Father Son Novels Novels & Stories

Ch-1 --------------------- [Father discovers that his neglected wife has found solace with her hunky son; while he is given cold shoulder, son is treated to cornucopia of delights.] [ALERT: one of the delights is eating a meal served on his mother's perfect body; some might object to this type of erotic dining, especially the location of dipping sauce; please turn to another story; thank you] *

Jasson's tone became stern. "I have liked her for a long time. Dad, I am determined to get her." Yoseph's tone was very firm. "You are determined to get her? A divorced woman, are you in the heart of Father? Father has raised you for so many years. Is it because he wants you to find a second-hand woman to carry on your family line?" Jasson was very angry. He felt that his son was too useless. Yoseph knew that his father would use this matter to talk about him. He was already prepared.

"So, how has life been with you and your wife? Ever since I went for service, contacting you has been hard." Kit, a twenty-four years old handsome man with curly black hair filling his head and filling his forehead and his eyes having a purple impression around them, more like violet. They always blazed under the sun and they did right now. Kit is his Father's only son. His father was stinkingly rich and ensured his son joined the human army in New Jersey. He had left Forester as soon as Alex was crowned the King. He came back to hear about his marriage. "Going well, I guess."

Chapter 11 Jason walked out to the parking garage full of rage and angst only his father could conjure up. He thought, at least, he was over this anger towards him. But the one thing that got under his skin the most, was him trying to tell him how to be a good husband and father. How, the fuck, dare he? Dan Sanders believes he is the father and husband of the year but he was clearly losing in everyone else’s mind. The son of a bitch was far too vain for his own good.

’ ‘I’ll show you how I treat people I don’t give a fuck about. I shut my eyes. Then memories begin connecting themselves like broken glass finding shape. I think back to the sudden news about his father’s accident and how Valentina refused to go with him, remembering the strange tension in the house when he returned with Ivy and the cold energy between everyone that I somehow ignored. I stare at the floor. “That family is insane,” I whisper to myself. “How do you drug your own son just to push another woman on him?” The more I say it aloud, the more real it sounds.

George is Irish just like every one of his traits. In his blood runs the evidence that he is a smart boy, beautiful and even friendlier when it comes to beer. He's also gay. If I didn't know this in advance, seeing him so glued to Alicia as they carefully watch the scene that Emmett Mendes is riding right now, would make me think that they are a pretty nice couple or coworkers. But also Gossip. Yet the one who is doing everything wrong is the son of the High leader of the United Kingdom who has gone to look for the secretary of his father's partner to invite him for a drink.

She explained that a little boy had seen Sofia's smartwatch background and insisted the person on it was his mother. While arguing, he tried to grab Sofia's smartwatch, and a fight ensued. Sofia stopped writing and packed her bag as soon as she saw me. Seeing her unharmed and collected, I felt relieved. Suddenly, a figure pounced on me, calling "Mom" repeatedly. Sofia frowned, pulling the boy away. "Ew, you got snot on my mom's dress." I finally recognized the boy as Jamie, my son, though he'd grown taller and lost his front teeth. He pointed at me, his eyes swollen but determined. "She's my mom! Give her back to me!"

"I've got nothing left. The restaurant's gone, and I'm a hundred grand in debt from that hotel lease. You still want to call me 'mom'?" He hesitated for a split second. "Money or no money, you're still my mom! I'll find a job soon, and I'll help pay it all off!" I pushed the door open wider. "Fine. Come in." If he was really sincere, I'd see soon enough. Or maybe he had another angle—only one way to find out. Back at the old house, Henry played the role of devoted son perfectly. He handled every chore, cooked, and left at dawn each day to "look for work." Honestly, he seemed like a different person.

"Oh, I get it. You're the guy Freya's been sneaking around with! And now you're cursing my son to be dead?!" I shoved myself between them, forcing them apart. "This is my brother, Shaun," I snapped. Peter froze, his face flickering with confusion before it hit him. His jaw dropped. "Wait—Shaun Wayne? CEO of Wayne Corp?!" Before I could answer, the housekeeper approached with Yule's urn in her hands. "Ms. Wayne," she said softly, "it's time." I took the urn, my grip firm as I turned to Peter. My voice was steady. "Yule is right here. If you still have any shred of decency as a father, come with us."

"You need to come home. Your father is dying." He should have said no, and ended the call, or thrown the phone across his pathetic studio apartment, and pretended he had never heard those words. Five years ago, Patriarch Michael Thorne had stood in the grand hall of the family estate and declared his eldest son dead to the Holy Order, dead to God, and dead to the bloodline that stretched back twelve generations of exorcists. Gabriel had been seventeen, broken, and desperate for understanding that never came.