The air hung heavy in the opulent penthouse suite, a suffocating blend of cigar smoke and expensive perfume. Roderick De Vere, a man sculpted from granite and ambition, sat at the head of a mahogany table, his gaze sweeping over the assembled men, each one a cog in his intricate machine.

His empire stretched across continents, a sprawling web of influence that touched every aspect of society. Casinos pulsed with the rhythm of his wealth, their glittering lights reflecting the fortunes he controlled. Companies, both legitimate and otherwise, bowed to his will, their profits funneled into his ever-expanding coffers. Hotels, monuments to his extravagance, offered a glimpse into his lavish lifestyle. Bars, throbbing with the energy of his power, served as clandestine meeting places for his inner circle. Universities, bastions of knowledge and prestige, were subtly manipulated to further his agendas. Organizations, both charitable and nefarious, danced to his tune, their resources at his disposal.

Roderick, a man of unparalleled wealth and influence, was the undisputed king of this empire, a modern-day Medici who wielded his power with a chilling efficiency. He was a tyrant, a lord of the mafia, a man who ruled with an iron fist and a cold heart.

His dominance was not just a matter of wealth, although that was certainly a significant factor. It was a combination of ruthlessness, cunning, and a chillingly calculated understanding of human nature. He knew how to manipulate people, how to exploit their weaknesses, how to turn their desires into weapons.

His word was law, his decisions were final, and his enemies learned to fear the consequences of crossing him. He had a knack for finding the leverage, the hidden vulnerabilities, that allowed him to control even the most powerful individuals. He was a master of the game, a player who always seemed to be one step ahead.

His presence commanded attention. His eyes, cold and calculating, seemed to pierce through the facades of his subordinates, reading their thoughts, anticipating their moves. His voice, a low rumble that carried an inherent authority, could silence a room with a single word. His smile, a rare and fleeting gesture, was as chilling as a winter wind, a chilling reminder of the power he wielded.

He was a man who had built his empire from the ground up, a man who had clawed his way to the top, leaving a trail of broken promises and shattered lives in his wake. He was a man who had no qualms about using any means necessary to achieve his goals, a man who believed that the ends justified the means.

And as he surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on each of his subordinates, he knew that he was in complete control. He was Roderick De Vere, and his empire was his to command.

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The silence of the penthouse was a stark contrast to the roaring symphony of the city outside. Roderick De Vere, a man of steel and ambition, sat alone in his opulent study, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. But his gaze, usually sharp and calculating, was softened, lost in a haze of longing.

His mind was a battlefield, a clash between the ruthless tyrant he presented to the world and the man consumed by a decade-long obsession. He thought of Elio, his brother's wife, a man of breathtaking beauty, a fragile, ethereal creature who held Roderick's heart captive.

Elio's beauty was a cruel torment. His soft features, his luminous eyes, his skin that seemed to glow, his hair like a silken waterfall - it was a beauty that defied gender, a beauty that transcended the mundane. Roderick had been captivated from the moment he first laid eyes on him, a decade ago. He had watched him, studied him, yearned for him from afar.

He knew Elio was still deeply in love with his brother, a love that was pure and innocent, a love that Roderick could never hope to compete with. He had seen the way they looked at each other, the way they touched, the way they shared a language of love that Roderick could never understand.

It was a torment, a constant ache in his chest, a burning desire that he couldn't extinguish. He had tried to suppress it, to bury it beneath the weight of his empire, his ambitions, his ruthlessness. But the more he tried to resist, the more powerful it became.

He would find himself drawn to Elio, drawn to his presence, his scent, his voice. He would linger in the hallways, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, to hear his laughter. He would spend hours lost in fantasies, imagining himself holding Elio, feeling his skin against his, tasting his lips.

But Roderick was a man of control, a man who ruled with an iron fist. He would not allow his obsession to consume him. He would not allow it to weaken him. He would not allow it to destroy him.

He had built a wall around his heart, a wall of ice and steel, a wall that he believed would protect him from the pain of his unrequited love. But the wall was crumbling, slowly but surely, as his obsession grew stronger, as his desire for Elio became more intense.

Tonight, the wall seemed to be crumbling faster. He was surrounded by the symbols of his power, his wealth, his influence, yet he felt utterly powerless in the face of his longing. He looked at a framed photograph on his desk, a picture of Elio and his brother, their faces alight with happiness.

A wave of jealousy washed over him, a bitter, consuming emotion that threatened to drown him. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, his jaw tightening. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy everything that stood between him and his desire.

But he was Roderick De Vere. He was a man of control. He would not allow himself to be consumed by his emotions. He would not allow himself to be weak.

He stood up, his gaze hardening, his resolve solidifying. He would wait. He would bide his time. He would find a way to make Elio his, even if it meant breaking all the rules, even if it meant shattering the world around him.

He would become the master of his own destiny, the architect of his own happiness. He would make Elio his, even if it took a lifetime.

He walked to the window, his gaze sweeping over the city, a vast canvas of lights and shadows. He was Roderick De Vere, and he would stop at nothing to claim what was rightfully his.

[Author: Hii I'm your author Hannareeyaah hehe what do you guys think about this story is it not boring? I'm soo bad at describing😓 I'm sorry hehe anyway comment on what you guys think about this story hehe thanks for reading🧡]

To be continue🎥

Warning; This might hurt a lot lol🤭

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The silence in the grand mansion was deafening. Elion, his heart heavy with a familiar ache, wandered through the opulent halls, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The air hung heavy with the scent of lilies, a fragrance that had always reminded him of Jacob, but now it felt like a suffocating shroud.

He had been alone for hours, the sun sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold. Jacob, his husband, was out, as he often was, "working late," "meeting with clients," "attending a business dinner." But Elion knew the truth. He had seen the evidence, the undeniable proof of Jacob's infidelity.

He had stumbled upon it online, a series of videos that had sent a chill down his spine. Jacob, his face flushed with excitement, his eyes filled with a lust that Elion had never seen directed at him, was locked in passionate embraces with various women. The videos were a stark contrast to the quiet, devoted man he had married, a man who had sworn eternal love and fidelity.

Elion had tried to convince himself that it was a mistake, that the videos were fake, that Jacob would never betray him. But the truth was inescapable. He had seen the evidence, the undeniable proof of Jacob's infidelity.

He had tried to confront Jacob, to talk to him, to understand what had gone wrong. But Jacob had brushed him off, dismissing his concerns with a wave of his hand. He had told him that he was imagining things, that he was being paranoid.

But Elion knew the truth. He had seen the evidence, the undeniable proof of Jacob's infidelity.

He had tried to ignore it, to bury it deep inside, to pretend that everything was okay. But the pain was too much, the betrayal too deep. He couldn't escape the truth, the truth that Jacob had been unfaithful, the truth that his love had been a lie.

He wandered into the library, his gaze falling on a framed photograph on the desk. It was a picture of him and Jacob, their faces alight with happiness, their eyes locked in a silent conversation of love. He reached out, his fingers tracing the outlines of their faces, his heart aching with a longing that was both bittersweet and agonizing.

He had loved Jacob with a purity that was both rare and precious. He had given him his heart, his soul, his entire being. And Jacob had betrayed him, shattered his trust, ripped his heart to shreds.

He felt a wave of anger wash over him, a burning rage that threatened to consume him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy everything that stood between him and his pain. But he was Elion, a man of grace and elegance, a man who had always been the embodiment of serenity.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He knew that he couldn't let his anger consume him. He had to find a way to move on, to find a way to heal.

_____

The clock on the grand mantelpiece chimed once, twice, thrice, marking the stroke of one in the morning. Elion, curled up on the plush velvet chaise lounge in the master bedroom, listened to the sounds of the mansion coming alive. He had been awake for hours, the silence of the empty house a stark contrast to the usual symphony of Jacob's presence. But tonight, the silence was broken by a different kind of noise, a cacophony of drunken laughter and muffled voices.

He had tried to ignore it, to convince himself it was nothing, just another late-night business meeting. But the sounds were too loud, too distinct. He could hear the clinking of glasses, the shuffling of feet, the muffled laughter of a woman, and a voice that was unmistakably Jacob's, slurring his words with a drunken bravado.

He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that Jacob was not at a business meeting. He had seen the evidence, the undeniable proof of his husband's infidelity, in the form of those damning videos. But tonight, the evidence was even more tangible, more visceral. It was the sound of his husband's laughter, the sound of his husband's voice, the sound of his husband's betrayal.

He rose from the chaise lounge, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He walked to the window, his gaze drawn to the grand entrance of the mansion. He could see the figures through the frosted glass, their silhouettes illuminated by the dim light of the moon.

There were three of them, their bodies swaying in a drunken embrace. One woman, her dress torn and hanging off her shoulders, her hair a tangled mess, was clinging to Jacob's arm, her laughter echoing through the night. The other woman, clad only in a bikini, her body glistening with sweat, was holding onto Jacob's other arm, her eyes fixed on him with a lustful gaze. Jacob, his shirt torn, his pants unbuckled, was laughing, his eyes glazed over, his face flushed with alcohol.

Elion watched, his body frozen, his heart shattering into a million pieces. He had seen the videos, but they had been just that, videos. They had been impersonal, distant, a cold, detached glimpse into Jacob's betrayal. But this, this was real. This was visceral. This was his husband, the man he loved, the man he had trusted, betraying him in the most intimate, most humiliating way.

He felt a wave of anger wash over him, a burning rage that threatened to consume him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy everything that stood between him and his pain. But he was Elion, a man of grace and elegance, a man who had always been the embodiment of serenity.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, to calm down, to control the rage that was threatening to engulf him. He knew that he couldn't let his anger consume him. He had to find a way to move on, to find a way to heal.

He turned away from the window, his back to the scene unfolding below, his body trembling with a mixture of pain and despair. He walked back to the chaise lounge, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the empty bedroom. He curled up on the plush velvet, his face buried in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

Elion's breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to scream, to run, to escape the suffocating reality of Jacob's betrayal. But he remained frozen, his body paralyzed by a mixture of pain and disbelief.

The moans continued, each one a sharp, piercing blade that sliced through his heart. He could imagine the scene unfolding downstairs, the way Jacob's hands would be roaming over the women's bodies, the way their lips would be locked in a passionate embrace. He could imagine the way they would be laughing, the way they would be moaning, the way they would be lost in a world of pleasure that excluded him.

He could hear the clinking of glasses, the rhythmic thud of bodies moving against each other, the slurred words of a man he once loved. He could hear the laughter, the moans, the whispers of intimacy, all weaving together into a tapestry of betrayal that was impossible to ignore.

His body trembled, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He wanted to be anywhere but here, in this cold, empty bedroom, listening to the sounds of his husband's infidelity. He wanted to be back in the days when Jacob's touch was a source of comfort, when his laughter was music to his ears, when his love was a beacon of hope in a world of darkness.

But those days were gone, lost in the wreckage of Jacob's betrayal. He was left with the empty echo of a love that had died, replaced by a hollow ache that gnawed at his heart.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds, but they were too vivid, too real. He could imagine Jacob's face, flushed with excitement, his eyes glazed over with lust, his body moving with a passion he had never seen directed at him.

To be continue ....

WARNING: 16+

The morning light, filtering through the gauzy curtains, painted the room in a soft, ethereal glow. Jacob opened his eyes, the throbbing in his head a stark reminder of the night before. He tried to recall the events of the previous evening, but his memory was hazy, fragmented, a jumbled mess of blurred faces and fleeting sensations.

He sat up, his head pounding, his body aching. He looked around the room, his gaze falling on the two figures sprawled across the bed. One, a woman with long, dark hair and a body that seemed to shimmer in the morning light, was lying on her back, her legs spread wide, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. The other, a woman with blonde hair and a body that was covered in a sheen of sweat, was curled up on her side, her back to him, her arm flung over her head, her breasts exposed, her chest covered in a network of red bite marks.

Jacob stared at them, his mind reeling, his stomach churning. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, a bitter taste of guilt and shame filling his mouth. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He couldn't believe what he had done.

He looked down at himself, his gaze falling on his own body. He was half-naked, his shirt torn, his pants unbuckled. His penis was still inside the woman on the bed, her body still warm and yielding beneath him.

the next day....

Elion stood in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes cold, his expression a mask of icy fury. He looked at Jacob, his gaze sweeping over his torn clothes, his unbuckled pants, the two women sprawled across the bed, their bodies still warm and inviting.

"Was it fun?" Elion asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Was it fun fucking them?"

Jacob's throat constricted, his breath catching in his chest. He wanted to deny it, to explain, to make excuses. But the truth was staring him in the face, undeniable and unforgiving.

"It was just a mistake," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Elion's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing Jacob's soul. "A mistake?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think this is a mistake? You think you can just walk in here, covered in the scent of other sluts, and tell me it was a mistake?"

Jacob felt a surge of panic, a primal fear that threatened to consume him. He wanted to run, to hide, to escape the wrath of his husband. But he knew that he couldn't. He had to face the consequences of his actions.

"I'll kill them," he said, his voice desperate, his words tumbling out in a torrent of fear. "I'll kill these women if you want them gone. Just stop being jealous."

He reached down, his hand reaching for his pants, his fingers fumbling with the button. He pulled out his penis, his eyes pleading with Elion, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.

"Just say the word," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Just say the word and I'll make them disappear."

Elion stared at him, his face a mask of icy fury. He saw the fear in Jacob's eyes, the desperation in his voice, the way his body was trembling. He saw the way Jacob was begging for forgiveness, the way he was trying to make amends.

But Elion couldn't forgive him. He couldn't forget the pain, the betrayal, the humiliation. He couldn't forget the way Jacob had looked at those women, the way he had touched them, the way he had laughed with them.

He couldn't forget the way Jacob had betrayed him, the way he had shattered his trust, the way he had ripped his heart to shreds.

He closed his eyes, his body trembling with a mixture of anger and despair. He couldn't forgive him. He couldn't forget. He couldn't love him anymore.

He turned away, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. He left Jacob standing there, his penis still exposed, his eyes pleading, his body trembling. He left Jacob alone with his guilt, his shame, his fear.

He left Jacob alone with the consequences of his actions.

to be continue....