The Boundaries of Possession - Chapter 23
The image of Marcus’s once-bright smile overlapped with the monstrous grin before him, creating an immense sense of dissonance.
‘You must be joking. A recessive alpha running a business? Is that even possible? Perhaps you should give it some serious thought.’
It was a complete negation of Marcus’s existence—words spoken in his father’s usual tone. Did Marcus suffer from an inferiority complex? Recessives were considered of lower status compared to dominant alphas and often found themselves trailing behind socially. Marcus was no exception.
As Andreas was about to speak again, a scream echoed from beyond the door. It was a voice he knew well. His mind painted another horrifying image he didn’t want to see.
“Mother?”
“You’d better check on her. The weak are always the first to fall.”
Marcus wore the expression of a demon who had successfully ensnared a human in his trap. Andreas, who had frozen stiff, was jolted into motion by another scream and dashed out of the room.
“Mother!”
Beyond the door, flames roared as Helen stood trembling in terror. She staggered backward, screaming her son’s name as if it were a lifeline.
“Andreas!”
The fire grew fiercer, spreading rapidly as a suffocating sense of despair filled Andreas’s chest. The flames were a warning—they wouldn’t wait for him. Without a second thought, he plunged into the inferno, pulling his mother’s fainting body into his arms.
Helen called out for Roxen over and over, even as Andreas carried her to the lawn in front of the mansion. He couldn’t say a word. His lips pressed into a hard line—that was the best he could do.
Soon, he saw servants rushing with buckets of water. Among them was Hern, the young butler-in-training. Despite their collective efforts, the flames continued to spread uncontrollably. Some servants, fearing the loss of their livelihood, grabbed valuable items and fled.
“Master! Master’s still inside!”
“Just take what you can! If this goes on, we’re all doomed!”
“I got this first! Don’t touch it!”
Their harsh, frenzied voices shattered the night as they pushed and shoved each other, fighting over the spoils. They no longer seemed human.
Were these the same people who had once been loyal to his father? Andreas watched, suffocated by the grotesque display of greed and self-preservation. Even the loyalty and basic morality they once had burned away with the mansion, leaving only their primal desires behind.
It felt like Marcus’s insults and abuse of his father were being echoed by the scene unfolding before him. Despair surged within him, flames feeding his sense of failure for not being able to retrieve his father’s body from the fire. His mind was being torn apart by guilt.
Helen sat on the lawn, staring blankly into the distance as if her entire world had shattered. She remained trapped in shock, unable to move or speak.
As the mansion was consumed by the flames, Andreas’s eyes filled with dark hatred—until he saw Marcus burning before him.
“AAAHHHH!”
Andreas’s mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to produce any sound as he watched Marcus flail wildly, his skin burning away.
Even as his face was engulfed in flames, Marcus kept his eyes locked on Andreas. That gaze etched itself into his mind like a curse, a torment that would never fade.
For a moment, Andreas’s heart was crushed by the weight of guilt. Had part of him wished for Marcus to die? The sight of Marcus’s final desperate moments felt like the collapse of everything Marcus had once believed in—his world betrayed him in the end.
Andreas’s father had already known. He had sensed that Marcus was recklessly shuffling funds and growing increasingly hostile.
‘Blind trust is a poison, Andreas.’
‘But I trust Marquis Marcus. He’s not the kind of man who’d betray your expectations, Father.’
Andreas had defended Marcus when his father voiced his doubts.
‘You always said that people shouldn’t be abandoned when they’re struggling. Give him another chance.’
But it was Andreas’s trust that had killed his father. Tears welled up in his eyes. A memory surfaced—a voice, soft and kind, one that belonged to Elysia, a girl who had once believed in him.
‘Brother, you’ll become a good man, just like the Duke.’
A good man?
Her gentle, hopeful voice intertwined with Marcus’s dying screams, stabbing into his ears. Elysia’s words had been like a guiding light to him, but now, he had turned his back on that light.
He had become consumed by guilt, self-loathing, distrust, and rage.
