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The mirror cracked

Author: November
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-05-22 08:11:59

RUTH’S POV

The drive to Jordan’s office was supposed to be a routine visit, a way to bridge the gap that had been growing between us like a fault line. But as I pulled into the private executive lot, the air felt different—thinner, colder.

Jordan wasn’t in his office. His desk was barren, the mahogany surface wiped clean of his usual clutter, and the heavy silence of the room felt like a physical accusation.

I didn’t wait for his assistant. I walked straight to the floor manager, a man who had
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  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The homecoming debt

    REIGN’S POVThe drive from the university parking lot to Emma’s off-campus apartment was a blur of cold calculation. The adrenaline from breaking Mark was still humming in my veins, a dark, rhythmic pulse that made the steering wheel feel like an extension of my own grip. I pulled up to the curb, the black sedan idling like a predator as I stared at the building. I had come here to lay down the law, to be the sentinel that stood between her and the fire she was so determined to play with.When I entered the apartment, the air didn't smell like the incense or vanilla I usually associated with Emma. It smelled like movement.Suitcases were splayed open on the designer rug, half-filled with the expensive silks and tiny garments that made up her wardrobe. Emma was moving between the bedroom and the living area with a frantic, rhythmic energy I hadn't seen in months."What is this?" I asked, my voice a low rumble that stopped her mid-stride. "Where are you going?""Home," she said, not lo

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The price of the threat

    REIGN’S POVThe interior of the sedan was a dark, leather-lined vacuum, sealed off from the morning bustle of the university. I didn't have to use much force to lure him inside. A few choice words about a "private conversation" and the sheer, overwhelming pressure of the car’s presence had been enough to shatter his remaining bravado. He sat in the back, his knees knocking, his eyes darting toward the child-locked doors.I turned in the driver’s seat, looking at him with a cold, predatory detachment. "Do you know who I am?"The guy swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a frantic rhythm. "No. Look, man, whatever you think you heard…""My name is Reign Blackwood," I interrupted, my voice a low, gravelly hum that seemed to vibrate the very leather of the seats. "And the girl you were just cornering is my sister. You told her you’d have your way with her. You told her you’d fuck her mercilessly.""I was just... I was just talking," he stammered, his face turning a sickly shade of g

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The sentinel in the shadows

    REIGN’S POVThe morning air was a biting, clinical contrast to the humid, suffocating atmosphere I had left behind at the mansion. I had slipped out before the sun could even fully crest the horizon, the silence of the house still ringing in my ears. Behind those marble walls, my father was busy weaving a cocoon of lies to pacify his wife, using his body and his silver tongue to buy another day of safety. But I knew the foundation was cracked. I hadn’t slept; my body still carried the phantom tension of the "bike accident" I’d staged to save Jordan’s skin.My destination was the university. I had a singular, cold-blooded mission: I was going to find Emma and hammer some sense into her head. The leash she had on Jordan was tightening at a dangerous velocity, and the fallout from Ruth’s office visit yesterday proved that the family was one wrong move away from total, scorched-earth incineration. Emma was a wildfire, and I was the only one who knew how to build a firebreak.I pulled my

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The architecture of deception

    JORDAN’S POVThe foyer was thick with the copper scent of Reign’s feigned injuries and the heavy, humid air of Ruth’s panic. I watched her hands flutter over him, her eyes wide and wet, the fire of her previous rage entirely extinguished by the sight of her son’s supposed wreckage. Every time Reign let out a sharp, rhythmic hiss of pain, I saw Ruth’s resolve crumble a little further."I’ll take him up," Ruth said, her voice trembling as she tried to pull Reign’s heavy arm over her shoulder. "I’ll help him into the bath, clean the grit out of those cuts before I apply the antiseptic.""No," I interjected, stepping forward and firmly taking Reign’s weight. I could feel the tension in my son’s body—the corded muscle of a man who was perfectly fine, masquerading as a broken boy. "I’ve got him, Ruth. It’s too much for you to handle, and I need to see the extent of the damage myself. Go to the kitchen, get some ice and the heavy-duty kit from the pantry."I didn't give her a chance to ar

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The fractured foundation

    JORDAN’S POVThe house felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. The silence was heavy, pressurized by the secrets I had left festering in the guest wing. I stood in the foyer, the cold, stale air of the entranceway prickling against my skin. There was no sign of Ruth—no perfume, no familiar rustle of silk, no accusatory glare. The dining room was a ghost town, the meal I’d expected her to be enjoying now sitting untouched, the food congealed and lifeless under the clinical light of the chandelier.I checked the master suite first, my heart thumping a frantic, irregular rhythm against my ribs. The room was untouched, the bed perfectly made, and the walk-in closet—the only place she sometimes went to hide—was empty. I felt a surge of cold dread. She wasn't just hiding; she was retreating into the fortress of her own mind, where I couldn't reach her.I hurried to the guest wing, my boots echoing like gunshots on the marble. I reached the door of the visitor’s room and gripped t

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The mirror cracked

    RUTH’S POVThe drive to Jordan’s office was supposed to be a routine visit, a way to bridge the gap that had been growing between us like a fault line. But as I pulled into the private executive lot, the air felt different—thinner, colder. Jordan wasn’t in his office. His desk was barren, the mahogany surface wiped clean of his usual clutter, and the heavy silence of the room felt like a physical accusation.I didn’t wait for his assistant. I walked straight to the floor manager, a man who had been with Jordan since the firm’s inception."Where is he?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, though my pulse was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.The manager hesitated, his gaze darting toward the security monitors. "Mr. Blackwood left earlier, Mrs. Blackwood. He… he had visitors.""Visitors?""Toni Donald," he said, and the name hit me like a splash of ice water. "She’s been here quite a bit lately. This wasn’t her first or second visit. It’s been… a recurring arrangement. And then

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