Master of Lust

Chapter - 251

Rick lay on the sofa in the dark, cool living room, unable to find rest. A faint sliver of moonlight sneaked through the gap in the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. The silence was heavy, almost stifling, broken only by the occasional rustling of his movements as he twisted and turned on the cushions. But it wasn't the discomfort of the sofa that was keeping him awake—it was the storm in his mind.

He stared up at the ceiling, his face tight with frustration. His jaw clenched, and his eyes shifted restlessly, reflecting the turmoil inside him. He couldn't stop replaying the events of the day, the worst of which clawed at him like a deep wound—the betrayal of his own father.

Rick's chest tightened at the memory of that moment. His father had stood there, pretending to care, pretending to be the concerned parent who just wanted to make amends. He had made Rick's favourite drink—watermelon juice—as if trying to rekindle some semblance of a father-son bond. But the truth had hit like a sledgehammer. That juice had been poisoned.

Poisoned. By his own father.

Rick's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his mind racing. And for what? Why would his father try to kill him? The reason festered in his thoughts like a sickness—Jemimah, or Nadia as he now knew her real name. A girl half his father's age, who had been living with Rick. The realization that his father's jealousy over Nadia had pushed him to such an extreme gnawed at Rick.

His father, a man broken by alcohol and bitterness, had latched onto a young woman who barely knew herself. Did he actually believe he stood a chance with her? And worse, did he see his own son as an obstacle, something to be removed?

Rick's face twisted into a grimace, his brow furrowing deeply. His father had even pretended to care about him, sending Jemimah to check on him, probably hoping to hear that the poison had done its job. The weight of the betrayal was unbearable.

A terrible father. No—a terrible human being.

His breaths came in short, angry bursts. How could a father try to kill his own son over a woman? The thought circled in his mind like a predator, refusing to leave him in peace. The system had suggested he "take care" of his father, to confront him and put an end to it. But Rick had avoided that confrontation, pushing it aside. His father's actions had been a lapse in judgement, a moment of insanity fueled by jealousy and desperation. Or had it?

Rick's jaw clenched tighter. Could he really just let it go? Should he confront his father, face him and put an end to the threat once and for all? The system had never steered him wrong before, but he wasn't ready to go down that road—not yet. But ignoring it, pretending it never happened, was just as dangerous. His father wouldn't simply stop.

Rick's thoughts scattered in every direction. His body shifted restlessly again, his mind playing through the endless possibilities. Should he try to reason with his father? Try to find some middle ground, something that wouldn't push things too far? Or was that just another illusion?

His face softened momentarily, his gaze distant, lost in the tangle of decisions he didn't want to make. How could he? This was his father—the man who had once been a part of his life, even if that life had been filled with disappointment and distance. But now, the line had been crossed, and Rick wasn't sure if it could ever be uncrossed.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, exhausted but too wired to sleep. His mind kept circling the same thoughts, over and over, as if searching for an answer that wouldn't come.

As Rick lay on the sofa, his mind wandered from the betrayal of his father to the chaos that had unfolded at his apartment. The fight with Zach, Graves, and the other goons felt like a lifetime ago, but the memory was still fresh—etched into his body like the soreness from the blows he had taken and given.

He had thought that after giving Zach those serious injuries, it would be enough. That maybe, finally, Zach would understand he was outmatched and give up this ridiculous grudge. But no, Zach came back—still bandaged, still injured, but more desperate than ever for revenge. The bandages were like badges of his humiliation, and it was clear Zach wouldn't stop until Rick was put down or humiliated in return.

Rick sighed, his fingers tightening slightly as he recalled the look in Zach's eyes during the fight. It wasn't just about payback anymore. It was about pride. And once again, Rick had put him back in his place, sending him straight to the hospital bed he should never have left. But was it the end of it?

No, it wasn't.

Rick knew that Warner's men would come after him. Marnus Warner wasn't the kind of man to let something like this slide, especially when it involved his only son. Rick had been prepared for relentless attacks, expecting hired muscle to show up at his door any day, seeking revenge for what he did to Zach, or the police trying to act on Warner's behalf. But then… something strange happened. Warner's men didn't come.

Instead, Warner chose the law. He used a lawyer in an attempt to drag him into the court but when that failed, he instead chose to let everything go?

Rick's brow furrowed at the thought. It was an unusual tactic for someone like Marnus Warner.

Rick turned onto his side, his eyes narrowing in thought. Warner didn't strike him as the type to let things go, especially after everything that had happened. And the idea of Warner forgetting the past, of letting bygones be bygones? It was laughable. No, there was something else going on. Something more.

His suspicions about Warner's approach increased when he saw her —the biker. That bombshell in the tight leather suit, riding a Harley Davidson like she owned the road. She had been following him, watching his every move. Someone would might think it as a coincidence, but Rick knew better. The Warner family didn't forget or forgive. They were planning something, waiting for the right moment.

And then came the truck.

Rick's mind flashed back to that moment. The truck barrelling down the highway, speeding directly toward him and the girls. For a split second, he thought it was an accident. But no, the driver's face told a different story. Rick saw him, just a moments before they almost crashed. That dark expression, that evil smile—it was the look of a man who was enjoying what he was about to do.

The driver had no intention of missing them. He wanted to kill them.

But he had missed. And when he did, when the truck crashed, he jumped out of the wreck and escaped. Whoever he was, he had been sent there with a purpose, and Rick had been his target. But the real question was—who sent him?

Was it Warner? It seemed like the obvious answer. But if that were the case, why would they choose to attack him in such a public place? Warner had influence over the police, and Rick knew they could have easily set him up in custody or somewhere less exposed. The highway attack didn't make sense if it were Warner's doing.

Unless…

Unless Warner had grown tired of relying on the police. Maybe the law wasn't moving fast enough for him, and he had decided to take matters into his own hands. But even then, why make it so public, so obvious?

Rick exhaled sharply, his mind racing in circles. He didn't know the answers, but one thing was clear—he couldn't trust anyone. Whether it was Warner, someone else, or a combination of both, the danger was far from over. His instincts screamed at him to stay sharp, to watch his back. Something was coming, and he needed to be ready for it.

The only thing that had gone right today, Rick thought, were Emily and Olivia. Emily was finally out of the hospital after so many days, after so many troubles. That alone was a victory in a sea of chaos. Despite everything that had happened with the truck, at least he had managed to save them. He glanced toward the hallway where their bedrooms were, feeling a quiet sense of relief. Emily could finally start getting back to her life again, and that was worth something.

And then there was Olivia. She had been so shaken by the truck incident, her face pale, her hands trembling even as they had helped Emily inside. She still seemed lost in shock, but Rick hoped she would be fine after a good night's sleep. She just needed some time to process everything.

But what was he going to do about her? About them?

Rick shifted on the sofa; his mind lingering on Olivia. How should he approach the future of their relationship? Things had been complicated enough, but now, did he want to pursue something more, or was it better to leave things where they were

But those were questions for another day. Slowly, the weight of his thoughts started to fade, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. The tension in his body eased, and as the moonlight quietly filtered into the dark, cool room, Rick's mind began to drift, slipping away from the chaos of the day towards sleep.

[System back online]

[Flashback starts]

The truck driver, cigarette in hand, sat slouched in a dimly lit bar. A half-empty whiskey glass sat before him, the smoke from his cigarette swirling in the air. He took a long drag, replaying the near-miss with Rick in his head.

The door creaked open. A man entered quietly and sat beside him, sliding a photo across the bar. It was Rick, unmistakably. The truck driver smirked slightly but said nothing.

The man remained silent; his face obscured in shadow. From behind, something about him felt eerily familiar...

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