Son Holding Mom's Head No Blur Novels & Stories

“Do not challenge me, boy!” But Densmore did not back down. His eyes burned red, his growl intensifying until it filled every corner of the room, swallowing even the sound of my shallow gasps. Black spots spread wider across my vision as my body grew weaker and my hands fell uselessly to my sides. The only thing I could hear now was the thunder of my heartbeat fading. For a moment, silence stretched between mother and son. Their eyes locked, neither moving, neither blinking. It was obvious they were communicating via mindlink.

Then, she crouched down and reached for the washing machine door, shaking. The door clicked open. A wave of heat and metallic mist rushed out, attacking everyone's senses. "Sir, we used a toothbrush for comparison. The DNA matches the eldest daughter of this family, Willow Thompson." At the same time Mom heard those words, she finally saw clearly what was left inside the washing machine—my head.

Bloody and stiff. “Excuse me," my eyes snap open immediately. "If you're going to come late and sleep in, then you shouldn't have bothered coming.“ I apologize again. Mom is still on the phone, but all I can hear is snoring. She's cried herself to sleep again. I end the call and try to focus on whatever the 4 foot 5 woman is saying.

She tasted the blood in her mouth. Leo placed his hands on his head and stared at the screen with horror. Helpless. Frozen. “I’m not fucking around here. 72 hours, one billion dollars, or I’ll cut his fucking head off.” The last shot was Grayson on his knees on the floor. Trying to rub his injured leg with his hands bound behind his back. He turned back to the camera a final time. His blue eyes seemed to lock right onto Amberleigh through the screen. The edges of Amber’s vision began to darken. The room started to spin. She reached out for something to hold onto. But her hands raked the air, her chest tightened, and her world faded to black.

"Bow your head to the ground." Suzanna complied, her forehead touching the gravel, her perfect blonde hair falling around her in disarray. Her son Moore watched in horrified silence, his young face contorted with helpless rage. Alpha Foster turned to me. "Is this satisfactory, Summer? Or do you think she deserves something more severe?"

I figured my life would stay quiet. But nope. Three months later, I went back to my old house to grab some documents, and just as I got to the door, someone practically lunged out of the shadows and clamped onto me. "Mom! You're finally back! I've been looking everywhere for you!" It was Henry. He looked rough—gaunt, scruffy, like he hadn't seen daylight in weeks. His eyes locked onto mine, all desperate and pleading.

With a knowing look, Caleb dragged Celia's body off the bed and threw her onto the floor before grabbing Emery and pinning her down against the hospital sheets. The sounds that followed from the footage were unbearable. Obscene noises, each louder than the last, pierced through my eardrums. I stood frozen amid the static hum of the footage, as if I had just plunged into an ice pit. All eyes were locked dead on the screen, and the only sound left in the room was the increasingly heavy breathing of the audience. When they looked at Caleb again, there was finally a trace of disgust in their gazes. Caleb glanced around the room and curled into himself in terror. His voice shook as he stammered o

“Stop slandering me! I have photos of Dan on my phone, and I can show you his birth certificate!” Turning to my son, I pleaded, “Dan, say something! I’m your mom!” For a split second, Dan’s gaze faltered. He looked at me, then back at Shannon, his small brow furrowing in confusion. However, his expression soon turned cold, just like his father—distant and detached, as if he were staring at a stranger. “Photos? Birth certificate?” Shannon scoffed. “You must be one of the help. It’s not unusual for a nanny to have pictures of the kids they take care of, is it?”

My shoulders hit the wall. His hand caught my chin and forced my head up. "Only now do I realize Don Morettis are a dime a dozen." "I'm choosing Sofia. That's my call. I don't need you giving me away." "You're not worthy."

Then, a woman in her mid-60s walked in, holding a stick in her left hand. Her left eye remained still, unblinking, while the other moved normally. She wore a black, full-length gown. "I smell sorrow," she said, her voice eerily deep and frail, like that of an old woman. She approached him, gazing at him before gently placing her hand on his forehead, her eyes closed. Suddenly, I noticed my son's heartbeat had stopped. I took a deep breath, feeling his hand tighten around mine. I didn’t understand what was happening as he slowly began to shake his head, his eyes still closed.