Chapter 11:Midnight Escapade (Part-2)

The vulgar invitation detonated through Victor's consciousness like a thunderclap, scorching away any innocuous context in which he might have deluded himself about the depravities unfolding some steps away. His hands clenched into mangled talons, nails biting deep crescents into his calloused palms as Rosy's escalating throes lacerated him with every syllable.

In his mind's eye, the images played out in sordid, unavoidable clarity - his depraved wife writhing shamelessly in the throes of defiled passions, welcoming the loins of the very progeny she claimed he was too ignoble to acknowledge. As if the ultimate intent behind her exquisitely orchestrated return was to reign as a debauched queen over the ashes of Victor's legacy, indulging her every carnal whim to the deafening chorus of his humiliation.

The fantasies roared through Victor's psyche in a torrent of fury and bitter self-revulsion, transporting him back to the anguished nadir of his life when Rosy's desertion had first gutted him so completely. Yet now the trauma mounted upon itself in compounding layers, curdling into apoplectic outrage hardened by decades of numbing disillusionment.

How _dare_ this duplicitous harlot parade into _his_ domain like a conquering sovereign? Flaunting her debased couplings with the progeny she had denied him in a deliberate effort to flay every lingering shred of dignity from Victor's being? He would see the entire estate, every brick and indelible foundation, reduced to smouldering ruin before permitting this insult against his lineage to go unpunished!

Even as Victor raged against the injustices spurred by Rosy's malicious hand, her cries reached a soul-withering crescendo of rapturous excess. The profane sounds of an inescapable condemnation reverberated through the vacant halls and corridors he had once overseen as supreme patriarch.

"Yes!....make your _mother_ come on that… darling!" 

Each syllable lashed at Victor's sanity like a sadistic torturer's lash rending flesh from bone. His throat constricted with a mixture of disgust and visceral anguish until even drawing breath became a Sisyphean labour. Through it all, Rosy's sordid commentary and debauched invocations flowed in an inescapable torrent, stripping his remaining composure down to its emaciated foundations.

"Claim what's yours…split open your mother's… like the… I am for your…, my sweet bo-- _OhhhhhFUCKKKKKK_!"

Victor instinctively recoiled from the chamber doors, revulsed by the sheer implication of the incestuous profanities echoing through the hardwood barrier. His surroundings blurred and wavered as a surge of uncontrollable nausea churned through his gut, the combined fury and disgust overwhelming his senses like a toxin.

He could scarcely process the words exchanged between Rosy and her vile paramour in the aftermath. Her throaty taunts and mockery of the torment to which she had just subjected Victor rang in his ears, dull and indistinct as if heard from the depths of a smothering well. Even the young man's smooth, urbane acknowledgement of his mother's provocations washed over the Valtor patriarch in a meaningless drone, eclipsed by the howling psychic whirlwind of revulsion that threatened to tear him asunder from within.

Through sheer force of will, Victor struggled to regain his moorings in reality before the riptide dragged him down into irrevocable madness. Every shallow exhalation sawed through gritted teeth as he ruthlessly reasserted his dominion over senses by the barest margins. Allowing this grotesque tableau of incestuous blasphemies to sunder his composure so irrevocably would be tantamount to conceding victory to Rosy's machinations.

And that, Victor swore with a grim finality that seemed to echo through his bones, would _never_ transpire, no matter how staggering the psychic toll being levied upon him.

Victor felt the fragile threads of his composure fraying once more as the sated murmurs between Rosy and Adrian reached his ears with horrifying clarity. He instinctively braced himself, girding his willpower against whatever fresh depravities awaited to assail his senses.

"Looks like seeing Victor made you more in heat and yet, You seem to relish indulging in this...mother-son frisson, my dear," Adrian's honeyed baritone carried through the door, dripping with sated indulgence. "Does playing out those taboo fantasies make your womanly desires burn all the more fiercely?"

A husky chuckle, one that Victor recognized all too viscerally as Rosy's trademark expression of sardonic amusement in the face of scandal.

"Of course, it does, my sweet boy," she purred in response, the endearment carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of possession. "There's something so deliciously illicit about surrendering to these profane appetites while that pompous bastard remains utterly oblivious. Can you imagine the sheer devastation that would crease his austere features if he could see his wife and heir revelling in such delicious, unrepentant sin?"

Another throaty laugh, this one edged with an almost feral delight that caused the hairs at the nape of Victor's neck to prickle.

"But we must maintain this facade a while longer, darling. At least until I've thoroughly unravelled your father's pathetic delusions of control and you've cemented your rightful place as his heir..."

There was a pregnant pause then, thick with unspoken implications and the residual charge of their recent intimacies. Victor could practically envision the predatory gleam kindling in Rosy's eyes, the feline curl of her lips as she delivered the final salvo.

"Once you've gained Victor's trust and been anointed as the Valtor dynasty's sole successor...we can be rid of his wretched puppet Elara once and for all. Then this entire decadent empire will be ours to indulge in as we see fit - wealth, status, and the keys to unbridled dominion over the world itself!"

The words seemed to detonate through Victor's consciousness like a fusillade of artillery shells, each syllable rupturing another compartment of his sanity until his vision wavered and his surroundings pitched violently. Rosy's depraved intentions, laid out with such brazen finality, detonated through his senses in merciless concussive waves of incandescent fury and mortification.

Not only had this malicious succubus violated every tenet of feminine decorum and family sanctity through her lascivious couplings with his estranged progeny, but she now flagrantly declared her ambition to further defile his life's legacy! To wrest the Valtor empire he had consecrated decades of his existence to build, unmake, and remake it into a garish monument to their most depraved hedonisms? 

The sheer, unmitigated _gall_ of those profane machinations ignited a conflagration of rage within Victor's breast, searing through his very marrow until his muscles trembled from the effort of containing it. His hands clenched into mangled claws, nails biting deep crescents into his palms as the urge to strike out, to rend and destroy surged through him like a tidal forces.

"Did you see his face?" Rosy chuckled her voice husky with satisfaction. "Oh, my dear boy, I haven't seen Victor so utterly undone in decades. It was... exquisite."

Adrian, lounging beside her with an air of casual dominance, smirked. "I must admit, watching the great Victor Valtor stumble away, his composure in tatters—it was quite the spectacle. But, Rosy, are you sure he won't retaliate immediately? He seemed... unhinged."

Rosy waved a dismissive hand. "Victor? Please. His entire identity is built on control and calculated moves. He'll retreat, lick his wounds, and spend days plotting some elaborate counter-strategy. By then, we'll have solidified your position as his heir. Trust me, I know him better than—"

Her words were cut short by the sudden, violent opening of the chamber doors. They swung inward with such force that one nearly tore from its ancient hinges, slamming against the stone wall with a resounding crash.

In the doorway, silhouetted by the dim corridor light, stood Victor Valtor. His usually immaculate appearance was in disarray—tie loosened, shirt partially untucked, silver hair dishevelled. But it was his eyes, blazing with a combination of scotch-fueled courage and raw, unbridled fury, that truly transformed him. Gone was the cold, calculating patriarch; in his place stood a man pushed beyond the boundaries of his legendary self-control.

"Victor!" Rosy exclaimed, hastily pulling a sheet around herself. The shock in her voice was genuine; in all their years together, she had never seen him in such a state.

Rosy, her composure quickly regained, reached out a hand. "Victor, dear, please—"

"Don't!" Victor's voice was a whip-crack, silencing her instantly. "Don't you dare 'dear' me, Rosy? Not after this... this abomination I've witnessed."

Adrian, maintaining a veneer of calm, spoke next. "Father, if you'd allow us to explain—"

Victor's laughter was cold, devoid of any mirth. "Father? You have the audacity to call me that? After all these years, Rosy returns with her... paramour, claiming he's our son. The sheer gall!"

His gaze swept over them both, burning with a mixture of disgust and bitter disappointment. "I should have you both thrown into the cells beneath this manor. That's what traitors and charlatans deserve. But I won't give you the satisfaction of playing the victims."

Rosy attempted once more, her voice tinged with desperation. "Victor, please listen. Adrian is truly your son. I know I left abruptly, but—"

"Enough!" Victor roared, his composure finally shattering. "You fled years ago, Rosy, leaving behind nothing but shattered promises and a legacy in tatters. Now you return, not in humility or repentance, but flaunting your debauchery in my own home!"

He turned his piercing gaze to Adrian. "And you. You waltz in here, basking in your... sordid relationship, then have the temerity to claim my name, my lineage. As if the Valtor dynasty is some trinket to be snatched by any silver-tongued charlatan!"

Adrian's face hardened, a flicker of anger breaking through his urbane facade. "I am a Valtor, whether you choose to accept it or not. Your denial doesn't change the truth."

Victor scoffed. "Truth? You both wouldn't recognize the truth if it struck you down. All I see are two manipulators, weaving a tapestry of lies to claim what isn't rightfully yours."

His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "I've built this empire with blood, sweat, and unyielding resolve. Each stone, each acre, each company—all forged by my will alone. Did you truly believe you could saunter in, performing this sordid charade, and I'd simply hand over my life's work?"

Rosy's expression shifted from pleading to defiance. "Your work, Victor? Your empire? I stood by you when you were nothing but a struggling entrepreneur. My connections, my influence—"

"Which you were all too eager to abandon!" Victor retorted. "Now you return, thinking you can reclaim a stake in what I've built. No, Rosy. You forfeited any claim the moment you walked out that door."

Rosy's initial shock gave way to defiance. "How dare you judge me, Victor? You, who treated me more like a prized accessory than a wife. I gave you the best years of my life, and helped you climb from obscurity to power, and what did I get in return? Cold shoulders and missed anniversaries!"

Victor's laughter was harsh, tinged with the bitterness of decades-old resentments. "So this... this grotesque display is your revenge? Seducing a young man, parading him as our son, all to wound my pride? Rosy, your depravity knows no bounds."

He then turned his gaze to Adrian, who had risen from the bed, his urbane facade now tinged with genuine anger. "And you. The centrepiece of her grand performance. Tell me, boy, how much is she paying you? Or is the promise of the Valtor fortune enough to make you play the role of long-lost heir?"

He stepped back, his frame silhouetted by the room's dim light, casting him in an almost spectral aura. "I want you both out. Out of this room, out of this manor, out of my life. Take your sordid tales and twisted ambitions elsewhere. The Valtor name is not for sale or seduction."

Adrian rose, his movements deliberately slow. "You're making a grave mistake, denying your own flesh and blood."

Victor's reply was glacial. "My only mistake was ever trusting in the sanctity of marriage, in the notion that some bonds are unbreakable. Now, get out. Both of you. Before I summon security and have you dragged out, adding more spectacle to the shame you've already brought upon my house."

Rosy, seeing Victor's inebriated state, tried a different tactic. Her voice softened, taking on a tone that had once soothed him through many a crisis. "Victor, please. You're drunk, you're angry. Let's all take a step back. In the morning, when you're sober, we can discuss this civilly. Adrian is truly your son, and deep down, I think you sense it."

For a heartbeat, the old tenderness in her voice seemed to pierce through Victor's anger. His shoulders sagged, and he closed his eyes, looking every bit his age—a titan momentarily brought low by life's cruel twists.

But then, as if drawing strength from the very stones of his ancestral home, Victor's resolve hardened once more. His eyes snapped open, fixing Rosy with a gaze so cold it could freeze molten steel.

"Civilly? After what I've witnessed? No, Rosy. There will be no polite discussions, no family reunions. What I've seen tonight has shown me the true depths of your treachery. You haven't just betrayed our marriage vows; you've blasphemed against everything the Valtor name represents."

He stepped back, his frame silhouetted against the doorway, much as it had been earlier that night. But now, instead of a man shaken by shocking revelations, he stood as an embattled monarch, wounded yet unbroken.

"Tomorrow morning, when I open my eyes, I want to be greeted by a home free of your presence."Without waiting for their response, without even a backward glance, Victor turned and strode out of the chamber. His exit lacked his usual grace—there was a stumble, a hand bracing against the doorframe—but it lacked none of his signature determination.