The Son's Revenge
410 Words
His fists tightened until the bones cracked.
I didn’t see him, but I knew—he was listening. Watching. The son. His jealousy was a living, breathing thing in this house, and tonight, it grew teeth.
From the crack of my bedroom window, I spotted him outside, standing in the garden under the dim security light. Cigarette smoke curled around his face, the ember glowing like the fury in his eyes. He thought I couldn’t see the way he looked at me—like I had betrayed him. As if he had the right to that word after what he and his “cousin” did.
But this was different. He wasn’t angry because he had lost me. He was angry because I was slipping into the orbit of the one man he could never compete with. His father.
And that wounded him deeper than any betrayal ever could.
Later that night, I overheard him. His voice, low, furious, cutting through the thin walls. He was on the phone.
“She’s playing games with me,” he hissed. “You don’t understand—she’s in this house, under my roof, but she’s… slipping away. He’s taking her. My own father!”
A pause. Then, it was a darker tone, one I had never heard before. “No. I won’t let that happen. She’ll regret ever making me look like a fool. Both of them will.”
My chest tightened.
This wasn’t the jealous whining of a boy anymore. This was a man sharpening his knives.
The next morning, the house felt different. Tense. The father was gone early, off to some meeting, leaving me with his son. The silence stretched, heavy, as he set his coffee cup down and looked at me across the kitchen table.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he said, his voice soft but sharp, like glass waiting to cut.
I met his stare, unflinching. “I don’t need to think it.”
His lips curved into something between a smile and a snarl. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You don’t belong to him.” He leaned closer, eyes blazing. “You belong to me.”
I almost laughed. Almost. But then I saw it—the glint in his eyes that told me this wasn’t just talk. He was planning something. Something twisted.
And in that moment, I realized:
This house wasn’t just a battlefield of desire anymore.
It was a warzone.
- Writer
