The Billionaire's Feral Brother Chapter 1

After my adoptive parents died, I found their biological son rummaging through trash on a street corner.

I snatched a moldy bun from his hand. "Idiot, you can't eat that. It's dirty."

Later, the idiot buried his face in my chest, and I grabbed a handful of his hair. "Stupid dog, you can't eat that either."

* * *

I found Silas in a small town down south.

He was dressed in rags, curled up on a street corner, wolfing down a dirty, smelly bun.

I walked over slowly and squatted beside him.

Silas looked up warily, hiding the moldy bun behind his back, baring his teeth at me like a feral animal.

I gave him a friendly smile, staring at his sharp, white canines.

"Why are you acting like a stray dog?"

Silas paused, stunned by my smile.

I took the opportunity to snatch the sour bun from his hand and tossed it aside. "Idiot, you can't eat that. It's dirty."

Silas froze for a second. He looked at his empty hand, then at me, then at the bun on the ground in the distance.

Just as he was about to bare his teeth again, I pulled out a fluffy, white steamed bun and stuffed it into his mouth.

I had been watching Silas all afternoon. He dug through six trash cans and fought two stray dogs just for a single bite.

I had sent someone to buy a whole bag of fresh buns.

Prepared.

Silas instantly behaved, holding the bun with both hands and gnawing on it intently. I took the chance to lead him away.

It was a twenty-minute drive from the dump to the hotel. Silas ate seven buns.

Every time he finished one, he’d stare at me with those puppy-dog eyes, looking like he was about to bark.

I wasn't trying to humiliate him.

Silas really did act like a stray dog.

Feeling mischievous, I took out another bun and waved it in front of his face. "Want it?"

Silas stared at the bun, swallowing hard. His eyes lit up.

If he had a tail, it would be wagging.

I smiled, teasing him. "Call me brother. Call me brother, and I'll give it to you."

Silas looked at me, then at the bun.

His Adam's apple bobbed.

He was practically drooling.

His mouth moved a few times, but no words came out.

I guided him patiently. "Be good. Say brother."

Silas got anxious. From his throat came a loud, clear—

"Woof!"

?

What the f*ck!

Is he actually a dog?

Before I could recover from the shock, Silas lunged forward, snatched the bun from my hand, and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

Then he quickly scrambled to the other side of the car, keeping maximum distance, chewing laboriously while eyeing me warily.

Looking at his 6'3" frame trying to curl into a ball, I felt a mix of speechlessness and heartache.

What kind of life had this guy been living?

I finally mustered some pity. Seeing Silas choking on the dry bread, I reached out to pat his back.

"Nobody's taking it. Eat slowly."

Silas instantly turned vicious, staring at my hand, a threatening growl vibrating in his throat.

As if he’d bite my fingers off if I got any closer.

Fine.

Eight buns wasted.

So protective of his food. That’s not good.

I withdrew my hand, tapping my fingers on my knee, looking down with a light smile.

A little wild. Once I wash him clean, I'll need to train him properly.