by Mason, V. F.
He built the company on my mother’s money, and now he makes the kids of his mistress—never for a second will I believe he wasn’t screwing her while Mom was sick—have almost the same say in it as me!
The stepmother dearest has two daughters and one son, each one of them now eligible to run for CEO.
This company is my legacy, my mother’s legacy, and Dad thinks it’s fucking okay to give them a chance with it?
Fuck him and his new family. Never liked his wife before, and now she is permanently on my shit list.
It also means I’ll have to work my ass off even more to get my rightful place and prove to my dad I can double our profits before he gives it to his stepson, Charlie, who will bankrupt it in a year. He wouldn’t know what a good deal was even if it hit him.
But that’s not what makes me so furious, not really.
It’s the fact that all these actions, him putting his new family above me and Mom, prove to me that what he said his entire life is bullshit.
He told me that love happens once in a lifetime, that my mom was a gift from heaven to him and he cherished it so much.
“Live a good life so that God will grant you a good woman who loves you unconditionally, son.”
This coming from a man who married another woman in less than a year after my mom died.
Everything he ever told me is a lie, down to the fact that he loved me. For who destroys his child like that after he sent him abroad, because his wife couldn’t deal with my hostility anymore?
You know what, P?
Someday, I’m going to take away his company and rule it like the heartless dick that I am.
And you know why?
Because my dad ripped my heart to shreds.
I thought only death could take away your parents; I was wrong.
I lost my dad the minute he forgot about his family and accepted someone else’s.
Best,
Zach
P.S.: I might sound like I have daddy issues, and shouldn’t I snap out of it by this age?
But the fact is, I don’t have them.
I accept my father’s choice and don’t long for the connection. I’m not a lost ten-year-old boy anymore.
But he crossed the line when he touched my mom’s legacy.
24 hours later
To: Zach
From: P
I know I’m supposed to say something, but I don’t really know what.
Or maybe I do?
Let me start with the fact that I was really surprised to see an email from you. Truthfully, I thought our conversations ended with the letter. And also… thank you for your gift.
Still wearing it, although it’s super flashy, but I’m afraid to leave it alone. Someone might steal it. Attached is the photo of it on my neck (in case you think I’m lying).
College is great, and I’m having the time of my life here—like a fish in water, so to speak. And people are so nice. Well, they are nice, because I found my tribe. I even got a job at the university library plus tutor kids three times a week. So I’m not starving, have clothes to wear, and my school is paid for.
And for your information, choosing a medical profession was one of my best decisions. I always sit in classes with my mouth hanging open.
Let’s go back to the topic at hand though.
I’m not going to get into the whole family dynamic and what your father did with sharing your legacy with his other kids (Like it or not, he is their father now. So he is trying to protect them the way he does you. Which sucks for you, because you think you are his only child. But the truth is… you are not.)
But I have something to say about your comment about love.
Do you have proof of your father dating someone else while your mother was still alive? I bet you don’t.
Could your father be wrong when he told you that a man loves a woman only once?
I think it’s a very limited way of thinking, don’t you? That we only love once in this life, as if we are incapable of feeling the emotions twice or three times, only because we promised to love someone forever.
I’ve never loved anyone (even my current boyfriend, who is great, but I don’t think he is the one or anything) so I’m not an expert on the subject.
What I do know though… is that we are capable of more things than we expect. We are capable of falling in love again even if we lost our first love.
Your dad loved your mom, but she died, Zach. He met someone else and fell in love. Sometimes, people have no control over that, even if the voice of reason tells them it’s wrong (like him not waiting even a year to marry her, for example.)
Why are you punishing him for it? Is it a sin to fall in love again, even if you think it’s impossible?
Shouldn’t you be happy he has someone to share this life with and not be… I dunno… sad?
All of us have certain beliefs and prejudices. We think we know how everyone is supposed to live, because we have our set of rules and laws that we religiously abide by.
But the funny thing about life and fate? It likes to prove us wrong.
What we think now might change in the blink of an eye tomorrow.
As for him choosing the other family… your father loves his wife and must love every part of her; her kids are part of her. For him, they are his kids.
Maybe if you talked to your dad about your feelings (I’m not sure guys do that, but who knows?), you might discover some unexpected truths.
Bottom line is…
Life is so unpredictable, short, and beautiful that it’s a crime to put limits on emotions.
I know this is probably not the answer you were hoping for (My friends never complain to me about parents, so I’m not sure what you wanted anyway. Maybe support like “hell yeah, your dad is an ass”?), although I think you should really talk to your dad.
Don’t do anything you might regret in the future.
Best,
P
P.S.: That being said, I don’t know your family. So maybe you are right, and they are all a bunch of assholes who don’t deserve shit from you.
P.P.S.: If you want to conquer the world, stop drinking into oblivion too. I mean… you wrote to me. You must have been really far gone. Think about that!
Phoenix
I startle awake when someone grips my arm gently. My hackles rise and I tense inwardly, my hands slipping under the pillow where I hid a kitchen knife in case shit like this happens, only to…
Slide it along leather?
My eyes open wide and I sit up straight, blinking in confusion at the spacious expensive car with its engine running loudly and heat blazing at me from every corner, not letting an inch of my body get cold.
The driver sends me a smile through the rearview mirror while the man next to me removes a lock of hair from my face, hooking it behind my ear. His thumb slides to my chin as he lifts it up a little, asking me with his husky voice that snaps away any sleep I have left, “Are you all right?”
With that, all the memories from tonight come rushing back at me like an angry wave, swallowing everything in their wake. I slap his hand away and scoot back, only to hit the car door. “What’s going on?” I ask, glancing through the tinted window, not seeing anything but the dark reflecting back at me. I glance to the front seat next, searching for Lydia, but it’s empty.
Did he drop her off first, and now he’s taking me back home? Even though the prospect of spending the night at the crime scene sends shivers down my spine and chills my blood, I prefer that than the company of Zachary. Especially after my outburst at the office.
Oh my God!
“Why are we not at the FBI office?” My brows furrow as I press the tips of my fingers to my temples, as my head starts to throb like thousands of ants nipping on my scalp, stumbling around it viciously. “What’s going on?” I repeat.
“You were out for a few minutes, so I called an end to the meeting and told them we would contact them once you feel better. They have a couple more questions.”
He must read the confusion on my face, because he elaborates while grabbing his jacket from the seat between us. “I think they are trying to find a link in our past to figure out who the killer might be.”
My mind digests this information, momentarily pushing everything else from my brain. “It means they’re almost sure we know him.”
“Just because we were his first victims?”
I shake my head and wince, instantly regretting the action when the pain hits me full force once again. “Well, that, but mostly because he planned it so well. What happened to us wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. He had prepared it for months, learning our likes and dislikes. But mostly…” I trail off, not sure if I should share it with a man like him, but then why the hell not? It’s not like he knows what guilt is anyway. “The first time is usually a personal vendetta. It’s as personal as it can be. We must have triggered something in him,” I say, and Zachary chuckles, although it lacks any humor, with evilness dancing on the edge of it.
“If every person who crossed me planned personal vendettas against me, my entire family would have been wiped out.” With this, he opens the car door and gets out, dipping to drill me with his stare, and motions with his hand. “Come on.”
I shift my attention to James, mustering a smile for him, as he has been so great the entire night, and I tell him, “Thank you, it was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise, Ms. Hale.” With one last nod, I follow Zachary, ready to go back to the nasty building with the constant neighborly shouts as long as it puts an end to this insane night, but I find no such thing.
Instead, an enormous modern-style house consisting of three levels made out of gray-and-black brick—covered in various flowers, almost giving it a fairytale-like feeling—and topped by a rectangular roof, greets me.
There are so many rooms and windows, that I can’t even count them. The moonlight shines in such a way that it’s almost magical, luring you inside with porch lights showcasing the marble steps leading to the brown oak doors flanked by two Greek statues.
One of them I recognize as Athena, the goddess of war, and the other one is Aphrodite, goddess of love. What a strange combination to have at the front door indeed.
The house spreads horizontally on what seems like never-ending land. Without thinking, I spin around to see the huge garden in front of me with the greenest grass. Various rosebushes spread throughout the territory with alcoves in the distance, and even a few double swings.
There is a fountain with statues in the shape of swans in the middle with water softly cascading from their mouths. The changing colorful lights, one after another, make me think I’m in some kind of cartoon.
Security lights are spread all over the perimeter. No one can hide anything in the garden, and several dogs bark in the distance, in the direction of a narrow road leading to where I think the main gates are. They also probably have security.
Everything about this place screams luxury, prestige, power, so it’s not hard to guess where he brought me.
Finally finding my voice after having my fill of this environment, I turn to Zachary. “Please take me back home.”
“You have no home, Phoenix.” I gasp at the cruelty of his words, and the corner of his mouth tips up, although his green orbs stay void of any emotion. “Or do you want me to take you back to that shack where the serial killer has already been?”
“It’s not for you to decide where I stay. I hate you, in case I didn’t make that clear earlier.” Or he thinks just because I lost it in his arms, I’ve forgiven him?
Hell can freeze over a thousand times, and even then, I won’t do it.
I spin around—darting to where, I don’t know; I don’t have any money or a place to go—only to be snatched back when he grabs me by the elbow, pressing me flush against his chest with him looming above me. Sparks fly between us, sticking the air to my lungs with its passion. He gets in my face, his tone staying even, yet I don’t miss the barely controlled rage wrapped in his every word. “Oh believe me, you made that clear. But if you think just because you hate me I will let you walk out of my sight to a place where the killer might kidnap you at any moment or drug you to use in his new plan, then you have another think coming.” I blink, not thinking about it in this way. “If you don’t value your life, I don’t give a shit. I can value it for the both of us.”
“Because you want to keep your baby safe,” I whisper the last part, my throat hurting from this conclusion, and his gaze darkens, something crossing his face that I can’t name, but he doesn’t let me examine it.
Instead, he drags me to the steps, barking over his shoulder to his driver, “James, be ready tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let go of me,” I say, digging my heels in the concrete, but it’s useless as he continues to pull me toward him, not even stopping when I stumble a few times. “Zachary.” I try to tear his hand away from me, but his grip is so strong it’s like an unmovable stone! “You are—”
“Whatever you want to call me, I don’t give a fuck. You can’t think rationally for shit right now. I can.” With this, we go up the stairs, and I almost slip on one of them, but he catches me in time, pressing me closer to his side while continuing his walk, and in short strides we reach the front door.
He pushes the door open, entering the quiet house that surprisingly has all the lights on inside, and I have a second to study the spacious hallway with several oil paintings hanging on its walls, showcasing various Greek mythology scenes, one scarier than the next, and I mutter, “What are you? A fan of myths?”
“In a way,” he replies, moving toward another set of shiny white marble stairs leading upstairs, his shoes almost soundless. I have a second to see an opening into the huge living room full of various beige furniture with scratched edges, making it seem as if it was brought from the Victorian area with several cushions thrown on it.
That’s all I manage to notice before I’m dragged upstairs and into a narrower hallway highlighting the enormous second floor with at least four wings.
He points at one on the right. “That’s where my daughter lives. For the sake of her, please keep your mouth shut until we reach our destination.” What? Why is he talking as if we’re on a freaking plane?
Then he tugs on my hand, but I’ve had enough of this shit and finally free myself from his hold, stumbling back and almost hitting the railing of the stairs with my hip. “I’ll go with you, but stop acting like I’m a dog on a leash,” I grit out through my teeth, quiet as possible, because the last thing I need right now is his daughter waking up.
I don’t want to see her, ever.
She will be a breathing and walking reminder of what I lost and her father took away from me. I’m not sure I will be able to control my reaction at seeing her.
“Fair enough,” he says and goes in the opposite direction, to the left while I follow, not missing how the walls on the second floor have different paintings entirely.
Here, they were done by a child, drawn on simple paper with colorful pencils, each having a little girl on it doing something.
From dancing to eating to watching a cartoon.
My gaze trails over all of them as Zachary leads the way, and despite my reservations, a smile curves my mouth when I see how in each one of them, the girl adds a huge smile at the right corner, leaving her unique signature like all famous artists do. The whole composition is finished with the drawing of her holding hands with a male figure, Zach, as they both smile brightly in the image, and there is even a note.
Clearly, it was not written by a child, since the grammar and handwriting is too skilled for a three-year-old.
To Daddy from his little princess: Happy Birthday!
Love and kisses!
Emmaline Katherine King
Whatever monster he is to the outside world, it must not transfer to his loved ones, at least since his child loves him so much.
Although it’s hard for me to imagine ev
er loving a man like him.
“Phoenix,” he calls, and I realize I stopped in my tracks. I spot him standing next to double doors as he opens them up and motions with his head for me to enter.
I quickly reach him and step inside as he turns on the light. I frown when the harshness of the chandelier above blinds me for a second, blurring my vision, but then I finally adjust to it, looking around me.
I’m not sure what I expected to find inside here, taking into consideration the earlier decor, but the room has only one king-sized bed and a nightstand with a lamp on it.
The only color present in this bare place is black—the sheets, the furniture. Besides that… it’s lifeless.
There are two more doors, bathroom and the closet probably, while the black and white curtains billow around the open french doors leading to the balcony, allowing fresh air to slip inside.
With no heater in sight, the night awaiting me will be cold.
Going farther into the room, I notice a nightgown lying on the bed along with lingerie and slippers, so is it a guest room?
Zachary answers my silent question. “I ordered it to be prepared for you. We haven’t used the room, so I figured you’d prefer the cold air rather than inhaling dust.”
“How thoughtful you are,” I say sarcastically, folding my arms and turning to face him. “Careful, Zachary, or my heart might beat faster.”
“I don’t mind.”
My brows furrow at this odd statement. What the hell does that mean? But I shake my head, deciding not to focus on stupid shit and zero my attention in on what’s important.
“If you brought me here, you must have a plan.”
“I do, but it’s late.”
“I want to hear it and check on Rafe.” Although the wounds are not life threatening, he’ll still have to stay in the hospital for a couple days until they run more tests on him.
Zachary nods and then points at one of the doors. “You will find anything you need in there.” Then he takes out something from his pocket and throws it on the bed where it bounces a few times before flashing, and I realize it’s a smartphone. “My and Lydia’s numbers are already programmed in there. I thought you might want to have connection with the outside world. Maybe call someone?”
