Aiden stopped in his steps at a distance. His gaze flicked briefly to Bryn —a single second of cold acknowledgent —before fixing purposefully on Dafydd.
"Did you give him a good show, Tariq?" he asked evenly.
Tariq straightened at once, his lips curling. "Not yet, Sir. I was on it."
"You can’t make the guest wait, Tariq," Aiden said, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants. Though his words were directed to Tariq, his gaze never left Dafydd. "He has taken a flight just to co here and witness his son suffer the consequences of his audacity. We can’t let him leave ... dissatisfied."
Tariq’s eyes glead with barely concealed excitent. "Don’t worry, Sir. I have prepared sothing good. I am sure he won’t leave disappointed." His glance darted toward Bryn, whose head hung limp, his body on the verge of collapse. "Shall I continue? Otherwise, we might have to wait for him to wake up."
Aiden tilted his head, about to nod, but Dafydd snapped before he could answer. His voice thundered, strained with both desperation and rage.
"Shut up ... just shut up!"
He turned his blazing glare toward Aiden. "What do you think you are doing?"
Aiden arched his brows, his expression calm, almost mocking. "I thought you knew what this was all about?"
Dafydd gritted. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Of course, he knew what he was doing. And he also knew why.
His tone grew harsher, impatient. "End this madness, Aiden. He is your brother and —"
"Brother?" Aiden’s interruption cut through like a blade —sharp and dismissive. His lips twisted into a cold smirk. "I don’t recall my mother giving birth to a second child after having ."
Dafydd frowned, his face darkening. "That doesn’t matter. As long as you recognize as your father, Bryn remains your brother. And this —" he gestured fiercely towards Bryn’s bloodied form — "this is not how one treats his close kin."
"Recognize you as my father?" Aiden chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, chilling the very air. The darkness in it made Dafydd’s frown deepen.
"Aiden!!" Dafydd barked his na in warning.
But Aiden only stepped forward, intimidating with his very presence. "Just because I am letting you stand here and speak doesn’t an you have earned the right. Don’t overstep, Dafydd. asure your words before you dare to present them to ."
Dafydd’s body trembled with fury, but his gaze was pulled again to Bryn as the boy whimpered, his pain and suffering cutting him deeper than any blade.
"You don’t take him as your brother, fine. But ..." Dafydd pointed a trembling finger at Bryn. "He is still a Winslow. Bryn Winslow —a part of this family. And as the future patriarch of the Winslow household, you should know better than this. You should know how to forgive. He is still a kid —"
"Family?" Aiden’s voice cracked through Dafydd’s plea, dark and edged with mockery. He repeated the word as though it were a joke, his laughter hollow and bone-chilling.
Dafydd froze, unsettled by the sound. His brows knitted tighter as he tried to grasp the aning behind that laughter.
"Since when ..." Aiden’s voice dropped, each syllable sharp and deliberate, "did the Winslows ever beco my family?"
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Silence fell, and Dafydd frowned at it. "It’s not your family?" His tone mocked, desperate to provoke. "If it isn’t, how co you never refused taking its charge?"
"Why should I?" Aiden replied as if it were the simplest truth in the world. "I never considered anyone in the Winslow tree as my family. But why should I refuse the power —the power you are so desperately after? Isn’t it because of this power, you betrayed my mother?"
The words hit like a thunderclap.
Dafydd stiffened as he saw Aiden’s gaze darkening shade after shade.
"I never craved for the title of any household’s patriarch." Aiden continued, his voice sharp and cutting. "To , it’s just a way to get back at you. To make you see that no matter how low you stoop, you won’t have what you have always craved. Power. Authority. Reputation. I won’t let you have any of it."
Dafydd’s composure cracked. His jaws tightened, but before he could speak anything on that, Bryn’s whimper caught him.
"D-Dad, please save . S-save !"
"Bryn, son! I am here," Dafydd at once turned and tried to reassure Bryn looked too much in a daze to even hear his reassurance. "Don’t worry, I will take you away."
"Take him away?" Tariq asked almost in disapproval. "Aren’t you promising too big. I an, we have hardly played yet, and —"
"Enough!" Dafydd snapped, glaring at Tariq. Then he faced Aiden. "Release him now. He needs a hospital. And haven’t you already tortured him enough? He is like this already this, what else do you want?"
Aiden’s face hardened. Fury tightened the line of his mouth. He stepped forward, each movent asured and quiet, every step taking the temperature of the room down to ice.
"What else do I want?" he repeated, his voice low enough that Dafydd felt it vibrate in his bones. "Do you really want to hear what I want?" he asked, his tone carrying a threatening dare.
Dafydd staggered; his knees threatened to give. He had expected threats, arrogance, bargaining —but not the raw, patient violence simring behind Aiden’s calm. The man before him wasn’t rely angry; he was resolute, utterly uncontained.
"Well," Aiden said, without theatrics, without raising his voice. But the burning fury remained laced to it. "If you insist on knowing, I will tell you."
He paused. His gaze darkened to sothing colder than anger, and the room seed to shrink around it. "I fu*king want to rip the brain out of his skull that even dared to think that he could harm the only family I treasure." His voice was dark ... extrely dark. "I want to tear away his limbs in the most brutal way, making him feel the pain a thousandfold for what he had kept planned for my woman. I want to leave him dead yet alive just to feel the torture, every day, every second, for the rest of his life. So that he not just remained incapable of trying it the next ti but also dreads even after he reincarnates."
Dafydd’s skin prickled. He shook his head, panic and disbelief wiping away the colour from his face. "No ... no, you can’t do that. Let him go. Let him survive. I promise —he won’t dare to do this again. I will lock him away. I will make sure he never appears before you —"
"You didn’t hear ," Aiden interrupted him, his voice flat and final. "I wouldn’t give him another chance to repeat it. Not even if he reincarnates."
"You —"
Before Dafydd could speak anymore, Aiden turned and nodded once to Tariq.
The whip cracked again, the sound raw and cruel. Bryn, already on the edge of unconsciousness, flinched and cried out; his voice ca hoarse and broken.
Dafydd lurched forward to reach him, but n appeared, seized and held him fast so that his eyes were forced on his son’s suffering.
Aiden stayed there as well. He watched it all with terrible calm, as if the scene steadied sothing inside him. "My woman is off limits," he said, the words cutting through the air despite the whip’s noise. "Cross that line, and you will learn what final ans."
And with that, he turned around to leave.
Dafydd turned to look at him with an ashen face. "Aiden!" he called his na; a warning laced in his tone. "Do you think after pushing to this extent, I will just accept it and back down, scared of you?"
"..." Aiden didn’t respond. But he stood there, waiting to hear ... intrigued to know.
"After what you did today, you will have to face the consequences. I will —"
"You got my intentions terribly wrong," Aiden interrupted. He tilted his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. "From the mont you stepped into this place, your exit was seized."
Dafydd’s brows furrowed, confusion twisting his face.
But Aiden had said enough. He didn’t linger longer. With a cold smirk, he turned back and continued towards the exit. Just before stepping out, he paused and ordered, his voice steady and commanding.
"Tariq, I don’t like the noise. Do sothing about it. Present a gift to the father dearest —one that he could treasure for the rest of his life."
"Got it, Sir," Tariq affird without hesitation.
Before Dafydd could make sense of his words, he saw Tariq drop the whip and move towards a table half hidden in the shadows.
Dafydd’s gaze narrowed, and the next mont, his blood turned cold. Tariq had picked a sharp-bladed knife —one that glead with the kind of edge that could slice more than just flesh.
"Wait, —what are you going to do?" Dafydd demanded, panic lacing in his tone.
However, Tariq turned to him coolly, his lips curling in his chilling smile. "Presenting you a gift you can treasure," he said evenly. "Your son’s tongue."
Reviews
All reviews (0)