so this is my new story. ive had this idea 4 awhile now so i wanted 2 give it a shot. this will also hav a sequel 2 it, just wanted 2 let ppl kno, so in case i end it w/out putting the title, check my profile for updates & ull c a sequel name. hope everyone likes, pleez review if u do cuz they bring faster updates. enjoy! :3


December 13th 1989

Her teeth clenched and her hands shook. Her mouth opened as if she was screaming but no sound came out. Her husband waited patiently by her side, holding her hand as the best doctors in California worked on bringing the most important person in his life: the heir. His heir.

Daniel Keehl watched his wife sweat bombs and felt slightly disgusted.

A few hours of painful contractions and constant screaming, a baby's cries filled the hospital room. A tiny little baby, cute, slightly chubby, and covered in body fluids, screamed and cried as he was taken away from his warm home and laid out on a table to be cleaned.

Patrice Keehl sighed and smiled at her husband.

"Finally," She whispered. "Finally."

"Now we don't have to have more. One boy to continue the line. And soon, we'll be able to get back to traveling." Patrice sighed in relief, wishing and wanting to be back on her feet and on their exclusive cruise going around the world. She wished to be making more money again without having to lift a finger.

"That would be just lovely. And we'll get Ty to look after him. She won't mind, she's so lonely the poor wretch will probably glue his body to her own."

"If she wasn't so poor, her son wouldn't have died."

"And he was so cute too. He could have been someone. But enough time spent dwelling on the dead. We're here to celebrate the living. Doctor, bring me my son now."

"We're not finished-" The doctor began.

"Then hurry up!" She cried and scoffed. "You said these were the best."

"We'll be hearing from my lawyer if this doesn't hurry up sweetheart." Daniel reassured, not bothering to keep his voice down.

A few minutes later, the now whining baby was returned to his mother. Bubbles began to form around his mouth and Patrice became quite afraid.

"Oh my lord! Doctor he has rabies!" The baby cried at the loud noise and immediately a nurse grabbed the child and began to caress it soothingly.

"He doesn't have rabies!" The nurse answered in a quiet but harsh tone. "Babies salivate and blow bubbles from their mouths when they're happy to be returned with their mothers." She began to rock the tired child and handed him to the mother once more. Patrice still felt disgusted but hugged the child none the less.

"Mihael." She whispered. "Mihael Keehl."


Two Months Later- February 1st 1990

Michael Jeevas folded his arms. His younger sister Michelle Jeevas was lying in a bed, clutched her almost deflated stomach. Across from them was a tiny baby, only minutes old, making small gurgling noises and moving his tiny fingers in an effort to be held. Michael waited for the doctors to leave, rolling his eyes at the pathetic hospital room they had been forced to rent.

His job was just enough to get them by. They didn't have enough. And Michael would force Michelle back on the streets cause he needed the extra money for the kid.

Mail cried out suddenly, wanting to be held in his mother's arm. Michelle reached for Mail, only to be pulled back by Michael's strong arm.

"Your going to lose weight Michelle." Michelle looked at her crying child and nodded. She wanted to soothe the little one. "And your going back on the streets." Again, Michelle nodded, her arms stiffening ion her brother's grip. "I don't give three shits about that little fucktard right there. I'm only keeping him because of you but I could care less if he's my son." Michelle lowered her eyes.

Mail Jeevas: a child who was born from a brother and sister. A child of incest.


"You listen to me Michelle." Michael growled, his teeth bared. "I'm wasting my time and life for that kid. If he stays at my house instead of your shit ass apartment, then you stay out of my house. Got that?" Michelle nodded, tears forming in her eyes. "That little bitch is mine. All mine in the future. Children like him don't deserve to be born so he doesn't deserve to live. If I'm lucky, he'll kill himself before he reaches his teens." Michelle let out a painful cry, causing baby Mail to wail louder in fear and response.

Disgusted, he released Michelle, who reached for her baby and cradled him to her chest. He watched the baby calm and relax as Michelle breast fed him, he curled against her skin happily. For the first time that night, Michael smiled. Mail Jeevas was going to suffer. And he would never be happy again.


"We're moving him to America?" Patrice asked horrified. "He'll loose his accent!" Two year old Mihael Keehl looked up at his parents, his blue eyes big as he cradled a small toy in his tiny hands. He reached for his mother's skirt for attention and she slapped his hand away, calling for one of the maids. "Whoever you are, take Mihael to his room. He's disrupting us."

The maid nodded and picked Mihael up, ignoring his grunts of frustration as he struggled to reach for his mother. The mother that would never hold him back.

"Of course dear. He'll be working on his studies while we're traveling and he'll be staying at the estate." Patrice looked unsure.

"Mummy!" Mihael cried in the distance. Patrice rolled her eyes.

"So what do you think Patrice?" Daniel asked.

"Let's go."


Mail was sucking on two fingers, looking through the walls of his play pen at his father walking back and forth.

Michael looked down at Mail and snorted in disgust.

"Michelle! Change Mail!" Michelle came stumbling out, her eyes red and big from drugs most likely. She glared angrily at Michael and folded her arms, dropping the beer bottle in her hands.

"Michael, why is Matt in a cage?" Mail's eyes began to water at the screaming voices.

"Its a fucking play pen Michelle! And the kid stinks worse than you do so go fucking change him!"

"You know you only put him in there because you don't even want to hold him. He's one years old for god sakes and I can't remember one time you've ever taken him out of that thing when I've been around! He doesn't even have any toys to play with!" Their argument was interrupted by Mail's cries, his pure voice now screaming for attention and out of fear.

"Now look what you've done you dumb bitch!" Michelle turned away from him and put on a pair of earrings.

"I've got to go to work Michael! Take care of Mail!" Michael sat down on the couch and picked up a discarded beer.

"You fucking do it! Your the mom!" Michelle hissed and stomped over to the play pen, picking Mail up swiftly and dropping him on the table carelessly. Mail screamed as his head hit the table causing Michelle to shake with anger. She pulled out a cigarette to calm her nerves and took a deep breath as she snatched a binky and shoved it in Mail's mouth.

The tiny infant cried and whimpered, unable to figure out how to take out the binky. Michelle ripped off the diaper, cleaning Mail's body quickly before pulling on another diaper. Although Mail had been cleaned he still whimpered from the pain and fear so Michelle picked him up and bobbed him up and down until he eventually fell asleep in her arms. Sighing, she walked over to his cradle at laid him down before turning to Michael.

"You made me late you ass wipe. Thanks ever so much." She spat with as much venom as she could muster.

"Anytime bitch." Michelle left the house, trying her hardest not to slam the door. Mail didn't need to wake up and cry for someone who would never love or hold him.


A few months after Mail's second birthday, Michelle stopped coming to the house. She instead sent money for baby Mail, most of which was waisted on beer.

But that wasn't the biggest problem. Michael had to take care of Mail now. He had enough money to care for Mail and himself, pay the bills and taxes, and still live a good enough life. But he couldn't hire a nanny or babysitter. The best he could get was a single mother down the street who had recently lost one of her own children. She would take care of Mail, free of charge while he worked and eventually picked the baby up.

It was the best he could do and would do, until Mail was old enough to walk and talk. Then the kid would have to grow up on his own.


Mihael was dropped off at the exquisite Pre-K center for the richest children in the entire United States. He looked back at Rosaria, who left him in the strange new, but very vast and upgraded children's room. He wished to be back home and playing with his toys but soon played with the other children that day and enjoyed it.

The two year old forgot about the emptiness of not having his parents around or the fact that no one had actually stuck around to take care of him. Instead, he would be raised to be exactly what his parents wanted him to be: a rich people-person, heir to their fortune. Someone who would grow up forced in a certain way whether he liked it or not.