2. Colton
Chapter 2
Colton
T his fucking house and I have a love-hate relationship most would envy. It is a living, breathing beast, its shadows stretching like claws across the cold floors. I stand at the study window, watching the rain lash against the glass, each droplet echoing the chaos inside me. This place, my inheritance, my prison, is a constant reminder of the legacy I never wanted but have. The weight of the Blackwood name is a shackle I can’t shake off.
My dad, Xavier Blackwood, is a monster cloaked in human skin. His abuse has left scars on this family that time can never heal. Mom’s death was just the beginning of his tyranny. I was too young to protect her, too weak to stop him. Now, I’m a mirror of his cruelty, a reflection of his darkness. I’ve learned to wear the mask—stone-cold indifference, hollow smiles—but deep down, I know I’m just as broken as the shattered glass littering the floor from his last tantrum.
“You’re the same as me, boy,” he’d sneered, belt in hand. “Yet you dare to fucking question me?”
I should’ve fought back. I should have gotten that belt and wrapped it around his fucking throat until the cunt turned blue. But I didn’t. I never do. Because despite everything, he’s still my dad, and I’m still the coward who can’t stand up to him.
Imagine if the guys knew the extent of the bullshit I put up with living with this fucking imbecile .
They’d probably laugh and say I deserve it, and I guess I do. I’ve done everything that bastard has asked of me—never having a choice.
I pour myself a drink, the amber liquid burning my throat as I down it in one go. It’s a shit attempt to numb the pain, to silence the voices in my head that whisper how I’m no better than him. I’ve inherited his darkness, his rage, his cruelty. I see it in the way I treat others and the way I push people away.
I’m a fucking monster, just like him.
A knock at the door slices through the self-loathing. I grit my teeth, irritated at the intrusion. “Come in,” I bark, my voice harsher than I intended, and the door creaks open to reveal Mrs. Wilkens. She’s been with us since I was a kid, a silent witness to the horrors that happen within these walls. She recently dropped her hours to half a day a week—she’s nearing seventy, and even my dad senses she’s too fucking old for his shit. Her face is as stern as ever, but there’s a hint of something else…discomfort, perhaps?
“The new maid has arrived, sir,” she says, her voice lacking emotion. “She’s been briefed on her duties and will start tomorrow.”
I raise an eyebrow. Another one? We go through maids like wildfire, each one running off after witnessing one of dear Daddy’s outbursts. “How long will this one last?” I muse, pouring myself another drink.
Mrs. Wilkens hesitates before adding, “She seems...different, sir.”
Different. I scoff at the word. They’re all the same—timid little mice scurrying about, afraid of their own shadows. Some even try to flirt with the monster, and after one night in his room, they leave broken or not at all.
I sigh.
But then again, this is the first time Mrs. Wilkens has bothered to mention a new hire. I find myself curious, intrigued even.
“What’s her name?” I ask, swirling the liquid in my glass.
“Mary, sir.”
Mary. Simple, unassuming. I can already picture her—dull, mousy, eager to please. But something in Mrs. Wilkens’ tone tells me I might be wrong. I find myself looking forward to tomorrow, to seeing this Mary for myself.
“Very well,” I respond, dismissing her with a wave. “Let’s see how long this one lasts.”
As the door closes behind her, I turn back to the window, but the rain no longer holds my attention. The storm within me rages on. If anything, it’s growing. I can’t stop thinking about this Mary. The last girl didn’t make it two days before Dad had her screaming. But this one...something about the way Wilkens said different pulls at me.
And if she isn’t, if she’s just another pawn in his twisted games, then she’ll be gone as quickly as the others. But if there’s something more—a spark, a defiance—maybe I can have some fun with her before he does.
I take another swig of my drink, the liquid fire settling in my gut. The thought of her being different stirs something within me, a flicker of curiosity mixed with lust. I love fucking with the staff. I made one of them cook naked, which was a great idea until Dad came home and took her into his bedroom, never to be seen again.
I glance around the study, the old books and heavy furniture highlighted by the fading light. Every corner of this room and house is haunted by memories I can’t escape. The echoes of my father’s laughter, the screams of my mother, the silence that followed her death—they all linger, staining the very air I breathe.
I scrunch my eyes shut and will the whiskey to take me to the place I love: oblivion.
I’m curious about the new maid, but she won’t last. They never do.
Dad chooses his maids personally, and they never see the monster beneath the surface until they’ve signed that contract—the one none of them read in detail. Because if they did, they’d run away and never look back. Hidden in the depths of the law jargon, it states there is a high chance of death in their role.
High chance of death as a fucking maid.
So, when they disappear, no one bats an eyelid. Their families are usually paid off, or they don’t have any. And they’re always blonde. Not dirty blonde either—platinum. He likes them to look fake.
I grit my teeth, chest tightening as I remember Dad’s last words before he left for the club. The club where he hurts people, makes them disappear. I should feel disgusted. I should feel something . But all I feel is the same gnawing emptiness, the craving for control. I drag a hand through my hair.
At least he didn’t force me to go with him this time.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy my time there—something about a girl helpless and staring up at me just did something to me…something I couldn’t resist. But I get so fucking bored with it. These poor bitches aren’t there by choice; they were taken. I’d been fucking them since I could get it up, Dad’s orders. But there is something about breaking someone that I would happily die for. It’s the power.
As I said, I’m not a nice guy. At all. Hence why I’m the only one out of my friends who doesn’t have any relationships. Imagine me bringing one home to meet my abusive dad—that would go over well.
No, I don’t fall in love. I fall in lust and fuck until it leaves, then I continue, eat, sleep, fuck, repeat.
And clean up Daddy’s messes.
I walk to the door, my steps echoing in the empty hallway. I need a bath and some fucking painkillers. But at least I haven’t got to sew myself up. Winner.
As I make my way up the grand staircase, the weight of the day settles on my aching shoulders. I pause at the top of the stairs, looking down the long hallway that leads to my room. The shadows seem deeper here, more menacing. But I’ve lived in this darkness for so long that it’s become a part of me.
It’s not the shadows I’m afraid of; it’s the monsters that cast them.
I open the door to my room, stepping inside the sanctuary that is both my refuge and my prison. The heavy curtains are drawn, blocking out the moon’s faint glow. I cross the room, the carpet muffling my footsteps, and flop down on the bed. My back protests, and I grit my teeth, cursing myself for forgetting the welts on my back. But then I force myself to endure it, relishing the sharp sting as blood oozes through my shirt and onto my sheets. I smile, tears stinging my eyes as I stretch my skin, forcing the wounds to open further.
But then, a thought cuts through the darkness—Mary. The new maid. The one who might be different. And with that, a tiny spark of something unnamed flickers to life within me.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness take me. Tomorrow, I will meet her, and I will see if she is different. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have some fun with her.