His Captive Obsession Chapter 02

His Captive Obsession Chapter 02

Mom was in the kitchen making breakfast while I finished watching the broadcast.

I tried to make sense of everything in my little head.

Yesterday, Daddy unlocked his chains, escaped from the basement, and unfortunately got hit by a car.

But by some stroke of fate, the Vance family found him.

Now, the most powerful dynasty in the city had officially announced the return of their long-lost heir.

It was massive news, flooding every social media feed.

Mom must have seen it too.

I looked over at her and asked, “Mom, did Daddy really forget about us?”

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t sad.

Daddy was actually great to me. He bought me toys, read me stories, washed my clothes by hand, and cooked every single meal.

Mom walked over, holding a plate.

“Eat up, sweetie.”

I looked down at the burnt toast and the barely cooked, runny egg, holding my fork with absolutely no idea where to start.

Across the room, Mom sat heavily on the couch, her expression grim as she scrolled through article after article.

I noticed her hands were shaking.

Thinking back to Daddy’s cruel expression on the screen, a wave of fear washed over me too.

The heir to a multi-billion-dollar empire sounded incredibly powerful and dangerous.

And from the news, I finally learned his real name: Tristan Vance.

He sounded like someone you absolutely did not want to mess with.

Suddenly, I heard a sharp sob.

I turned and saw Mom crying, which immediately made my own nose sting.

Just as I opened my mouth to cry with her, Mom slammed her fist into the giant teddy bear on the couch and burst into a massive grin.

“Holy shit! I’m finally rid of that obsessive psycho!” she laughed. “I’m free!”

What exactly was an obsessive psycho?

Did it mean someone who was sick and needy?

If so, Daddy definitely fit the description.

His health was fragile; he got sick constantly and was more delicate than a hothouse flower.

Every time Mom and I went out to work at the hot dog stand, we had to watch the clock perfectly. If we were even a second late getting home, Mom’s phone would blow up.

When she answered, a tear-streaked face would appear on the screen, whimpering like a puppy.

“Babe,” he’d whine. “I caught a cold again. Please come home.”

A couple of coughs would send a bright, feverish flush across his pale cheeks.

He looked so pitiful it made your heart ache.

It was a complete contrast to the cold monster on the news.

Whenever Daddy got sick, Mom had to stay up and take care of him the entire night.

The next day, her eyes would be bloodshot, her hands would shake too much to hold utensils, and her voice would be completely gone.

She wouldn’t even have the energy to take me out to sell hot dogs.

Sometimes, she would be stuck in bed for days.

So, as I sat there thinking about it, Daddy escaping and losing his memory, which meant he forgot us… actually seemed like a pretty good thing.