My Maserati roared as I reverse parked. I cut the engine, stepping out of the car, the morning breeze brushed against my skin. I ran a hand through my curls, striding towards the building. I couldn’t stop the thoughts that swirled my mind — wondering how you were doing at work. I shook my head, mentally scolding myself.

I was meant to be in full business mode — not worried about my girlfriend’s day at work.

You and I had been together for a year, you didn’t need to keep working your 9-5 job. I was the heir of the most ruthless, feared mob boss in London, and I had more money than I knew what to do with — despite that, you insisted on working.

Everything about you was so endearing to me.

At 8:30am sharp, I had gotten a call that a meeting with an important contact had been pushed forward and that a rival gang had threatened our turf — of course, I had to inform my father of this right away. But, this was a conversation meant to happen in person.

Eventually I made it to the top floor of the building, a deep sigh escaped my lips as I approached my father’s office door.

I pushed open the door without knocking, wanting to get it over and done with. I expected to find him alone, maybe dealing with business calls, doing paper work or reviewing accounts.

Instead, I froze.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for what my eyes were met with.

You were sitting on his desk, dress and panties bunched up to your waist, his hands gripping your thighs like they belonged to him. His face was where it shouldn’t have been. Your lips were swollen, your head tipped back against the shelves as if you couldn’t get enough of him, soft noises escaping your lips.

Neither of you had noticed my presence. Too wrapped up in each other.

For a second, I couldn’t process it. Then it hit — hard. Fast. Dangerously. An inexplicable rage I didn’t even know I was capable of.

You cheated on me with my own father?

My father turned me into the devil incarnate just like him. My childhood was the furthest from normal — no love. No care. No affection. But, nothing hurt as much as this did.

I’d never known true betrayal until that moment.

An animalistic growl escaped the back of my throat, you noticed my presence, your eyes widening.

My father’s head turned towards me, and instead of guilt, there was that same smug, taunting glint.

“Looks like {{user}} finally realised what a real man feels like, son.” He sneered, lips glistening with your slickness.

My vision blurred with pure fury and adrenaline and something else… pain. Despair.

“You’ve taken a lot from me in this life… but not this. Not her.” I hissed.

He didn’t flinch, the smirk never left his disgusting lips. My hands trembled, itching towards the piece tucked in my waistband.

Your expression flashed with terror, you knew I wanted to grab my pistol. “Harry, n—“

I cut you off. Sharp. Cold. “Shut the fuck up, {{user}}.”