CHAPTER 50: CHAPTER 50 - TEARS OF HATRED

I walked through the quiet hallways of the house, searching for any sign of Gwenneth. But after checking the living room, the kitchen, even her private study, there was no trace of my stepsister. It looked like she really was gone on some urgent business.

I stopped in front of my bedroom door. A wave of reluctance washed over me the moment my hand touched the doorknob. As the door swung open, a damp, musty atmosphere hit my nostrils, forcing me to catch my breath.

The sight that greeted me was pathetic. This room was a graveyard for my former self, cobwebs hung in the corners, and signs of insect life were everywhere. Dirty clothes were strewn about, mixed with food wrappers and junk I couldn’t even remember touching.

This was the room where the pitiable Adam Socheron had lived and suffered for years—a space that held all the bitter memories of humiliation, loneliness, and despair.

Yet, strangely, as I stood on the threshold, a weird feeling came over me. A sense of uninvited nostalgia, a kind of false comfort hiding within all this chaos.

This had been my hiding place, a room where I could retreat from a cruel world. Here, amidst the piles of garbage and dust, I felt... safe. Protected.

But I quickly shook my head, banishing the thought. No. That kind of comfort is poison. It’s the comfort of a prisoner who’s grown too accustomed to his cell. This room wasn’t a sanctuary—it was a graveyard for my self-respect, physical proof of how miserable my life had been.

I stared at the mess for a long moment, then looked down at myself. My body was clean and fresh from the shower, still feeling light and satisfied. The lingering thrill of taking Angeline’s virginity and turning her into my sex slave filled my heart. The scent of Delilah’s skin and the smell of sex still clung to me, a reminder that I had just fucked one of the most powerful women in the world, and she couldn’t do a thing about it.

"That pathetic Adam Socheron is dead," I said slowly, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears in this filthy room.

I had changed. I had even managed to fuck Delilah Socheron, the Star Witch herself, and she was completely powerless against me. So why should I still fear Yukie and her gang? With my [Time Stop] and [Mind Control] skills, our positions were reversed. Now, I was the hunter, and they were prey I could play with whenever I wanted.

"I’ve changed," I muttered again, this time with more conviction.

"I’ve changed."

I repeated the phrase several times, like a mantra to drive out the last remnants of doubt and false comfort within me.

If I had truly changed, then I needed to sever all ties with my miserable past, including the hollow comfort offered by this filth. It would start here, in this room that bore silent witness to my suffering.

I stepped inside. I grabbed a large trash bag. One by one, I cleared out the useless junk. I wiped away the dust. I threw out the garbage. Every movement felt like I was shedding layers of my old self.

In the doorway, Delilah stood completely naked, just as I had ordered her earlier. Her skin was still flushed and damp from her shower. Her wet golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the fresh scent of soap had replaced the smell of sex that once clung to her body.

She looked surprised to see me cleaning the room that had been left like a tomb for years.

I glanced at her. My eyes unconsciously drifted over her perfect body—her full breasts, which I had savagely sucked on just hours before, her curved hips, and her porcelain skin still red in places from my slaps and grips. My cock throbbed instantly, remembering the brutal pleasure I had just experienced.

But I quickly looked away.

"Don’t just stand there," I said without turning, continuing to sweep dust from my study desk, covered in the scribbles of my past frustrations. "If you want to watch, come in and close the door. But don’t disturb me."

Delilah was silent for a moment, then obediently stepped inside and shut the door.

It turned out cleaning the room was exhausting and took much longer than I’d expected. After hours of battling the piles of trash and dust, I finally gave up.

"Enough for today," I mumbled wearily. At least now my room was livable—the floor was clear of trash, and it didn’t stink as badly as before.

I lay down on the now-clean mattress, my body tired but my mind still racing. Delilah lay down next to me, still naked as before. My hand casually caressed her full breasts, my fingers occasionally toying with her rock-hard nipples. Her expression remained cold as she stared at me, though her cheeks were flushed from my touch. We fell into a strange conversation—a kind of heart-to-heart between a mother and the stepson who had just raped her.

"...I’ve been very busy lately, chasing The Breakers," Delilah explained in a flat voice.

"After the last mission ended, Charlotte advised me to take a long leave. She said... I needed to get closer to my family. To be a better mother." She paused. "I listened and took a long leave. I was supposed to take you all out for dinner tonight. But unfortunately, it was canceled because Gwen sent a message about an urgent matter."

Hearing her explanation, a strange tremor, a mix of poignant pain and something else, surged in my chest. "Mother," I whispered, my voice hoarse and shaking, "I promise... I will make our family much closer. So, so much closer than you can possibly imagine. We will live loving and cherishing each other."

Delilah was silent for a moment before saying, "You’re sick, Adam!" she hissed, her voice trembling with disgust. "Seriously... what happened to you? How could you become a monster like this?"

I’d always known Delilah never paid me much attention because I wasn’t her biological son. So maybe she really didn’t know anything about me. But after hearing her wish to get closer to her children—including me—I had to admit, I was genuinely moved.

Seeing my expression soften for a moment, Delilah saw an opening. Her hand moved quickly, her cold, strong fingers gripping the wrist of the hand I still had on her breast.

"It’s not too late, Adam!" she whispered, and for the first time, there was an urgent, almost desperate, pleading tone in her usually icy voice. "Stop now. I promises... I will forget all of this... this abomination. I will treat you well, like my own son. We can start over."

I fell silent. Her offer hung in the air, like an alternate life I could reach out and grab. As my mind churned, my hand instinctively continued to knead her soft, pliant breast. It was like a heated marshmallow, so soft my fingers seemed to sink, losing themselves in its deceptive tenderness.

"I have a question for you, Mom," I said finally, my voice low and serious. "Answer me honestly. Would you truly have treated me... like your own son?"

Her eyes, like deep pools of ice, stared sharply at me. "No."

One word. Honest, cruel, and shattering.

A short, bitter laugh burst from my lips. The hand fondling her breast tightened its grip, making her gasp in pain.

"Let’s say," I murmured, leaning my face closer, "I take this Slave’s Collar off right now, and you could move freely... what would you do to me?"

She didn’t hesitate for a second. "I would crush your balls and your cock into pulp," she said with lethal coldness, "and then, slowly, I would torture you until your last breath."

I chuckled, but this time, my laugh sounded grim and hollow. "You asked me earlier why I became like this, right?" My voice changed, its tremor turning into a low, threatening growl. "Do you really want to know?"

Delilah stayed silent. I could see her pupils constrict, realizing her little ploy had failed utterly.

"IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU!" The scream erupted from my chest, a raw, ragged sound filled with all the hatred I’d stored up for years.

Delilah flinched, especially when she saw my tear-filled eyes staring back at her with a hatred as profound as her own.

I shoved her and moved on top of her, my knees digging into the mattress on either side of her hips while my hands pinned hers beside her head. My face was now just inches from hers. Delilah had never seen me like this, and for the first time, she looked genuinely unsettled.

"Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?!" I yelled, my voice hoarse with emotion. "Every single day I was beaten within an inch of my life! They shattered my bones, broke my arms and legs, flayed the skin from my body and face, forced me to drink strange potions that made me so sick I’d vomit blood and convulse!"

I paused, breathing heavily. I didn’t even realize tears were streaming down my face.

"And after all that... after they’d had their fill of torturing me... they would heal me!" I screamed, my voice rising to a crescendo.

"Heal all those wounds with skills or potions! Just to make sure I was still healthy enough for them to torture again the next day! And it happened again! And again! Over and over! Every day was the same hell on repeat, without end!"