My Heart, His Cruelty

The phone buzzed frantically during my board meeting. It was my mother, her voice a shredded mess, whispering, "He's here. At the university. He's making us..." before the line went dead.

"He" was Gustav Bradford, the man I loved, the man who was destroying me.

I raced to Westwood University to find my parents on their knees, humiliated, with Gustav standing over them, beautiful and terrifying, beside his therapist, Estelle Strong.

Estelle, his new everything, whispered lies about my parents disrespecting them, while my father, a man who debated world leaders, bowed his head in shame. My mother sobled silently as a drone live-streamed their humiliation.

When I confronted him, Gustav, with a chilling smile, ordered his guard to break my father's leg.

A sickening crack echoed, followed by my father's agonizing scream. Then, my mother's. They both lay broken. The love I had for Gustav shattered, replaced by a cold, vast emptiness.

"I will kill you," I whispered, the words tasting like poison. He just smiled, kissed my cheek, and left, telling me he'd be home for dinner.

That night, my parents, in a desperate act to free me, took their own lives.

My scream was soundless. I called Amit, my friend, for the drug that would make me look dead.

I had to die to live, and I had to live to see Gustav Bradford burn.

Chapter 1

The phone buzzed against the polished wood of the conference table. I ignored it. Gustav hated interruptions during my board meetings. He said it made me look weak.

It buzzed again. And again. A frantic, desperate rhythm.

Something was wrong.

I excused myself, my voice tight. "I need to take this."

I stepped into the hallway, my heart pounding a sick beat against my ribs. It was my mother. I answered, my breath held tight in my chest.

"Janey," she sobbed, her voice a shredded mess. "He's here. At the university. He's making us..."

The line went dead.

I didn't need to hear the rest. He. There was only one he who had the power to make my mother, a tenured professor, sound so broken. Gustav Bradford. The man I loved. The man who was destroying me.

I ran. I left my laptop, my notes, my company. I ran out of the building and into the street, flagging a cab with a wild wave of my arm.

"Westwood University! As fast as you can!"

The driver took one look at my face and floored it.

The campus quad was crowded. Too crowded. Students and faculty were gathered in a wide, silent circle, their phones held up like a thousand accusing eyes. In the center of that circle, on the cold stone ground, were my parents.

On their knees.

Gustav stood over them, a king surveying his conquered. He was beautiful, as always, in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my first car. But his face was a mask of cold fury. Beside him, clinging to his arm, was Estelle Strong. His therapist. His new everything.

She was whispering something to him, her face a perfect portrait of concern, but her eyes, when they flickered toward the crowd, held a glint of triumph.

My father, a man who had debated world leaders, had his head bowed. My mother's shoulders shook with silent sobs. A live-stream drone whirred above them, broadcasting their humiliation to the world.

"Gustav!" My voice ripped from my throat.

He turned, and a slow smile spread across his perfect lips. It didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were for me, and they were full of a terrible, possessive love that felt like hate.

"Janey, darling," he said, his voice smooth as silk, carrying across the silent quad. "You're just in time. Your parents were just apologizing."

"Apologizing for what?" I choked out, pushing my way through the wall of bodies.

"For their disrespect," Estelle said, her voice soft and wounded. "They said terrible things about me, Gustav. About us."

She was lying. My parents had confronted him about his control, his paranoia, about the bruises he'd left on my arms that I tried to hide with long sleeves. They had tried to protect me.

"They came to my office," Gustav continued, his gaze never leaving mine. "They accused me of hurting you. Can you imagine? Me, hurting the woman I adore more than life itself?"

He gestured to Estelle. "They insulted Estelle. My healer. The one person who has helped me manage the... intensity of my feelings for you."

"They're lying, Janey," Estelle whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. "I would never want to cause a problem between you and your family."

"You lying bitch," I snarled, my last shred of composure snapping.

Gustav's face darkened. "Apologize to her, Janey."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. The man who once wrote me poetry, who flew to another continent just to bring me a specific brand of tea when I was sick, was gone. This was a monster.

"No."

"No?" He laughed, a short, ugly sound. He turned to one of the two large men standing behind him. "Break his leg."

"Gustav, no!" I screamed.

But it was too late. The man moved with brutal efficiency. He kicked the back of my father's knee. A sickening crack echoed in the silence. My father screamed, a raw, agonized sound that would haunt me forever, and collapsed onto the stone.

"Now, ask me again, Janey," Gustav said, his voice dangerously calm. "Nicely."

Tears streamed down my face. I looked at my father, writhing on the ground. I looked at my mother, her face ashen with terror.

"Please," I begged, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Please, Gustav. Stop. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" he purred. He knelt, grabbing a fistful of my mother's hair and forcing her head up. "Then you will kneel with them. And you will beg Estelle for her forgiveness."

My mother looked at me, her eyes pleading. Not for herself. For me. Run, her eyes said. Save yourself.

I saw it then. The final sacrifice. They would endure anything to see me free. But I couldn't leave them. I couldn't.

I took a step forward, ready to fall to my knees, ready to say whatever he wanted.

But my father, through the haze of his pain, spoke. "Don't you dare, Janey. Don't you dare let him win."

He tried to push himself up, his face contorted in agony and defiance.

Gustav sighed, a sound of theatrical disappointment. "Such a shame." He nodded to the other guard. "The other one, too."

Another crack. Another scream, this time from my mother. They both lay broken on the ground.

Something inside me shattered. The love I had for him, the hope that I could fix him, all of it turned to ash and blew away. All that was left was a cold, vast emptiness.

"I will kill you," I whispered, the words tasting like poison and promise.

Gustav smiled, a true, radiant smile this time. "I know, my love. That's why this is so much fun."

He leaned down and kissed my cheek, his lips cold against my tear-stained skin. "I'll be home for dinner. Don't be late."

He turned and walked away, Estelle still attached to his arm, the two of them disappearing into the stunned crowd like royalty departing a stage. The drone whirred one last time and then zipped away.

The spell was broken. People rushed forward. I fell to my knees between my parents, the world a blur of pain and flashing lights from the campus emergency services.

My mother grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "He framed us, Janey," she rasped, her breath shallow. "He planted files. Corporate espionage. Everything will be seized."

"It doesn't matter," I sobbed. "I'll get you out. I'll fix this."

"No," my father said, his voice weak but firm. "There's no fixing this. There is only one way out. For us. For you."

Before I could understand, before I could stop them, they acted. In the chaos of the arriving paramedics, my father grabbed a dropped syringe from a medical kit. My mother pulled a small, deadly vial from her own pocket-a chemistry professor always had access. It was a pact. A final, desperate act to free me from a debt they believed I would feel forever.

They were gone in seconds, together, even in death.

The world went white. My scream was soundless, a hole ripped in the fabric of the universe.

That night, hiding in the sterile silence of a hotel room, I made a call.

"Amit," I whispered into the phone, my voice raw. "I need it. The drug you told me about. The one that makes you look dead."

There was a pause on the other end. "Janey, what happened?"

"He killed them, Amit. Gustav killed my parents."

Another silence, longer this time. Then, his voice, low and full of a cold, shared hatred. "I'll have it for you by morning."

I hung up and curled into a ball on the bed. I took the small pill bottle from my purse. It was from Amit. A single, white tablet. Hope in a tiny, bitter package. I swallowed it with a glass of water, the first step in a plan born of grief and rage.

I had to die to live. And I had to live to see Gustav Bradford burn.