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The reclamation

Author: November
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-04-24 16:30:26

JORDAN’S POV

The drive back from the gala had been a study in irritation. Ruth was slumped against the leather of the Maybach, her head lolling with the heavy, slack rhythm of someone who had spent the night drowning her boredom in top-shelf gin with her socialite "friends."

She smelled of botanical spirits and expensive powder—a clean, sterile scent that felt miles away from the dark, hungry thoughts pacing in my skull.

I carried her into the house, her body a dead weight in my arms. I laid h
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  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The leash and the lie

    JORDAN’S POVDinner was a slow-motion execution. The obsidian table, once a symbol of my status, now felt like a barricade. I watched Ruth across the expanse of the room, the candlelight flickering in her eyes, but there was no warmth there—only a cold, glassy indifference. I tried to bridge the gap, throwing out small talk about the foundation, the house, the weather—anything to crack the silence.She didn't even look up from her plate. She didn't offer a single word, not even a nod. The "husband" was speaking into a vacuum, and the sound of my own voice began to disgust me. I could still feel the "rotten" residue of Toni’s visit on my soul, and every time I looked at my wife, the guilt flared like a physical burn.By the time the clocks chimed ten, I couldn't take the distance anymore. I followed her toward the visitors' quarters, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to fix this. If I lost Ruth, the last pillar of my carefully constructed life would crumble,

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

    RUTH’S POVThe morning sun hit the glass walls of the breakfast nook like a clinical spotlight, but the warmth never reached me. I sat like a statue in silk, my fingers curled around a cup of tea that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. I didn't look at Jordan. I couldn't. Every time I heard the scrape of his chair or the rustle of his morning paper, the bruise on my hip—where I’d hit the bench after he pushed me—seemed to throb with a dull, rhythmic heat."Ruth," he started, his voice sounding thin and hollow in the vast, open space of our new kitchen. "About last night. I was out of line. The pressure from the merger... It's making me act like someone I don’t recognize. I’m sorry. Please, look at me."I didn't blink. I didn't acknowledge his existence. I simply set my cup down—the porcelain click sounding like a gunshot in the sterile quiet—and walked out of the room. I had spent the entire night in the visitors' quarters, staring at the ceiling, my mind a tangled mess of paranoia.

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The hollow echo

    JORDAN’S POVThe new house was a masterpiece of modern architecture—all soaring glass, brushed steel, and open spaces—but tonight, it felt like a cold, echoing museum. We sat at the long, obsidian dining table, the clink of silver against china sounding like the rhythmic ticking of a countdown I couldn't stop. The air-conditioning hummed a low, clinical note that made the vast room feel even more sterile, as if it were designed to preserve a corpse rather than house a family."It’s too quiet," Ruth said, her voice barely a whisper as she pushed a piece of sea bass around her plate. "The house feels... hollow without Emma. Don't you think, Jordan?"I didn't look up from my wine. The crisp Chardonnay tasted like vinegar in my throat, a sharp contrast to the cloying, dirty memory of Toni’s perfume that still seemed to cling to my skin. Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see my wife or the pristine white walls of our new home; I saw the grain of the mahogany desk in my office. I fel

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The extortion of the Saint

    JORDAN’S POVThe office was a tomb of glass and steel. Outside, the midday sun bounced off the surrounding skyscrapers, but inside, the light felt clinical, exposing every crack in my composure. The world was moving down on the streets below, thousands of people rushing to lunch, oblivious to the fact that the "Great Jordan Blackwood" was being methodically dismantled by the wife of his greatest rival."Delete it," I commanded. My voice didn't have the resonance it usually held behind a podium. It was a rough thing, vibrating with a cocktail of fury and raw, unadulterated fear. "Delete the file, Toni. Every copy. Every cloud upload. I won't touch you until I see it vanish."Toni let out a low, melodic laugh that chilled my marrow. She didn't look bothered by my tone; if anything, she looked nourished by it. She picked up her tablet, her manicured thumb dancing across the screen with agonizing slowness."You’re in no position to negotiate, Jordan," she said, her eyes never leaving min

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

    JORDAN’S POVToni Donald didn't look like a whistleblower. She didn't look like the kind of woman who spent her afternoons digging through the digital trash of her husband’s rivals or scouring the dark corners of the cloud for leverage. She looked like a queen mother in a vintage Chanel suit, her legs crossed with a lethal elegance that made the air in my office feel thin. A slim silver tablet rested on her lap, glowing with a cold, blue light that seemed to bleach the color from the room, turning my warm mahogany sanctuary into a sterile morgue.She was the wife of Alex Donald—my primary competitor, a man I’d spent a decade trying to bury under the weight of my own philanthropic shadow. While Alex was loud, brash, and transparently greedy, I was the "Saint." I was the benefactor of the city’s orphans, the man who held the moral compass for the entire board of directors. I had built a legacy on the premise that I was untouchable because I was holy. My face was on the side of hospi

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The trinity of ruin

    JORDAN’S POVThe humiliation was a physical weight, a leaden pressure in my chest, but the "Saint" inside me—the man who had built an empire on the illusion of purity—didn't break. Not yet. I stood up slowly, my movements jagged and stiff, pulling Emma behind me as if I could still shield her from the very darkness I had introduced her to. My heart was a violent, rhythmic hammer against my ribs, each beat echoing the sound of my life collapsing."What the hell are you doing here, Reign?" I hissed, my voice a lethal thread of suppressed rage. "I’ll kill you for this. I’ll strip you of everything. You think you can follow us? You think you can spy on me in your sister's home?"Reign didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He just leaned there against the kitchen doorframe, looking at me with a terrifying, ancient kind of knowing. He took a slow, deliberate bite of the apple, the crunch echoing in the silent hallway like the snapping of a bone."I didn't have to follow you, Dad," Reign dra

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