Read this novel at subscribestar.adult/fallenhead Illustrations Posted on subscribestar Read Exclusive subscribestar at subscribestar.adult/fallenhead Chapter 5 Part 2 Ripe Stepmother I clapped his shoulder, and hatred flared as I remembered Nick kissing my mother in the banquet hall, his hand mauling her breast.
Then I remembered the odd tension between him and my Mother‑in‑law.
A gorgeous, ripe stepmother; a tall, muscular black foster son; my father‑in‑law in the hospital… dry tinder and open flame.
Even if it was only for Diana’s sake, I couldn’t let that black devil go unchecked.
“It’s nothing huge.
Just help me take someone down.
Best case, ruin him and get him deported.” “Who?” He scratched his head.
“Nick.” He froze.
“Why?
Did he cuck you?” I nearly slapped him.
“Stop watching so much of this crap.
What’s going on in that head of yours?
Of course not.” “That bastard’s trying to take over my father‑in‑law’s company.
You tell me, should a white‑eyed wolf like that be kicked out?” To protect my mother’s and Mother‑in‑law’s reputations, I didn’t tell him the whole truth.
I settled on what seemed like a reasonable explanation.
Here my pen halts again.
I tip my head back and let out a long sigh.
Things rarely go the way you expect.
That night marked the first step of my descent into an irreversible abyss.
Being the loyal friend he was, Derek snorted in solidarity and slammed a palm on his chest.
“Don’t worry.
It’s just a little black punk.
I have plenty of ways to get him out of Handong.” I had no idea that my single request would one day earn us a savage, humiliating revenge from Nick.
I laughed, patting his shoulder once more.
“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.
What’s the fun in staring at this stuff?” He waved me off and checked his watch.
“No rush.
Just wait a bit.
Last night, that site put out a notice that some big‑shot member from their U.S.
headquarters goes by ‘Black King’ is coming to take over the Handong branch.
There’s supposed to be a welcome ceremony tonight.
I’m curious.
Let’s wait and see.” I stared at him like he was a teenager with an internet addiction, obsessed with every new shiny thing.
Seeing the time almost eleven and thinking of my wife home alone, I really didn’t want to sit through this nonsense.
“You watch it.
I’m heading back.
I’ll treat you another day.” He grabbed my hand again, putting on a pitiful face.
“Come on, it’s almost eleven.
It’ll be over quickly.
Have a drink with me afterward.
I really don’t want to go home tonight.
Think of it as keeping me company.” The look on his face told me he’d probably fought with his wife again.
I sighed and sat back down.
“Derek, she’s just a spoiled princess.
Try spoiling her a bit more.
No need to butt heads all the time.” He grimaced.
“You know how I treat Nicole.
I practically worship her.
I buy her every designer bag and shoe she points at.
She holds the purse strings.
Every property we can show on paper is in her name.” “Last month she wanted me to climb higher, told me to grovel to my grandpa and uncles.
I did, and got chewed out for it.
In our family, we’re not allowed to be too flashy at home.
None of us in the younger generation can rise too fast; the higher you climb, the more enemies you attract.” “Why do you think I drive that lousy A6?” “I told her that, but she wouldn’t listen.
She wants me to pull strings for her projects in Huashan’s hot springs, stir up waves in the city.
I warned her that power and politics aren’t toys she can play with.
She just called me a useless layabout with no ambition.” “What am I supposed to do?
I went back to beg the old man and my dad again, and they scolded me for being too soft on her.
Told me to grow a spine.
But every time I see her pout, I can’t bring myself to say a harsh word.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.
If you marry a flashy, spendy woman, you either don’t marry her at all or you rein her in.
Derek had done neither.
“Hey, hey, hey!
It’s starting!” Just as I was wondering how to advise him, he grabbed my arm and pointed at a live feed, eyes shining.
I couldn’t help widening my own eyes.
The video switched to full screen.
Golden spotlights lit up a luxurious horse‑drawn carriage.
Atop it sat a tall, muscular black man.
His skin was black as ink; even at a glance he was unmistakably African.
A golden king’s mask covered his face.
A black cloak hung from his shoulders, scattering golden reflections under the lights.
Aside from the cloak, he wore nothing.
His bare chest rippled with muscle.
Legs spread wide, he sat like a conquering general, a huge, menacing erection rising from his groin.
A woman in an elaborate bondage outfit knelt between his thighs, her tongue busily working along that thick, ebony shaft.
A butterfly mask hid her face.
The black man cracked a whip in the air, snapping off a flourish.
“Mmff… mmff…” The leather struck the bare backs of a dozen naked women harnessed to the front of the carriage.
A gag bit filled their mouths.
Red welts blossomed on their skin.
None dared resist.
Hands and knees on the ground, they crawled forward, dragging the carriage like a team of human draft animals.
They pulled him onto a stage.
Cheers erupted.
I can’t recall exactly what the black man on the computer screen said.
Looking back now, it’s almost laughable.
At the time, watching that masked figure, I never guessed that the man under that golden crown mask was Nick.
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