From Damnation to Dominance: Revenge of the Abused Heir

The air in the Potter mansion’s grand hall was so thick and threatening. The marble floor gleamed with a cold, sterile light, reflecting the crystal chandelier that hung like a frozen waterfall from the vaulted ceiling. 

“You must be kidding me, right? You can't force me to do that! I just get back to the family and you want to cast me out for what I didn't do!" 

Victor Potter mumbled, his voice rising dangerously as he stared at the four people who stood before him. 

“Just say it, Victor,” his father, Tobias, said, his voice a low, strained command. He stood by the fireplace, a broad-shouldered silhouette against the manicured flames. “You were driving and had a few drinks. It was an accident. It's easy as ABC.”

Victor’s gaze drifted from his father to the others arrayed against him like a tribunal.

Catherine, his stepmother, perched on the edge of a velvet settee, her sharp features set in a mask of malice and contempt. 

Frank, his half-brother, leaned against the mantelpiece, trying to look contrite but failing to hide the smugness in his eyes.

And then there was his fiance.

Sandra! 

Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, and the simple diamond necklace he’d saved for months to buy glittered at her throat. 

She stood slightly apart, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes fixed on the intricate pattern of the Persian rug. She wouldn’t look at him.

Victor was five years old when his mother, Elisa Morales died. Tobias Potter brought on his mistress, who had always despised the sight of him. 

Due to that, he was sent to the countryside to live with his grandma.

But after his grandma death, Victor Potter found himself back in his father mansion. 

Instead of a happy reunion, Victor faced constant hatred and manipulation. 

And Now, he was threatened to take the blame of his half-brother’s sin.

“No,” Victor said, the word came out low but enough to hear in the cavernous room. “I won’t say it. I won't take the blame for what I didn't do. Frank was the one behind the wheel. Frank was the one who killed that man.”

A muscle twitched in Tobias’s jaw. “Don’t be difficult, son.”

“Son?” Victor let out a short, bitter laugh. “You sent your ‘son’ away to the countryside when I was five because your new wife couldn’t stand the sight of me. You only brought me back because Grandma died and you had to. Now you want to call me ‘son’ to send me to prison?

Ridiculous! You all must be joking, isn't it? I denied to be used as a sacrifice lamb!”

Catherine’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cruel as always. “Don’t you dare take that tone with your father. Look at you. You’re a wild thing, straight out of the fields. You have mud in your veins, not blood. 

Frank is a genius and talented boy. He’s noble. He has a future. What do you have? A dead grandmother and a lifetime of… struggle.” She spat the last word as if it were a disease. “It’s simple mathematics, Victor. Frank’s life is worth more. He’s accustomed to a certain life. He wouldn’t survive a week in a place like that.”

The sheer, bald shamelessness of it stole Victor’s breath. He turned his eyes to Sandra, a silent plea. You know me. You know the truth. You loved me once.

As if hearing his thoughts, Sandra finally lifted her gaze. Her beautiful eyes, the color of warm honey, were devoid of any emotion. She took a hesitant step forward, and muttered softly. 

“This is something you can do, Victor! Frank, he’s always been so gentle and privileged since his childhood days. . He’s never known hardship.

Taking him to prison means instant death. He wouldn't last up to a week.

You, on the other hand, are very strong. You’ve endured so much challenges already in the countryside. A few years hardship in the prison should be nothing to you!

You can endure this, too, easily. Just do for the family! Do it for the both of us, Victor!”

Sandra's words were a knife to his heart, twisted by the hand he loved most. He remembered their childhood promises, the letters they’d exchanged when he was away, her vows to wait for him. This was what it had all been for. To be offered up as a sacrificial lamb for the golden boy.

A bitter, disbelieving laugh escaped him. It was a raw, ugly sound. “You’re all insane. Do you hear yourselves? You’re asking me to trade my freedom, my entire future, because Frank is too ‘privileged’ for prison?”

Seeing Victor acting stubborn, Frank chose that moment to play his part. He pushed himself off the mantel, his face arranged into a mask of brave resignation. 

“It’s okay, everyone,” he said, his voice dripping with a false nobility that made Victor’s stomach turn. “If Victor won’t do it, I’ll face the consequences like a man. I’ll turn myself in.”

It was a masterful performance, and Tobias fell for it completely. He rounded on Victor, his face flushing a blotchy red. “You see? That is what a real brother sounds like! That is understanding! And you? You’re just selfish and immature! After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us? You ungrateful bastard.”

As Tobias raged, Victor locked eyes with Frank. For a split second, the mask of contrition slipped, and Frank’s lips curved into a sly, triumphant smirk. 

It was there and gone so fast Victor almost doubted he’d seen it but unfortunately, he had. 

He saw the sheer, unadulterated cruelty swimming in his brother’s eyes, the pleasure he took in this entire grotesque charade.

The sight of that smirk made Victor’s vision swim with a red-hot rage. He was so focused on Frank, on the sheer unbelievable betrayal, that he didn’t see Catherine move.

She moved with the silent, lethal grace of a predator. In one fluid motion, she snatched up a heavy crystal decanter half-filled with amber whiskey from the sideboard. 

Before Victor could even register the movement, she swung it in a short, vicious arc.

The world exploded in a shower of crystal shards and searing white pain. The impact against his temple was deafening. A sickening crack echoed in his skull, followed by a warm, sticky wetness trickling down his face. The floor rushed up to meet him, the hard marble a jarring impact that drove the air from his lungs. He lay there, dazed, his ears ringing heavily, the taste of copper flooding his mouth.

Through a blurry haze, he saw his father’s face loom over him. There was no concern, no panic. Only a grim, determined efficiency. Tobias pried his jaw open, the gesture rough and impersonal.

“Hold him still,” Tobias grunted.

Victor tried to struggle, but his limbs were leaden, his thoughts scrambled by the blow. Frank knelt, pinning his shoulders to the cold floor. 

Tobias upended a bottle of cheap, burning liquor and poured it into Victor’s mouth. He choked and spluttered, but most of the liquid went down his throat, a fiery trail that made him gag.

The rest splashed over his face, his neck, soaking his shirt, saturating the air around him with the cloying, unmistakable stench of alcohol.

He was being packaged. Prepared for delivery.

As he lay there, helpless, a soft presence materialized beside him. 

Sandracrouched down, her dress pooling around her on the expensive rug. She leaned in close, her fake tears falling onto his cheek, mingling with the blood and liquor. 

“I’m so sorry, Victor,” she began, her voice trembling. “Thank you. Thank you for your sacrifice. When you get out… I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll marry you. I promise.”

Her words were meant to be a comfort, a lifeline. But to Victor, in that moment, they were the final, perfect cruelty. 

She was thanking him for his own destruction. She was offering him a future built on the ruins. 

He tried to speak, to tell her that her promise was ashes, but only a weak, guttural sound emerged.

The doorbell chimed, a melodious, civilized sound that was utterly at odds with the scene on the floor.

“That will be the police,” Tobias said, his voice returning to its normal, authoritative tone. He straightened his tie. 

“Everyone, remember the story.”

The world narrowed to a tunnel of sound and sensation. Heavy footsteps approached. He saw the polished black shoes and dark blue trousers of the officers as they entered the hall.

“We’re here about the hit-and-run on Virgin Lane Road,” a deep, official voice said. “We need to know who was driving the vehicle registered to this address.”

Victor tried to push himself up, to shout the truth, but his body refused to obey. His head throbbed with a blinding pain, and the room spun nauseatingly.

Tobias stepped forward, the picture of a grieving, responsible patriarch. “It was my son,” he said, his voice heavy with a feigned sorrow. He gestured towards Victor on the floor. “He’d been drinking. We… we didn’t want to believe it, but he just confessed to us.”

“It was so horrible,” Catherine added, her voice now a dramatic, trembling whisper. “He came in, reeking of alcohol, and just broke down.”

Frank nodded, his face a perfect imitation of pained loyalty. “I tried to stop him from going out, Officer. I really did.”

And Sandra, the love of his life, simply pointed a slender, accusing finger at him. Her tears were still flowing, giving her testimony of a heartbreaking credibility.

The officers moved in. Strong hands hauled him to his feet. His wrists were grabbed, and the cold, unforgiving steel of handcuffs snapped shut around them. The metal bit into his skin, a tangible, final seal on his fate.

As they dragged him towards the door, his legs buckling beneath him, his blurry vision swept across the faces of his family one last time. 

Tobias looked away, pretend studying a painting on the wall. Frank’s smirk was back, wide and unchecked now. Sandra was sobbing into her hands, the very picture of the devastated fiancée.

His gaze finally landed on Catherine. She stood perfectly still, her arms crossed, her eyes devoid of any emotion except a cold, satisfied contempt. 

As the officers bundled him out into the cool night air, he swore to make everyone of them regret their actions. 

“At least this useless fool is finally doing something worthwhile for the Potter family.”