The Unexpected Turn

"Kincaid Bruce, why are you late again? Do you think this house belongs to your parents?" The butler barked at him, landing a forceful blow to his head with the long broom he held.

"Sorry, sir. I was stuck in traffic," Kincaid muttered softly, hanging his head low. The impact from the butler's hit left him in pain, but he knew better than to complain. This had become his daily reality since he became a servant—enduring pain, torture, and humiliation. He felt like nothing more than a slave. While there were other servants in the house, they were treated with respect, unlike him. Sometimes he wondered what he had done to deserve such mistreatment.

"That's been your excuse every day. Are you the only one who lives far away? You're a man, for Christ's sake! You should be somewhat useful. Hurry up and feed the dogs," the butler roared, prompting Kincaid to quickly attend to his duties.

After Kincaid finished feeding the dogs, he made his way upstairs to clean his mistress's son's room. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to Jocelyne, whom he hadn't seen that day. He missed her deeply. It was her presence alone that gave him the strength to continue enduring his mistreatment.

Lost in his thoughts, Kincaid entered Frederick, his mistress's son's room without knocking. What he saw left him utterly shocked. He couldn't believe his eyes, so he dropped the mop and instinctively rubbed his eyes, ensuring he wasn't hallucinating. Unfortunately, what lay before him was all too real.

His beloved Jocelyne was on top of a man, and that man happened to be his mistress's son. Ever since he began dating Jocelyne, she had refrained from any intimate contact, not even a passionate kiss. She always urged him to take things slowly. But here she was, entangled with another man.

"Jocelyne, how could you do this to me? How could you cheat on me?" Kincaid's voice trembled with a hint of sorrow.

"I am sorry, Ki—" Jocelyne attempted to calm him, but Frederick interrupted.

"Why should you apologize to a good-for-nothing like him? What does he have to offer compared to me? How dare he complain when I, the mistress's son, sleep with his girlfriend? It should be considered a privilege, and he should be proud of it," Frederick sneered contemptuous.

"Just because you're the mistress's son doesn't give you the right to do whatever you please, you jerk!" Kincaid's anger flared and delivered Fredrick a powerful punch to his cheek.

“You dare lay your filthy hands on me? I will ensure that you live to regret this day, your trash," Frederick seethed, wiping the blood from his mouth before storming out of the room. He knew he couldn't defeat Kincaid in a fight and realized it would only bring him more harm if he attempted to do so.

"Yeah, Frederick is right. There's no need to apologize to you. I'm tired of this lowlife. He's the mistress's son, and you're just a mere servant. What can you give me? You're nothing but useless trash," Joyceline sneered mockingly.

"How could you say such things to me? I don't blame you, considering you're the butler's daughter. And who am I? Just a mere servant. I've suffered at the hands of your father and the other servants simply because you're my girlfriend. I thought your love would sustain me and that you would always be by my side, making it all worthwhile. Ah, how foolish I was to even entertain such thoughts," Frederick said, his heart shattered, as he left the room.

Fredrick, who was on the brink of madness, paced back and forth in the backyard.

"Hah, a mere servant dares to punch me? Is that so?" he muttered to himself. "Am I powerless in this house? I need to show this boy how powerful I am. I must teach this trash a lesson he'll never forget."

Lost in thoughts of revenge, he received a call from his friends.

"Yo, buddy, what's up?" his friend asked.

"It's cool. What's going on, man? How's the party preparation?"

"Yo, everything's fine, but we're short on money and we need your help."

"How much do you need?" Frederick inquired.

"Twenty thousand dollars?"

"What? Why do you need twenty thousand dollars? You know that old man hasn't given me enough ever since he left, and my mother has refused to speak up for me. Negga, where am I supposed to get that kind of money from?"

"Come on, Frederick, you're the son of a billionaire. Why are you fretting over a twenty thousand dollars? You can just steal from them, and no one would find out."

"They'll surely find out."

"Oh, and by the way, your girlfriend called me. She couldn't reach you, and she needs money."

"I gave her fifty thousand dollars three days ago. What does she need the money for?" Frederick replied angrily.

"For the party, of course. You know she's a lady, and she needs to look beautiful."

"So, in total, I have to come up with three thousand dollars?"

"Yeah, man. We believe in you, and I know you can do it."

"Fine," Frederick said, taking a deep breath before hanging up.

"Now, where and how am I going to get seventy thousand dollars?" he muttered, pacing back and forth, desperately trying to devise a plan.

“Think, think Fred.”Fredrick furiously tapped his forehead, desperately searching for a solution. Suddenly, a brilliant idea illuminated his mind like a flash of lightning. He vividly recalled catching a glimpse of his mother hiding a substantial sum of money beneath her plush pillow.

"Great! This is magnificent! Lady Luck must be gracing me today," Fredrick exclaimed with unrestrained excitement as he stealthily entered his mother's room. With bated breath, he lifted the pillow, revealing the hidden treasure. His heart raced with anticipation as he meticulously counted the bills.

"Perfect! Seventy thousand dollars exactly! I can achieve two goals with one audacious move," Fredrick thought triumphantly, a wicked grin etching itself across his face. His scheme unfolded flawlessly in his mind—" Soon enough, that imbecilic boy tasked with tidying the room would bear the blame. This is the perfect revenge," he grinned evilly and left the room

"Ha! Just the precise amount I require," he gloated, casting wary glances to ensure his clandestine endeavor remained undetected. Satisfied, he stealthily exited the room, clutching the ill-gotten funds. With this money, he could punish the fool who dared to cross his path.

Moments later, Kincaid, the dutiful servant, entered the room. Exhausted but committed to his duty, he began the arduous task of cleaning Miss Wood's quarters. As he meticulously tidied every corner, he felt an odd sense of urgency to finish before her imminent return.

Upon completing his duties, Kincaid retreated to the peaceful sanctuary of the garden, unaware of the turmoil about to unfold. Within the confines of the house, Mrs. Wood's enraged voice reverberated, causing all the servants to tremble.

"Who came into my room today?" Mrs. Wood's thunderous roar echoed through the halls.

One servant, terrified yet resolute, hesitantly replied, "Madam, I saw Kincaid leaving your room a mere five minutes ago."

"Kincaid!" she bellowed, summoning him with a mixture of fury and suspicion. Confused and innocent, Kincaid hurriedly approached, unknowingly stepping into a treacherous trap.

"Where is the money I kept under my pillow?" Mrs. Wood interrogated him, her anger unrestrained. 

Kincaid, his voice trembling, replied honestly, "I beg your pardon, madam, but I did not see any money.

"You foolish ingrate! I plucked you from the orphanage, nourished you, and clothed you. And now you sprout wings and dare to pilfer my hard-earned wealth?" Mrs. Wood raged, viciously striking him across the cheeks.

"I swear, madam, I did not take a single coin. I merely cleaned the room as instructed," Kincaid asserted, fighting to endure the pain inflicted upon him. However, his plea fell on deaf ears as another servant chimed in, "If not him, then who? He is the one who cleans the room every day. Are we to believe we are the culprits?"

"Yes, it must have been him! The thieving scoundrel," they all agreed, casting their judgments upon the innocent Kincaid. 

Mrs. Wood, consumed by her wrath, passed a damning sentence. "For your audacious act of stealing my money, you shall receive fifty lashes upon your back. Banish him from my sight, and summon the police to arrest him after his punishment. I want him to rot in jail!"

Kincaid, beaten and broken, was dragged away, his spirit crushed under the weight of false accusations. Life had become an unbearable torment, and he wondered why fate had burdened him with existence. 

Life is a pain, he sometimes wonders why his mother gave birth to him. His mother would have done him a great favor if she had aborted him. 

“Now I am satisfied with the punishment he hasn’t gotten. Next time you will know your place. “ Frederick said to himself and threw him a provocative glance. 

Kincaid realized it was he who stole the money but what could he have done?

“Excellent! Next time, you won't dare cross me. How could a lowly servant challenge and insult me? My soul is at peace now