I Died So My Brother Can Have JusticeChapter 1
Every time my wife brought her assistant into the bedroom, she made me kneel by the bed and wait.
If the assistant didn’t know how to do it, she’d have me demonstrate—step by humiliating step.
I always waited patiently for them to finish, then went over to serve them tea and water.
Celeste would pinch the back of my neck and ask:
“Aren’t you jealous?”
I shook my head, even helping them prepare contraceptives when needed.
That only infuriated her more. She’d throw me onto the bed again and again out of spite.
But the next day, I’d still kneel obediently beside the bed, waiting like always.
She’d grit her teeth and say:
“A grown man acting like this... You’re pathetic!”
I only smiled at her.
She didn’t know—
That would be the last time I’d ever be with her.
——
When I got home that evening, the scene on the sofa was all too familiar.
Damien had his back to me but turned at the sound of the door, a mocking smile curling on his lips.
Celeste raised her voice deliberately, just loud enough for me to hear.
I tied on my apron and walked into the kitchen, pretending I hadn’t seen anything. I chopped vegetables and waited for them to finish. Then I stepped out to clean up the aftermath.
Damien Locke, as always, needed honey water afterward. His throat got dry.
I knelt beside him silently, offering the drink with both hands.
I felt like a servant from some ancient dynasty.
Celeste was doing her makeup. She glanced at me, her brows furrowing slightly.
“Plop!”
The cup hit the ground. Hot honey water splashed across the floor, scalding my skin.
“Hey! Gid, are you okay?” Damien rushed over, pretending to help.
He grabbed my arm—hard—digging his fingers into the flesh until I gasped.
His smile stayed pleasant, but he leaned in and whispered with veiled menace:
“Brother, why so clumsy? If you don’t want to serve me, just say so. No need to make a scene.”
I gritted my teeth, forced a smile.
“Why trouble you with something so trivial?”
I invited him to sit down, then knelt again to clean up the spilled honey.
My palms and knees burned with small cuts, and the sticky sweetness stung where it touched broken skin. But I didn’t let it show.
I even lifted Damien’s feet gently to wipe beneath them.
Celeste tossed his clothes at him.
“Go home.”
He looked surprised.
“Mr. Hartwell?”
“You’ve got nothing left to do here.”