Mr. John raised a patient finger. “Even if there was a will, it could not be read while he is still alive. The law is very clear on that point.”
Agatha looked confused. “So… what happens now?”
Mr. John looked at all of them, one by one, his gaze stern. “Now, you wait. And you take care of your father. He is still alive. Stop fighting. Stop selling his property. Stop tearing this family apart.”
Rose looked up, her eyes teary, and nodded slowly. But Frank just hissed in annoyance. David rubbed his forehead in frustration. Cynthia rolled her eyes and went back to her phone.
And upstairs, in the quiet guest room, Old Man Williams lay on his bed, listening. He had heard everything through the small crack in the door that Rose often forgot to close completely. As he coughed quietly, a small, sad smile formed on his lips. “They have shown me,” he thought silently. “They have shown me exactly who they are.”
A week after the failed attempt to read the will, the mansion was still thick with tension and silence. Everyone moved around with heavy faces, barely speaking to one another. But Agatha had something new on her mind.
That afternoon, dressed in her finest lace gown and gold earrings, she drove to the home of a wealthy friend, Margaret, a woman known for her boldness and sharp tongue. They hugged at the entrance like long-lost friends.
“Ah, Agatha, I heard your husband is very sick,” Margaret said as they settled into her plush living room. “I do hope he gets better. But what are the doctors saying?”
Agatha sighed dramatically. “The doctor said it’s cancer. And the worst part? He may not survive it. It’s like… it’s like I’m already a widow.”
Margaret leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Ah, this is serious. How are you coping, my dear?”
Agatha folded her arms. “Coping? With what? I’m not just sad. I’m lonely. There’s no one to talk to. No one to hold me. He just… coughs all day.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips. “That means he can’t… satisfy you… anymore.”
Agatha lowered her voice. “That part. I’ve been thinking a lot about it.”
Margaret chuckled. “You are still a young, vibrant woman, Agatha. And you are beautiful. You don’t need to suffer and wither away just because of a sick old man. If I were in your shoes, I would find a young man. Someone strong. Someone who can… satisfy your needs.”
Agatha’s eyes lit up.
Two days later, Agatha met Ben, a handsome, charming man in his early thirties. She met him at a spa she visited often, where he worked as a gym instructor. They exchanged numbers. Soon, they began meeting discreetly at hotels around the city.
Ben treated her like a queen, constantly praising her beauty, massaging her feet, and whispering sweet words in her ear. “I don’t know how I survived before I met you,” Agatha told him one evening.
Ben smiled. “You deserve to be loved, sweet mama.” They kissed.
From that day, Agatha completely abandoned her sick husband. She stopped entering his room, stopped checking on his food, and left everything for Rose to handle. Her days were now filled with laughter, wine, new makeup, and frequent hotel visits with Ben.
But it didn’t end there. Agatha wanted to keep Ben close. So one morning, she shocked the entire family by bringing Ben right into the mansion. They were all sitting in the living room when she walked in with him, holding his small leather bag and smiling proudly.
“Everyone, meet Mr. Ben,” she announced, placing a proprietary hand on his shoulder. “He is our new personal driver.”
Cynthia turned sharply. “Mom, I thought we already have a driver.”
Agatha waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, we do. But Ben will be my personal driver. He will take me anywhere I want to go, anytime I want.”
Frank raised an eyebrow and looked Ben up and down with suspicion. David rolled his eyes and whispered, “More like personal toy.”
But Agatha didn’t care. She ordered the housekeeper to prepare a room for Ben in the boys’ quarters and told everyone, “He starts today. Any problems?”
No one answered. But deep inside, the tension in the mansion grew even thicker. And somewhere upstairs, Chief Williams lay quietly in his room, completely unaware that another storm had just entered his home.
That night, the air in the mansion was heavy and quiet, but Rose couldn’t sleep. She had gone to the kitchen to check on her mother but didn’t find her. She noticed the main living room light was still on. As she turned to go back to her room, she heard strange whispers and muffled giggles coming from the boys’ quarters behind the main house.
Curious, she walked slowly toward the small building, barefoot, her heart pounding in her chest. The closer she got, the louder the sounds became. Suddenly, she heard a soft moan.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. She pushed the door open, and what she saw made her freeze on the spot. There was her mother, Agatha, sitting on Ben’s lap. Both were in a state of undress, whispering into each other’s ears like teenagers.
“Mama!”
Agatha jumped up in shock. Ben frantically grabbed for his shirt…
