Novel & Cerita Father's Eyes Mother's Rage Book

My rage boiled over, seeping into the shadows that enveloped me like living tendrils, eager for release. "You have crossed me for the final time," I growled, my voice distorted with rage. "You will regret ever setting foot in my castle." My father remained eerily calm, tilting his head as if observing a child's tantrum. "Such theatrics, Edward. You truly are your mother's son. Always so emotional. Let's not pretend this is a battle you can win."

For the first time since my mother saw my arm, her face split into a radiant, very satisfied smile. I gulped, suddenly realizing the shithole I was in. My father was furious. It was barely discernible in his body language but now that I knew what to look for, his barely restrained rage was evident in the way he was barely keeping his words from turning into a growl and the way his eyes kept flashing, like his wolf was fighting to get out and he was trying to hold it back. It hit me then.

Third person POV “No, you will follow my orders. You will divorce that wretched woman; she is likely deceiving you. You will not ruin everything I have worked for!” Eve shouted at Max, who walked past her and exited the room. Once they were out of sight, he turned back to face her, locking eyes with his mother. for as long as he knew , his mother had always kept a poker face, never showing her emotions and for the first time, he watched her, and he could see the rage in her eyes, to show how displease she was concerning his decision .

It courses through his veins, radiating from every fiber of his being. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and vibrancy, now burn with a fiery intensity. They pierce through his father's facade, reflecting a profound disdain and a smoldering resentment. The muscles in his jaw tighten, clenching and unclenching as he struggles to contain the seething rage that threatens to consume him.

Richard stated firmly, his gaze returning to his mother's eyes. "What do you mean you did not provoke my daughter?" Emilia's mother's voice reverberated through the tense atmosphere as she rose from her seat, her movements quickened by the urgency of the situation. Anger radiated from her eyes like flames fueled by the singular thought of their only daughter now fighting for her life.

Ruby M. Clive Father’s large hand presses against my neck ensuring no more air can cross to my lungs, my hands feel so small compared to his as I try to pry him from me. I don’t want to die. "It's these eyes!" Father spits, the green in his gaze holding his venom too unmistakably. Father hates me? Why? Mother said that he would accept us if I behaved properly. I didn’t make a mistake! I swear. "These eyes are not a Clive's! This is not my child, you whore."

"Everything is always my fault according to you, isn't it, Vespera? My ambition, my drive to make this pack strong, my refusal to be weak like—" "I never said that," Mother interrupted, but her voice had grown cold, distant. "I'm saying don't blame a child for problems she didn't create." "Damn that Hubert," Father growled, ignoring her completely. "He'll pay with his life." He clutched his fist so hard I heard bones crack, the sound sharp in the tense silence. Father's entire body trembled like a fault line about to rupture, vibrating with barely contained violence. Heat radiated off him in waves, and the scent of his rage flooded the room—burning, acrid, making my eyes water.

One by one, they close in, their feral eyes fixed on him. I watch, helpless, as he goes down, their teeth sinking into him, his roar turning into a strangled cry. My mother’s scream splits the night, and I see her rush to his side, her face a mask of desperation. She fights with the same fierce determination, but it’s no use. They overpower her, her body falling beside his, the life draining from her eyes... And soon, both my parents... are dead in a matter of minutes...

Behind him, their mother hurried after, her voice shrill and cracking with fury. “You promised you wouldn’t gamble it away again!” she screamed, her face flushed and streaked with tears. “How are we supposed to feed our daughters? Tell me!” Their father didn’t turn around. He kept walking, jaw clenched, fists balled at his sides. Elena, only sixteen and still easily frightened by their parents’ storms, let out a small whimper. She darted behind Eloise, pressing her face into her older sister’s back and gripping the fabric of her dress tightly.

Her once vibrant eyes were red and swollen, her face etched with the lines of a lifetime of hardship. The weight of rage settled heavily upon Deborah's shoulders as her mother's tear-streaked face turned towards her. The anguish in her eyes spoke volumes, a reflection of the pain she had endured in Deborah's absence. With each sob that wracked her fragile form, her mother beat her chest, as if trying to exorcise the anguish that had consumed her. "Why didn't you come sooner, Deb?" her mother's voice quivered, her expression laced with desperation and anger. "Your father, he called out for you, Deb. On his dying bed, he needed you, and you weren't there."