Page 2

Stefanos

The weight of the inheritance papers lay heavy in my hand.

I scanned the dimly lit study of my father’s estate, it was the same yet different.

Everything was different now.

I tossed the papers on his desk and picked up my drink, swirling the amber liquid before throwing it back, the burn of it setting off a roaring fire within me.

The room smelled of old leather and dust, a place that had once felt like a sanctuary but now reeked of betrayal.

His funeral had been just days ago, and the grief remained.

The letter that Hassell had given me was on the same desk, and my grief was being consumed by something darker and angrier.

My father, the man I had idolised and who had preached honour, loyalty, and honesty, had lived a double life.

A mistress, children.

A life parallel to the one I had known, hidden away in another town.

The man who was late for my graduation, missed football games and parents’ evenings. The other family that had stolen my father’s time, his love and presence from me and my mother.

I slammed my fist on the desk, wanting to tear the old man’s study apart, but my mind raced, lost in the memories of the business trips, the late-night arrivals, the excuses—all lies.

My father had been a cheat, a fraud, a man who built his life on deceit.

He betrayed us all, including my faithful mother who stood by him from the very beginning.

She had loved him unconditionally, and for what? To be betrayed, to be made a fool of? The rage simmered beneath the surface and I ground my teeth together before pacing the room, feeling the hatred boiling over.

I paused to think of the trio of vipers at the funeral, and I went back to the desk, moving the documents away to pull out what Rurik sent me about the other family.

They didn't deserve a penny of ‘their’ inheritance.

I read through their details and picked up the picture of my father’s bastard child, Alcina Jenson-Karalis.

The double barrel name was a shameful smear on my mother’s legitimacy, to mine. If she ever found out—no, I would never let that happen.

I dug out Amari Jenson’s photo.

The gold diggers whore of a daughter.

She looked prim and proper on paper but was undoubtedly the same as her gold-digging mother, spreading their legs for the highest bidder.

She was twenty-six years old, her little sister was a mere six years old, and the mother was forty-seven. These were the women who were blissfully unaware of the destruction they caused.

My mind began to churn with plans, dark and twisted.

I would make them pay, strip them of everything, just as they had stripped me of my father's memories.

I would ruin them, just as they had ruined my family.

The thought of their faces, their shock and pain brought a grim satisfaction to me. They would know what it felt like to have their world shattered.

I poured another drink as the thirst for revenge awakened a monster within me, but there was a hollow ache, longing for the father I thought Christos Karalis had been.

On his desk was one the remaining framed photo.

I put my drink down to pick it up.

It was a picture of my father and me taken a few years ago, smiling and happy.

I stared at it for a long moment, my chest tightening at the image.

I flung my hand up in the air and hurled it across the room next to the others. The glass shattered, the sound echoing through the empty house.

Deep down I knew my revenge wouldn't bring back my father's or my mother's honour.

It wouldn't undo the betrayal, yet I couldn't stop because rage was all I had left within me.

***

I owed Rurik a great debt, he did excellent work uncovering everything about the Jenson family.

His man’s work was immaculate.

There was more than enough to bury them with legal injunctions and ensure they didn't have a pot left to piss in.

Solicitors cost money, money they didn't have to spare.

I would protect my mother at all costs from any blowback.

I calculated that my father had kept his mistress for twenty-four years.

I would have been ten years old at the time.

The way he had set the trust up for his bastard child left me as the main Trustee.

Why after so many years had he not provided for them directly?

I shook my head.

The reasons behind it all didn't matter.

His foolish actions left them open to exploitation, which was precisely what I would do.

No more private school, no house, no stipends.

The whores’ could walk the streets looking for their next chump.

The pain seemed to ebb away with my dark thoughts before a more diabolical method to humiliate the whore’s daughter took root.

I was no stranger to the BDSM world and was a member of Club X.

The exclusive club was in central London and I recalled the pet playrooms that I was partial to.

The thought of having a pet bitch was appealing.

However, playing in the rooms of Club X and owning a bitch were two very different roles.

I opened up my laptop and explored the world of owning and training a human pet.

At the end of my investigation, I amended some details of my plans before going through Amari’s photographs.

She wasn't my usual type.

I preferred refined women to date, but the women I took to Club X were rarely the dating type.

There were certain expectations of who I could be seen with.

The ‘polite society’ was not forgiving of scandals and it could impact on my business.

If people found out about my father’s whore and the bastard child my mother would bear the brunt of it, cast aside and bad mouthed behind her back.

No, I needed to remove myself from the vicinity.

Amari’s photo captured her wide dark brown eyes, thick lips and high cheekbones.

Her long black hair was wavy and her brown skin had a golden glow over it.

Her build was nothing like the dainty women I dated.

She drew out every evil, sadistic, dark desire I had in me.

Club X has strict rules to avoid abuse but I was too far gone in my madness to consider any form of mercy.

No, this woman packed curves on every part of her body, muscular yet soft.

The way her hips and thighs were shaped was obscene and her tits were the same, heavy and unmistakable.

Her body was made to be used and punished.

I could whip those thighs and ass all day long.

My eyes lingered on her heavy breasts, daydreaming of torturing her nipples, making her scream for mercy.

First I would need to get her out of her drab clothing. The woman had zero class or style.

I picked up the phone to my fixer.

She needed to get fired from her job first.

I glanced at the brat’s school, which was next.

She might have a Greek name that my father gave her, but she wasn't part of my family.

I would make a personal appearance to remove them from the house, my father allowed them to stay in.

They would rue the day they entered our lives.