldn't have," he replied quietly.

His father leaned back in his chair, his hands folding neatly on the desk. "Do you think fighting them changes that? Do you think lowering yourself to their level honors her memory?"

Nathan didn't answer. He simply stood there, his battered form as unyielding as stone.

"You have so much to learn," his father said at last, his voice heavy with disdain. "If you continue to let your emotions control you, you'll never be the man she would have been proud of. You'll be nothing more than a disappointment."

Nathan observed the scene before him, his gaze steady yet cold. His younger self stood beside a man he once idolized—his father, a figure of strength and ambition that had since withered in his memory. The youthful father, still exuding the vigor of his earlier years, spoke with passion, his words ringing clear in the quiet void of the memory.

Nathan scoffed under his breath, his lips curling into a bitter smirk.

"What's so amusing?" a voice asked, soft and dark, laced with an unsettling charm.

Nathan glanced sideways at the woman beside him, her raven-black hair cascading like silk down her shoulders. Her piercing eyes seemed to peer straight into his soul, an unsettling mix of curiosity and knowing.

"It's his words," Nathan replied, his voice carrying a weight of disdain. "He always told me it was his wish for me to become a man even greater than him. But in truth, he feared I'd turn out like the man he became after meeting my mother—a shadow of himself, weak and broken."

The woman tilted her head slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Emotions may weaken a man, but your father wasn't entirely wrong. Strength without restraint is—"

"I don't care," Nathan interrupted sharply, his voice hard as steel. "Say what you want, but I won't forgive anyone who dares insult my mother. She sacrificed everything for me—her happiness, her future, even her life—knowing full well what awaited her."

"I see." The woman's smile deepened, a strange warmth mingling with something far darker. Without warning, she slipped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace.

Nathan stiffened as he felt her body press against his back, the softness of her figure betraying no comfort. Instead, it felt like death itself was wrapping him in its cold, unyielding grip.

He didn't flinch. He didn't react. He wasn't in the mood to care.

The memory shifted, dissolving like smoke caught in the wind. In its place, a new scene took shape—a moment from years ago, etched in sharp detail against the backdrop of Nathan's mind.

Two teenagers stood before him, their features striking and unmistakably similar. A boy and a girl, twins, both with tan skin, caramel-brown hair, and bright green eyes that seemed to glimmer with youthful energy. Their beauty was undeniable, a gift from their lineage.

Cristina and Pablo.

Nathan's step-siblings—acquired before Sienna and Siara, but after Ayaka and Akane. His father, in his endless pursuit of something that even Nathan couldn't understand, had married a renowned Spanish actress, a woman whose previous marriage to an American actor had produced these perfect, golden children.

Cristina's laughter rang out, light and carefree, as she turned to Nathan, her emerald eyes sparkling . Pablo stood beside her, grinning just as brightly. Despite their cheerful demeanor, everything about them screamed wealth and privilege. Their pristine private school uniforms and polished manners were worlds apart from Nathan, who stood beside them in casual clothes.

Nathan's mind flashed back to that day.

The three of them had finished school, but instead of heading home, Pablo had suggested they visit the mall. Nathan had reluctantly agreed, watching as the twins, perfect in every way, led the way with their effortless charisma.

He could see it clearly now: Cristina's radiant smile as she glanced at him over her shoulder, Pablo's easy confidence as he teased his sister. Yet beneath their charm, Nathan felt only a cold, hollow sense of betrayal.

It was because of them—Cristina and Pablo—that he had become the person he was. By the time Sienna and Siara entered his life, he was already hollow inside, smiling on the outside while harboring a festering mass of malice within.

His hatred for women, his inability to trust, and the malice he carried like a weapon—he traced it all back to them. To the twins who had once been his family, but who had left scars that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

Nathan stood in silence, watching the fragmented memory unfold before him like an old film reel, grainy yet vivid. His younger self was there, smaller and less hardened, yet his eyes already carried a weight that no child should bear.

"My father…" Nathan began, his voice low and edged with bitterness, "…despite being wealthy—wealthy enough to send me to the best private schools in the country—he deliberately enrolled me in one of the worst high schools in America. He never explained why, and I never asked. But I knew. Deep down, I understood."

He paused, his gaze fixed on the ghostly figures of his younger self and Cristina, her teasing smile cutting through the haze of memory like a blade.

"He wanted to train me," Nathan continued, his tone colder now. "To teach me how to bury every emotion, every weakness, and gain control over myself. It wasn't about education or opportunity—it was about survival. After that, he'd place me beside my so-called genius step-siblings. Ayaka and Akane. Cristina and Pablo. Sienna and Siara. All perfect in their own way. All a stark reminder of what I wasn't."

Nathan's expression hardened, yet a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his gaze lingered on Cristina's radiant face in the memory.

"Why did he do this to you?" the dark-haired woman beside him asked, her voice soft yet laced with a sinister curiosity.

Nathan didn't turn to her. His focus remained locked on the scene before him, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable.

"Who knows," he said with a hollow chuckle. "Maybe he wanted to humiliate me. Maybe he wanted to drive home how different I was from them. Or maybe it was all some experiment—to see how I'd react to being thrust into a family of prodigies."

The words spilled out with an air of indifference, but even Nathan wasn't convinced. He didn't truly know his father. Not the man behind the mask of wealth and authority.

"And what happened with them?" the woman asked, her voice a whisper that slid into his ear like the hiss of a serpent. Her dark, twisted expression betrayed her true intent—she already knew the answer. She simply wanted to hear it from him.

Nathan's eyes lingered on Cristina as she laughed, her voice carrying the carefree charm of someone untouched by the harshness of reality. He could see her in the memory, smiling at him, teasing him as she often did.

"It doesn't matter," Nathan finally said, his voice clipped and guarded.

But it did matter. Phoebe, Ayaka, Akane... and finally, Cristina. With each step-sibling, the betrayal he felt had grown, festering inside him like a wound that refused to heal. By the time it came to Cristina, it was the last straw—the betrayal that shattered him completely.

"Really?" the woman pressed, her voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper that seemed to coil around him.

Nathan's frown deepened. He turned to face her for the first time, his eyes narrowing as suspicion flickered across his features.

"Who are you?"