Read Novel Full Chapter 208: Hatred In His Heart
Chapter 208: Hatred In His Heart
Dylan flinched as he was terrified. His hands pressed hard against his thighs, fingers digging into his skin as if pain could keep him grounded.
This was not good news at all.
His father was never someone who changed his mind so easily, not after everything he had said to him. If he were back here, sitting silently at this table, then his mother had done something horrifying.
His chest tightened. He needed to speak. This time, he needed to be honest because his father was right in front of him, and he would defend him, because maybe this was his last chance.
"Mom, I—"
The words never made it out.
His father suddenly collapsed forward, his face plunging into the steaming stew. The bowl rattled against the table, liquid splashing over the surface, but his father made no sound or movement at all.
"Oh my," his mother said lightly, as if commenting on a small accident. "You need to be careful, darling. You stained your shirt."
She stood and gently straightened his father’s body. That was when Dylan’s blood ran cold.
When his father slumped back into the chair, his head rolled to the side. His eyes were wide open, frozen in terror, his mouth agape.
Blood seeped through his black shirt, spreading slowly, soaking into the fabric like ink.
Dylan stood up so fast his chair fell backward. He did not need anyone to tell him. His father was dead. And the person who killed him was standing right in front of him.
"What’s wrong, Dylan?" his mother asked sweetly.
She stepped closer, her shadow stretching long across the floor, swallowing his small, shaking body.
"Continue eating. You don’t want to waste your father, right?"
His gaze snapped to the stew. The strange taste. The unfamiliar texture. The nausea rose instantly.
He vomited violently onto the floor, bile and half-eaten meat splattering as his sobs broke free. His body shook uncontrollably, pain twisting through his stomach and chest.
"Dylan, what are you doing?" his mother cried, panic flashing across her face as she grabbed him and shook him roughly.
"He will stop loving you if you throw it up!"
Her voice grew shrill. "It was your father’s heart! I cooked it just the way you like it. I cut it into small pieces. I even added his feet so he would never run away from us again!"
Dylan stared at her.
The thing in front of him was no longer his mother.
Her eyes were pitch black, empty of any white. Her smile stretched unnaturally wide, trembling with joy she could not contain.
"Why?" Dylan whispered. His voice was barely there, hollow and broken. "Why would you do something like this?"
She crouched down to his level, cupping his face with her cold hands.
"Because he wanted to leave us," she said softly. "He wanted other women. He wanted to take you away from me. I could not let that happen."
Her smile widened. "Don’t you want to stay with mommy forever?"
The disgust in his chest swelled, thick and suffocating, until it twisted into something hotter and sharper. Anger and hatred for everything she has done and never did. For every pain he endured and did not deserve.
His mother’s eyes darkened even further. "Or do you want to go with him and leave me here alone?"
For the first time, fear did not take root in Dylan’s heart.
His jaw tightened. Before his mind could stop him, he shoved her with all the strength his small body could muster. She fell to the floor with a heavy thud, her back hitting the tiles.
"Dylan, what are you doing, my baby?"
She stared at him in disbelief, shock etched across her face. He had never fought back. Not once.
"You are evil," he said, his voice trembling as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I don’t want to be with you. And Daddy didn’t either."
His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. "You hit me every day. You tortured me. Dad left because he couldn’t stand how controlling you were."
His chest hitched as he spoke. "You don’t deserve to be a mother."
That expression stayed with him even now. The moment desperation and realization collided on her face, as if the truth had finally reached her, far too late.
She crawled toward him, fingers clutching at his feet. "No. It’s not my fault. I’m not a terrible person. I’m your mother."
The Dylan from yesterday would have forgiven her. The Dylan who still believed love meant enduring pain.
But now, he could not even breathe in the same room as her.
He turned toward his father’s lifeless body one last time. "I’m sorry, Dad," he whispered.
Then he kicked her hands away and ran. He ran without looking back, without listening to her screams or her sobs, without stopping even when his lungs burned.
The snow felt unbearably heavy beneath his feet as he reached the police station and told them everything.
His mother was sent to a psychiatric hospital. He went to live with Connor’s family until he was eighteen, until he was old enough to work, old enough to survive.
But the hatred never faded.
***
Now, surrounded by this domain, he finally understood why. It was not just pain. It was an injustice. His father never received justice, and his mother was never truly punished.
This place was made to break him, because to escape it, he had to release the hatred that kept his trauma alive.
"Fuck you, Latros," he muttered. "How am I supposed to let go of something that never ended?"
His eyes met his mother’s once more. The same hollow, desperate gaze. A woman who had lost everything, including herself.
Not a monster anymore. Just pathetic.
"What a poor miserable woman," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly, as his grip on hatred finally began to loosen.
"What did you just say?" The monster asked, as if it was confused, more than just angry.