A Twisted Game Of Love,Lust And Revenge.

Georgia POV My father was dead and instead of being sorrowful, I was angry. I was bitter and I wanted to rip everything apart. Many patronizing smiles filled our small living room. “Friends of the family” suddenly appeared, now that father was dead. Where were they when he was alive and struggling? The tattered living room smelled of sweat and fake comforts. “Stay strong, Georgia. Everything will be alright." I couldn't breathe How could anything be fine? My father was gone. It was not because there was no treatment for his sickness. No. It was because we were dirt poor. We couldn't even afford meals, living on canned tuna. Infact, the entire house smells like tuna. Just a few medicines and a proper injection would have helped if only we had the money. Father would still be with us… Instead, he took his last breath here in agony, while my mother begged our neighbors for assistance. Yet, no one helped. I glanced over at my mother, who sat in a corner cradling my younger siblings. Her expression was vacant, her eyes puffy from countless tears. She hadn’t spoken much since my father passed. “Mom,” I called out, my voice quivering. She raised her head slightly, her tired gaze meeting mine. "This is not a life," I whispered. I could barely control my anger now. Mother remained quiet, blank faced. "Can you see? Can you see what poverty has done to us? Who should die next before we do something?!" The entire room fell into awkward silence. My mother sighed and took my hand. "I know, Georgia. But what options do we have? This is our reality." I shook my head vigorously, pulling my hand back. "No, this is your reality, but I refuse to accept it as mine. I will not be trapped in this miserable poverty forever.” And then SWACK… The slap landed very fast without me knowing, searing my cheek like flame. I stumbled backward, holding the edge of the wooden table to regain my balance. The room fell silent; the whispers of neighbors, my siblings huddled in the corner, the shaking candlelight everything froze in that moment. With a pounding heart and a face still hurting, I turned to look at my mother. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands still shaking from the slap. Yet her eyes filled with an anger I had never witnessed before burned into me. "You ungrateful child!" she hissed, her voice trembling. "How dare you blame me?! Blame your father?! You think this life was our choice for you?" Tears threatened to spill, but I fought them back. My fists held tightly at my sides, and I breathed heavily. "Maybe you didn’t choose it," I spat through clenched teeth. "But it doesn’t change the fact that this life is nothing but pain! Each day I wake up to the same despair, the same hunger, the same darkness! I'm done with it! I’m tired of feeling worthless!" My mother let out a harsh, mocking laugh, shaking her head. "Look at your peers, Georgia. The girls your age are out there hustling, making a living, figuring out how to survive. And you? You sit here crying like a spoiled brat, waiting for someone to hand you a better life on a silver platter!" Her words hit harder than the slap. Anger and shame twisted within me, tightening my throat. "That’s not fair," I murmured, my voice shaking. "I just want something more. I want a chance." Before she could respond, she suddenly coughed forward, her body shaking uncontrollably. She held her chest as a harsh, rattling cough erupted from her throat. The sound was wet, something was wrong. Then I noticed it. Blood. A dark red spray blood onto the floor, dripping from her quaking lips. My stomach crumbled. The neighbors gasped. My younger siblings whimpered in fright. But I was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe. "Mom?" My voice was small and trembling with fear. She gripped her chest, gasping for air, her body leaning weakly against the chair as another violent cough wracked her frame. More blood stained her dress, marking the old fabric. I felt as if the earth had been pulled out from beneath me. My entire world tilted, and my heart raced painfully. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not her too. I stumbled forward, grasping her hands, my fingers icy against hers. "Mom, please," I begged, desperation clawing at my throat. "Someone help! We need a doctor!" No one moved. They all knew. There was no doctor. No hospital would take her without money. And we had none. Just like when Father was dying. Just like when we watched him fade away because we were too poor to save him. My mother, the only one I had left, was slipping from me. Tears filled my eyes as I held onto her tighter. "Mom, please stay with me!" She gasped for air, her grip on my hand barely there, frail. Her lips moved, but no words came out, just another tortured cough, more blood trickling down her chin. My mind screamed in protest. This couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it happen. Not again. But I had nothing. Not even the money for a single pill. And in that moment, holding my mother’s trembling body and feeling her warmth fade away, something inside me broke. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t watch another loved one die because of poverty. Eighteen years wasted in this trap, and if I remained, it would drown me too. I had to go. I had to escape. That night, I stayed by my mother’s side as she slept pitifully, her breaths shallow and her body burning with fever. I wiped the sweat from her forehead, fighting back tears. "I’m going to fix this," I whispered to her, my heart aching. "I promise, Mom." But I couldn’t do it here. I had nothing in this place, no money, no hope, no future. So I made my choice. I packed a small bag with the little I had a worn dress, a few coins, and the tiny photograph of my family. The only thing I couldn’t leave behind. I pressed a final kiss to my mother’s forehead, ignoring the tremor in my hands. Then, without another word, I stepped outside. The night air felt cold against my skin as I left. The streets lay dark and empty before me like a vast emptiness. I glanced back one last time at the little house that had been my whole life. A place filled with pain, hunger, and sorrow. I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my chest aching. Then I turned away. And I ran. I had no idea where I was headed. No plan in mind. But one thing burned within me a fierce determination. I would find a way. I would become successful. And I would never again be powerless. Even if it meant selling my soul. Even if it meant becoming someone I barely recognized. Because I wasn’t just running away. I was running toward something greater. Something that would change my life forever…

Kain's point of view "I'm sorry, Mr. Black, but your father didn't make it, perhaps if you had arrived earlier, I could have been able to save me." The bald man standing in front of me said those words with fear. He could not even look directly at me, his eyes were fixed to the ground as though the weight of his message was too much for him to bear. I stared at him, silent, different emotions ran through my body. The words had reached my ears, but their meaning refuses to settle in my mind. He hesitated, then forced himself to look up at me, but the moment his eyes met mine, he flinched. His eyes dropped immediately, and his body stiffened as if he had touched a live wire. "Sir… please calm down. I know this is painful, but remember who you are. You must not be seen breaking down in public." I narrowed my eyes, my glare alone powerful enough to send him to an early grave. His words only fueled the fire burning within me. How dare he assume I would weep here, in fr