Chapter 3
1478 Words
Dinner at Fredrick’s mansion was nothing short of a performance. The long mahogany dining table stretched between them, polished so clean that the reflection of the chandelier lights gleamed across its surface. Silver cutlery was perfectly aligned beside each plate, and the aroma of roasted steak and red wine filled the air.
Sylvia sat at the far end, sipping quietly, her gaze fixed on her plate. She didn’t say much—her silence adding to the uneasy atmosphere. Dianne, though trying to remain composed, could feel the weight of the room pressing against her.
Frederick, seated at the head of the table, turned his attention to Samuel.
“So, samuel,” he began, his tone calm but carrying an edge that demanded attention, “do you have many friends at school?”
Samuel glanced at his mother, then back at Frederick. “Uh… a few.”
Frederick leaned forward. “And how do you cope when your mother is at work? Do you stay alone? Or do your friends keep you company?”
The boy fidgeted with the fork in his hand. “I… I stay home most times. My mom… she makes sure I’m fine.”
Frederick’s sharp gaze did not waver. “Do they bully you at school?”
Samuel’s hand froze midair. He blinked rapidly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His lips parted, but no words came. The boy’s silence thickened the air.
Dianne quickly stepped in, sensing the tension. She placed a gentle hand on Samuel’s shoulder and spoke with a firm but calm tone.
“He’s fine, Frederick. He manages well. Kids go through phases, but Samuel is strong.”
Samuel nodded faintly, grateful for his mother’s intervention. But the unease lingered.
Just then, Fredo—Frederick’s own son—struggled with his steak. The knife slipped against the plate as he tried to cut through the meat. Frederick’s eyes darted sharply toward him.
“You i***t!” his voice thundered across the table. The sound made Samuel flinch. “How many times must I show you how to hold cutlery properly?”
The boy froze, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Dianne’s jaw tightened. She had been shocked, not because Frederick yelled—she had seen his ruthlessness at work—but because he treated his own children no differently than anyone else. The mask of a loving father she thought he wore crumbled before her eyes.
The room grew unbearably tense until Sylvia finally broke the silence. She set her glass down and asked suddenly, “So… Samuel, where is your father?”
The question pierced Dianne like a blade. She stiffened, her grip tightening on her fork. Samuel lowered his eyes, fiddling with his napkin.
A flood of memories she wished to bury came rushing back. She remembered the day she told Samuel’s father about her pregnancy. His face had been cold, his voice flat, as he told her he wanted nothing to do with the child—not with his budding political career on the line. To him, Samuel was a mistake that could jeopardize his career. And just like that, he walked away, leaving her to face the world alone.
Dianne swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she muttered, “He left… after I gave birth.”
Her son’s eyes flicked up, his face confused, almost hurt by the reminder. She despised speaking of it, especially in his presence, but Sylvia’s probing left her no choice.
Sylvia’s expression softened. “Samuel is welcome to come around. The children could use a friend. He can play here after school and even on weekends.”
Dianne forced a polite smile. “I appreciate it, but we’ll be fine. I have a caretaker who looks after him when I’m at work.”
Sylvia leaned forward, insistent. “No, really, it’s no trouble—”
Frederick cut in sharply, his voice harsh and commanding. “I insist.”
The tone left no room for refusal. Dianne inhaled slowly, her smile tight, her voice meek. “…Thank you.”
Samuel, meanwhile, had already been taken by the house’s grandeur. After dinner, he played with Olivia, Frederick’s daughter, his laughter echoing faintly down the hallways. To him, Fredrick’s home was a palace—full of warmth, beauty, and space to breathe.
When the night drew late, Dianne rose and called for Samuel. “It’s time to go.”
She reached for her phone to order a ride, but Frederick stopped her immediately. “No. Donald will drive you home.” His eyes darkened, brooking no argument.
Dianne hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.” She knew too well how forceful Frederick could be.
The next day, Sylvia sent word through one of the staff that Samuel would be picked up after school and brought to their home. Dianne clenched her jaw when she heard. She didn’t like it, but she knew resistance was pointless. After work, she collected him each evening, but the visits became routine—almost natural.
Soon, Samuel felt like part of the amily.
One night, Frederick worked late at the office. Dianne, knowing her son was safe at Fredrick house, decided to remain behind. The office building was quiet, the corridors dimly lit as midnight approached.
At 11:59 p.m., she knocked gently on Frederick’s door and stepped inside.
He looked up, startled. “What are you still doing here?”
“I saw you hadn’t left,” she said softly. “I thought you might need something.”
“I don’t. You should go home,” he replied curtly. His tone dismissed her, but she lingered, tidying papers, refusing to leave.
From his office window, Frederick opened the blinds slightly, watching her. She had no idea his eyes followed her every move. She leaned over her desk, exhaustion weighing on her, her hair cascading to one side. The gown she wore shifted as she moved, exposing the graceful curve of her legs.
Frederick’s thoughts darkened. Damn… She’s beautiful. Smarter than I imagined. More brilliant. And that body…
He dragged his eyes away, battling an urge he knew he shouldn’t indulge.
Dianne, oblivious, finally gathered her things and left, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Frederick closed the blinds, but her image worried him. That night, he could not sleep.
Days turned into weeks. Frederick began plotting ways to grow closer to her. Using Samuel’s frequent visits as leverage, he invited Dianne over—sometimes under the pretense of “work discussions.” Sylvia noticed, her suspicion and jealousy growing, but Frederick’s word in the household was law. She dared not resist.
One evening, he called Dianne into his study. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows across the room. They spread documents across the desk, discussing company matters.
But Frederick’s attention kept straying to her lips, her hair, the way her eyes glowed as she spoke passionately. His heart raced. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.
Dianne sensed it. She shifted uncomfortably, keeping her distance. She knew what that look meant. Fear coiled in her chest, but she said nothing.
The session ended late. Sylvia, unsettled, drowned herself in alcohol, her jealousy eating away at her sanity.
The next day by the lake, Dianne stood watching Samuel ride his bicycle, the calm water glittering under the sun. Sylvia, drink in hand, staggered near the shore.
When Samuel rode too close, Sylvia snapped. “Get away from me! Leave this instant!” she shouted, shoving the boy aside.
Dianne’s eyes widened. She stormed down the path. “What did you just say to my son?”
“He has no place here!” Sylvia spat, her eyes red with fury.
Dianne’s voice rose. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at him!”
The confrontation escalated quickly. Sylvia’s jealousy exploded, accusing Dianne of chasing after her husband. Dianne, enraged at her son being insulted, snapped back. Soon, they were pulling at each other’s hair, their screams echoing across the property.
In the chaos, Samuel returned on his bicycle, unaware of the struggle. He swerved too close, and in the commotion, his handlebar struck Sylvia’s side.
Her balance faltered.
She stumbled backward.
Her skull struck a jagged stone near the lake.
The sound was sickening. Blood pooled instantly beneath her head.
Dianne froze. Her hands trembled, her chest tightened, her vision blurred. “Oh my God… oh my God, no…”
Samuel, terrified, pedaled away as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Dianne stood rooted to the ground, her heart thundering in her ears. She wanted to scream for help, but the words caught in her throat.
“Is she… dead?” she whispered shakily. “God, please… please, no…”
She wasn’t sure of what to do at the moment, seeing that no one saw her she hurriedldy carried her son samuel and left the scene
- Writer
