Warning : Sensitive Content in this chapter
Dominic strode through the dimly lit corridor of his secret manor after delivering the letter, his polished shoes echoing faintly. He adjusted his shirt collar with one hand and rolled his sleeves with deliberate precision, exposing his forearms. His calm, composed demeanor masked the storm churning beneath his surface as his thoughts drifted to Insa Hawrick and Eric Hawrick.
"Incest… How pathetic. Her reaction to Eric's death was all the confirmation I needed. After I get what I need, she'll meet the same fate."
His mind flickered, unbidden, to a memory long buried—a scene so vile it left an indelible scar on his soul.
Flashback: The Bruswards' House Backyard
The scent of damp earth lingered in the air, mingling with the suffocating weight of dread. The moon cast a cold, indifferent light over the scene as Annette was forced down onto the dirt. She wept silently, her frail body trembling under His Father Victor Brusward, cruel grip and thrusts inside of her. Her pale cheeks streaked with tears, she dared to glance at her younger brother, Dominic, who stood frozen nearby, his fists clenched tightly.
Victor, his face devoid of any humanity, leaned down and hissed venomously in Annette's ear as he continued thrusting
"If you want to live, stay put." His breath was hot and foul against her skin as he yanked her hair back roughly, exposing her neck as he thrusts deeply in Annette regardless of the bleeding from her insides.
Dominic at 18 watched the scene. His sharp intake of breath mirrored Annette's silent agony. He lunged forward instinctively, only to feel cold steel pressed to his back. A bodyguard shoved him hard to the ground, pinning him face-first into the dirt.
"You feel so good like your mother...."Victor said as he grabbed Annette breasts and kissed her cheek as his brothers were watching as he spread her legs and shoved himself inside of her again.
Annette flinched at the sound of the struggle and felt the thrust, but Victor showed no mercy. His hands roamed her trembling frame as he sneered.
Annette screamed as Victor's hand pressed a gun to her temple, silencing her with a menacing growl. "You make one more sound, and I'll end you here,You're useless—a burden, just like your mother. Sick and draining my resources. At least now, you'll serve a purpose."When Victor released semen inside Annette and pulled away and stood up zipping his trousers and walked towards Edward and used his head to reassure his brothers that it's their turn.
"I can't keep a good for nothing sick child in this house.... She can only die though this process and I'll not let her ruin my plans.... Spending money on this trash is a waste of time.. just like her annoying mother...."Victor thought
Dominic's pupils dilated, his eyes darting from Annette to the other men—Edward among them—watching with sick amusement. His heart pounded violently, every muscle in his body straining against the men holding him down.
Edward smirked, stepping closer to his younger brother. The sight of Annette—naked, vulnerable, being violated—didn't faze him. Instead, it seemed to delight him. He crouched down beside Dominic, his tone dripping with mockery as Dominic watched his uncles taking after his father on Annette one by one.
"Look at her. Trash. Just like you. You're both good for nothing."
Dominic's restraint snapped. With all the strength he could muster, he twisted his arm free and swung his fist, landing a brutal punch across Edward's smug face. Blood spattered from Edward's lip as he staggered back, his grin replaced with fury.
Edward wiped the blood with the back of his hand and chuckled darkly. "Hold him down tighter!"
The bodyguards pressed Dominic harder into the ground, his cheek grinding against the rough dirt. He struggled fiercely, his left hand clawing at the ground, but their combined weight was too much.
Dominic's vision blurred with rage and helplessness. He could barely hear Edward's mocking voice over the roar in his ears.
"See? You can't save her. You never could. Just like you couldn't save Mother..."
The night was heavy, cloaked in suffocating silence. The backyard of the Bruswards backyard was bathed in faint moonlight, casting long, twisted shadows across the dirt. Dominic's chest heaved, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as the weight of the bodyguards pressed him into the ground. His vision blurred with rage and despair as he watched the scene unfold before him.
Edward's smirk widened as he wiped the blood trickling from his split lip. His voice carried a venomous mockery that seemed to pierce through the night.
"You'll pay for ruining my pretty face, you insolent brat."
"You bastard!" Dominic spat, his voice cracking with raw fury. "First you killed Mother, and now—"
Before he could finish, Edward's boot connected with his face, snapping his head to the side. Blood streamed from Dominic's nose, pooling on the dirt beneath him.
"How's that, little brother? Your pretty face is ruined too," Edward taunted, his laughter cutting through Dominic's pain.
Dominic forced himself to breathe through his mouth, blowing out to keep the blood from clogging his nostrils. His fists clenched tightly, trembling with suppressed rage. His gaze darted to Uncle Benjamin, who was the last to finish with Annette. The older man's breath came in shallow gasps as he thrust into her lifeless body, his movements cruel and mechanical.
Annette's fragile form lay limp on the ground, her once-bright eyes now dull, staring blankly at the night sky. Her body had endured too much, succumbing to the relentless violation of the Brusward men making love to her one after the other, Dominic's fists tightened further, his nails digging into his palms as he gritted his teeth, helpless to stop the horror.
Benjamin let out a satisfied groan, his disgusting pleasure evident. Pulling away as he released semen inside of her, he zipped his trousers and turned toward Victor, his face devoid of shame.
"She's dead," he stated flatly, as though announcing the weather.
Victor, holding a gun, walked with a slow, deliberate pace toward Annette's lifeless body. He squatted beside her, his cold gaze sweeping over the broken figure. The gun in his hand gleamed under the moonlight.
"Dominic," Victor began, his voice calm and cruel, "you need to understand something. Anyone in this family who fails to fulfill their responsibilities is nothing more than trash—just like your mother, and now your sister."
The words stabbed through Dominic like a blade, but it was Edward's snicker that pushed him closer to the edge.
"It's a shame," Edward chimed in mockingly. "Father didn't leave a spot for me. I would've loved a turn with Annette."
Dominic's body tensed, his muscles straining against the hands holding him down. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a line down his dirt-streaked face.
Victor glanced at Edward and gave a faint smirk. "Ah, my boy, sacrifices must be made for the Bruswards family to thrive. Dominic, as the future head of this house, must understand that."
The words ignited a flicker of resentment in Edward's gaze, but his smirk remained intact. Dominic's eyes widened, and his heart sank deeper into despair.
Victor raised the gun, aiming it at Annette's lifeless form. "Let this be a lesson, Dominic," he said coldly.
The sound of the gunshot shattered the stillness of the night, sending birds scattering from the nearby trees. Blood seeped from a fresh wound between Annette's thighs, a final desecration of her dignity.
Dominic's breath hitched, his vision swimming. Rage boiled within him, but he forced himself to stay still. He knew Edward's threat was no bluff.
"If you dare move," Edward had hissed earlier, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "Eliza will suffer the same fate."
Those words echoed in Dominic's mind, freezing him in place. For the sake of his fiancée, he swallowed his rage, letting it simmer beneath the surface. Edward, seeing his brother's surrender, grinned in triumph.
Victor stood, handing the gun back to Benjamin. He dusted off his hands as though ridding himself of filth. His eyes bore into Dominic, cold and unfeeling.
"You'll learn, boy," he said. "This is what it means to lead the Bruswards family."
As the men walked away, Dominic was left in the dirt, his face pressed to the ground, forced to stare at Annette's broken, desecrated body. The weight of the guards pinning him down felt insignificant compared to the crushing burden of his helplessness.
"I will never forget," he swore silently, the taste of blood and dirt on his tongue. "And one day, I'll make you all pay."
Present Day: Dominic's Manor
Dominic stood in the dimly lit hallway of his grand yet eerily quiet manor, his footsteps echoing faintly off the cold marble floor. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, tears threatened to form in his eyes. Yet his face remained a mask of icy indifference, his emotions buried so deep they felt foreign.
A soft, bitter laugh escaped his lips as he lowered his head. The laughter was hollow, tinged with madness, as though it came from the fractured remnants of a man who had long forgotten what it meant to feel.
"Edward, Father....., Annette," he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery. "Such a perfect family, weren't we?"
His steps faltered as a memory clawed its way to the surface, vivid and unforgiving. Blood, dirt, and the lifeless stare of his sister—Annette's image was seared into his mind like a scar that would never heal. His lips curled into a bitter smile, one that held no warmth, only the promise of vengeance.
Dominic reached the door leading to the dungeon—a dark prison he had designed for moments like these. He paused, adjusting his collar with precision, as though straightening his outward appearance could somehow rid him of the ghosts that clung to him.
"Father," he muttered under his breath, his voice as cold as steel. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, veins bulging beneath his pale skin.
"Eric and Insa Hawrick's disgusting act... it reminds me of that filthy old pig." His words came out sharp, each syllable laced with venom.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to steady the storm raging inside him. The air grew colder as he descended the stone staircase toward the dungeon, his boots striking the steps with deliberate force.
"One day," he thought, his dark eyes narrowing as the faint sound of chains echoed from the cells below. "I'll cut off your fingers, Father... and make you beg for mercy that will never come."
The weight of his promise hung heavily in the air, his resolve unwavering. He approached the iron door where Insa was held, his shadow stretching long against the flickering torchlight. His expression remained unreadable, but his heart carried the burden of a thousand unspoken oaths.
Dominic pressed his hand against the cold metal handle, his grip tightening as though the act of opening the door would release the torrent of rage he had kept bottled up for years. Insa's punishment was only a small piece of his plan—a dark prelude to the symphony of revenge he had orchestrated for those who had broken him.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The darkness swallowed him whole, but Dominic Brusward had long since learned to thrive in the shadows.
Inside the Dark Prison
The heavy iron door creaked open, the dim torchlight casting flickering shadows across the cold, damp stone walls. Dominic stepped inside, his footsteps echoing faintly. His sharp eyes landed on Insa's lifeless body sprawled on the cold ground, her once-defiant gaze now reduced to emptiness.
A blonde man, dressed in a tailored suit but bearing the rough edges of someone used to violence, approached Dominic with measured steps. He kept his voice low but firm, as though he knew how little patience his employer had for unnecessary theatrics.
"Boss," the blonde began, his tone professional, "we got the information we needed from Insa Hawrick. Especially about the powder. She almost escaped, so we had no choice but to kill her. Turns out, she wasn't as tough as she thought."
Dominic's lips curled into the faintest smile—cold, calculating, and devoid of any true emotion. He turned his gaze to the man, studying him with detached amusement.
"And she didn't have the guts to kill me," he mused silently, an internal chuckle rising in the depths of his mind. "Another futile attempt. I keep encountering such entertaining failures."
Dominic reached up, brushing his long fingers through his long hair with an air of composed indifference. His movements were slow, deliberate, and calculated, as if each gesture was part of a grander design.
"Trying to run, was she?" he said softly, his voice calm yet laced with a chilling undertone. "It's a good thing she's dead."
His gaze shifted briefly to the blonde man, his expression unchanging. "Our next target is the Seldings—right after the Duke's ceremony." His tone carried finality, leaving no room for discussion.
As Dominic turned to leave, his footsteps echoed once more in the narrow hall, the darkness swallowing him as he walked toward the exit. "Send someone to announce the Hawricks' deaths and their inevitable downfall," he ordered without looking back.
The blonde man nodded, watching Dominic's retreating figure with a mix of admiration and fear.
The Corridor Outside
The air was heavier as Dominic ascended the staircase, the flickering light casting long, menacing shadows behind him. His mind raced with strategy, the pieces of his plan shifting into place like a game of chess.
"This could slow the five families' activities," he thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But they won't stop entirely. Not yet."
He pushed open the final door leading out of the prison, the cool air of the manor washing over him. His strides were purposeful as he headed toward the next step of his plan.
"I need to meet with Mr. Anthony immediately," Dominic thought, his mind already crafting the conversation he would have. His hand reached up to adjust the cufflinks on his sleeve, a gesture that seemed casual but belied his meticulous attention to detail. "And I need to return home. I never expected this to happen to Evangeline..."
His jaw tightened for the briefest of moments before his expression returned to its usual stoic mask. Dominic Brusward was not a man to waste time mourning or regretting. His focus remained razor-sharp, his path clear.
As he stepped into the light of the main hall, Dominic's presence radiated a quiet menace. He was a man who thrived in the shadows, a predator circling his prey. And now, the Seldings were next.