Page 33 of August and the Night

Arthur's attention shifts to Layla, his face reflecting his inner struggle. He opens and closes his mouth several times, his expression a mix of venom and bitterness.

Eventually, he can't contain his spite and mutters under his breath, "You couldn't keep your legs closed, could you?" The room grows still, the weight of his insult hanging in the air, while my clenched jaw and narrowed eyes convey the simmering anger beneath my controlled exterior.

The sound of sobs fills the room, the heavy atmosphere punctuated by Layla's tearful cries. Without hesitation, I pull the gun from my waist, aiming it at Arthur with rage. "No one disrespects my future wife, especially in my presence," I assert, my words cutting through the air like a blade.

Arthur's face drains of color, his hands trembling as they rise in a futile attempt to defend himself against the deadly weapon pointed in his direction. His breathing becomes erratic, and panic dances in his eyes. Shifting my attention to Layla, I see her bowed head and tear-streaked cheeks.

Leaning closer, I whisper to her while still keeping my focus on Arthur, "Raise your head high, little dove. My woman demands respect wherever she goes." She meets my gaze, nods in agreement, and wipes her tears away before she lifts her head and glares at Arthur.

I notice how Lily seems to be leaning in even more, captivated by the scene before her. Her eyes shine with something dark, and she leans so far forward it's as if she's practically lying on the table, her eyes shining with a strange, almost unsettling enthusiasm. Her gaze is fixated on the gun pointed at Arthur, and there's a glint of something wild in her eyes.

It's as if she's been waiting for this moment, her excitement flickering through her gaze like a rapid flame, eager to witness the final outcome. Eagerly anticipating every detail, as if she can't wait for the trigger to be pulled and for Arthur to finally be dead. I look over to her fiancé and find him cowering below a chair like a chicken. I shake my head before directing my attention back to Arthur.

"Apologize. Now," I bark at him, waving my gun in his face. He immediately starts spewing out a string of apologies, each one more creative than the next. I cannot help but notice that his gaze remains on me and I yell, "I said apologize to her, not me!"

He forces himself to look at her, his disdain still clear, but he spews out the same bullshit he was saying seconds ago in a trembling tone and she rubs her arm and looks away, clearly uncomfortable. But she keeps her head held high and I feel pride in my chest.

“Do you accept his apology, love?” I ask her, and she looks at me for a moment before nodding, as if she wants it to be done with already.

Leaning in, I press a gentle kiss to her cheek, my words for her alone. "You truly are as innocent and sweet as a little dove," I whisper, my affection for her that I try to bury evident in my tone.

However, my focus shifts back to Arthur, my expression hardening. "But I do not accept his apology," I grunt, my anger still simmering in my veins.

Placing a reassuring hand on Layla's, I whisper to her in a gentle tone, "Go pack what you need, baby. I don't want you to see this." I watch as she hesitates, her eyes briefly reflecting horror before she nods and hurries upstairs.

Turning back to Arthur, my gaze bores into his, hate and rage clear in their depths. He is terrified, and I allow myself a moment of grim satisfaction as I witness his trembling legs betraying him, causing him to collapse to the floor, a stain spreading on his pants. The panic in his eyes meets my unyielding dominance, a stark reminder of my power in this confrontation.

As I observe Arthur collapse onto the ground, his trembling body unable to support his overwhelming fear, a strange satisfaction washes over me. Part of it is the desire to seek justice for my family, and another part is the need to make him pay for daring to touch Layla. I relish in the turmoil that consumes him, finding dark pleasure in his torment.

I walk up to him purposefully, my gaze unwavering and determined, and he attempts to crawl away in fear. Using the back of my gun, I strike his temple, the impact making a sharp thud. He crumbles further, blood mingling with the white floor, as he lies passed out in a puddle of his own blood and piss.

His unconscious state is only temporary, unfortunately, a small taste of the punishment he deserves. I feel a twisted sense of fulfillment seeing him injured and defeated.

He will survive to face the consequences of his actions, even though I wish he wouldn't. But I know that it’s for a reason, there are fates worse than death, and I am going to show him all of them. The feeling of having him at my mercy eases the burn in my chest slightly.

Lily approaches me cautiously, her voice carrying a twisted hope as she asks if Arthur is dead.

I meet her gaze with a steady look and respond, "No." Her disappointment is evident, and she glances towards her fiancé, still huddled in fear beneath the chair, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him. Shaking her head in dismay, she takes hesitant steps towards Arthur's unconscious form on the floor.

A sudden, forceful kick from Lily strikes Arthur's side, full of hate that I did not expect. It is an unexpected sight, one that leaves me questioning if I know anything about this sick family once more.

Lily then turns and runs upstairs, probably heading to Layla’s room. I watch her retreating figure before rubbing my temples, feeling a headache coming.

A few seconds later, Lily rushes back down the stairs, a surge of anger propelling her forward. Without hesitation, she aims a swift, forceful kick at Arthur again, this time targeting his dick.

The impact is met with a sharp, pained groan from him, even in unconsciousness, and she wastes no time in turning and heading back up the stairs again. I grunt at what I am witnessing, this family truly is messed up.

My gaze shifts to the cowering fiancé who remains hidden beneath the chair, seemingly dissociated from the chaos surrounding him. My anger surges again, and with determined strides, I approach him. I tear the chair away with a swift, sharp motion, my frustration evident in my eyes and the tense lines of my face.

"Stand up and behave like a man," I shout at him, my voice laced with irritation and disbelief. The sight of his tear-stained cheeks does little to elicit any sympathy from me. With a heavy shake of my head, I turn away from him, unable to fathom his behavior.

With disgust, I make my way through the dimly lit corridor of Arthur's mansion. My steps are purposeful as I approach Arthur's office. The heavy wooden door stands before me, and with a swift, forceful kick, the door splinters and swings open, revealing the darkness within.

A dim desk lamp casts eerie shadows across the room, and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingers in the air.

My eyes scan the room, and there, hidden in the recesses of his meticulously organized office, I find it— a trove of paperwork that incriminates him beyond imagination.

The documents reveal a sordid web of illegal activities, from drug trafficking to human trafficking, all carefully documented in black and white. The evidence is damning, it is exactly what I need. Arthur's double life, hidden behind the facade of a wealthy businessman, is laid bare.

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