Chapter 2: Lines Crossed, Trust Broken

2

By now, my anger had cooled—at least on the surface. When those comments first flashed up, I’d acted on pure rage, not reason. But what if they were wrong? Maybe this was all some rival’s trick, a hacker trying to get in my head.

I’d ordered Caleb tied up without a shred of proof. The realization stung. Seeing his red-rimmed eyes and hearing him invoke his mother’s memory only made the guilt worse.

Emotion overtook me. I stood up, strode across the room, and personally untied Caleb’s wrists.

I was just about to apologize—when those damn comments popped up again.

[I knew this old man would go soft. Like he’d really punish the protagonist.]

[But what’s up with him today? Maybe he finally found out the protagonist is working with the uncle to steal the company?]

[Lucky for our protagonist, he’s always got a backup plan. Even if the CEO chickens out, he’s not staying on top much longer.]

My hand lingered on Caleb’s shoulder, but my eyes darted to the comments, fingers twitching with anxiety.

Caleb didn’t notice my unease. Still stung by the humiliation, he straightened up, expecting me to cave like always.

He glared and snapped, "Dad, if you don’t explain yourself, I’m not leaving!"

But my mind was stuck on the comments. Caleb—plotting with board members? Already planning my ouster?

Suddenly, he shouted again, voice echoing in the study. Instinct took over—I raised my hand—

And before I could stop myself, my palm cracked across Caleb’s face, leaving a deep red welt.

My hand stung, but my heart hurt worse. I’d sworn I’d never raise a hand to my son. What had I become?

The silence after the slap was so thick, I could hear the old grandfather clock in the hall counting down my failures. Caleb’s eyes went wide, his fingers brushing his cheek in shock.

3

The slap echoed through the office, sharp and final. Outside, the staff froze, not daring to breathe. Inside, it was so quiet I could hear the wall clock ticking.

Caleb stared at me, disbelief and betrayal etched on his face. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

"Somebody—Caleb has shown disrespect. Take him back to his room. Without my order, he’s not to leave."

After Caleb was led away, I dismissed the staff. Alone, I slumped at my desk, forehead slick with cold sweat, the city lights outside blurring as I tried to piece together where I’d gone wrong.

The comments exploded across my mind:

[Did the old man just slap his own kid? Damn, family therapy’s gonna be wild.]

[Just wait, Caleb’s the most vengeful. After that, he’s probably dreaming up ways to tear his dad apart.]

[He’s still his biological father, though.]

[So what? Don’t forget, the protagonist’s got a mean streak. Remember when his mom lost the baby after that fall? That wasn’t just an accident.]

A cold shiver ran through me. The night my wife miscarried, I blamed myself for being too busy, too absent. Never in my darkest moments did I think it was Caleb—my own son—who might have pushed her.

A lump rose in my throat. I remembered the chaos—the blood, the ambulance lights, the way I held her hand on the way to the hospital. The guilt I’d carried for years twisted into something darker, colder. Was my own son really capable of this?

4

Determined to find out the truth, I ordered a private investigation—no more guessing, no more half-truths. Until the results were in, Caleb would stay confined.

Just as I tried to steady myself, my longtime assistant hurried in. "Mr. Reynolds, Mrs. Reynolds is asking to see you."

Mrs. Reynolds… I’d almost forgotten about her. The comments echoed in my mind, turning my stomach.

"Tell her to go back," I snapped, waving him off. I just wanted to be alone.

But outside, a commotion erupted—she wasn’t giving up. My chief of staff poked his head in, looking exasperated.

"Sir, Mrs. Reynolds says if you won’t see her, she’ll camp out in the hallway all night."

Her? Camping out? I knew her too well. Spoiled, dramatic, always angling for attention—she was playing me, and I knew it.

Still, with the investigation pending and no solid proof yet, I gave in. "Fine. Bring her in."

Mrs. Reynolds swept in, her red dress catching the lamplight, the scent of Chanel No. 5 trailing behind her. She moved with practiced grace, her perfume lingering like a dare.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the familiar scent try—and fail—to calm my nerves.

Suddenly, she was in my lap, arms winding around my neck, her breath warm on my skin.

"Darling, I missed you so much," she purred, nuzzling my shoulder. Once, I would have scooped her up and carried her straight to bed. Tonight, I felt nothing but suspicion and disgust.

I gently pushed her away. "Honey, is there something you need tonight?"

She lifted her head, her delicate neck arching as she leaned close, her chest rising and falling with every calculated breath against my ear. My mind started to cloud.

[This CEO really is an old lech. The protagonist was right to send the wife—look how fast he falls for it!]

[This trick always works. She’s got something on her dress—makes him think he’s in control.]

[Every time she asks for something, he gives in. Pathetic.]

The city lights outside blinked, cold and distant. Her perfume felt suffocating, sweet to the point of nausea. Every caress sent warning bells through my head. The woman I once adored now felt like a stranger—maybe she always was.

5

The moment the comments flashed, I sucked in a shallow breath. I hadn’t inhaled much of whatever was on her dress, and I dug my nails into my palm, fighting the fog. I played along, nuzzling her ear, breath heavy with fake longing.

"Honey, you look incredible tonight."

She giggled, nails trailing down my back. "Then tell me—why’d you have Caleb tied up like some criminal?"

"Because I…"

My mind tripped. The drug was strong—I almost blurted out everything. I bit my tongue, forcing myself to stay alert.

"Just testing Caleb. Wanted to see how he handles pressure. Makes me feel better about handing him the company."

She let out a visible sigh of relief. "Then, darling, how about you lift the restriction on Caleb?"

I hadn’t planned to keep him locked up forever. Once the investigation was done, if he was innocent, I’d let him go. But after tonight, I understood—those comments were true. My son and my wife were in this together.

She saw my hesitation and pressed harder, cupping my face. Under her hungry gaze, I rolled my eyes and let myself collapse backward onto the bed.

Mrs. Reynolds was startled. After checking that I was truly out, she tossed a pillow to the floor in frustration.

"Useless old man! At the critical moment, he’s always dead weight!" She pinched my side, and I barely managed not to flinch, biting down on my cheek to stifle a groan. I forced myself to play dead, desperate to see how deep this betrayal went.

6

When I didn’t move, she got up, straightened her dress, and sat on the edge of the bed, calling softly: "The old man’s asleep—come out, quick."

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Then Caleb’s voice, sharp and smug:

"He really thinks he can keep me locked up? Doesn’t he know I’ve already dug a secret passage from his bedroom? I can go wherever I want—he can’t stop me."

A secret passage? In my own house? Suddenly, every late-night creak and whisper made sense. What else had they plotted under my nose?

Before I could process it, I heard movement—a commotion by my desk. Caleb was kissing Mrs. Reynolds, sweeping paperwork and family photos to the floor. He lifted her onto the desk, tearing at her clothes.

I lay frozen, every word between them carving up what was left of my heart.

"Caleb, you don’t know how disgusting it is pretending to be with this old man every day," Mrs. Reynolds gasped.

"You think I like watching you play the good wife? Every time I see him touch you, I want to kill him," Caleb shot back, breathless and raw.

As their laughter echoed through the room, I made a silent promise—tomorrow, the story would change. And this time, I’d be the one writing it.