Chapter 2

The chandelier in my vision slowly blurred. I didn't know when I passed out, but in my dreams, I remembered the first time I met Lysander.

As the family’s sole heir, even though my relationship with my father was terrible, we always maintained a basic, polite facade. Yet, on the very night of my mother’s memorial, when that bastard father brazenly—even grandly—brought Lysander home, I lost my temper like never before.

"Has my lust blinded me, or something? On a day like this, how dare he bring his paramour home?!"

I was consumed by rage, smashing almost everything in sight. I wanted to lay my hands on my father, but the household staff weren't just for show; they held me back.

It ended with me smashing a vase over Lysander’s head, and me being restrained, taking two hard slaps from my father.

After that, I never gave Lysander a moment’s peace.

It was fine when I was studying abroad and didn't see him, but whenever we met, I’d inevitably fly into a rage. After several such incidents, my unbearable father finally banished me abroad.

But to his surprise, I went into overdrive, finishing my credits early and returning home two years ago. I brazenly insisted on living under the same roof as my father.

From then on, I abandoned my old fits of rage and adopted slyer, more insidious tactics. I leveraged the fact that this "little daddy" wouldn’t dare provoke me while my father was weakening. So I became even more reckless.

I’d splash him with cold or hot water, make him kneel before my mother’s portrait as 'family discipline' when my father wasn’t home, or deliberately cut back his food. I even dragged Lysander to parties, pointing out pretty young women.

I remember pretending to be drunk, lifting Lysander’s chin, and challenging him, "How long will this face of mine keep the old man happy? Or rather… what if tonight, I managed to charm some heiress, marry her, and have kids? Where would that leave my standing in this house then?"

I watched Lysander slowly raise his eyes. His gaze was filled with a knowing, mocking smile.

It mirrored the look from last night.

Then, Lysander, dressed in a proper, intellectual-looking shirt, was shamelessly violating me, who was stripped bare and bound.

I could hear voices from the other side of the wall, but my mouth was stuffed with fabric, sealed tight with the leather belt he’d taken from my trousers last night.