I Slept with My Boss and Ran Away

Justin thought about how his parents were being bullied back in his hometown, and it pained his heart. “Tristan, it’s not that I don’t want to stand up for Dad, but we can find another way,” Justin conceded. “I can stay with you guys for a few days at home.”

“What’s the use of staying for a few days? Once you leave, the villagers will still bully our family,” Tristan said emotionally. “You know what counts as clout back home? Owning a house. Many from the village have bought apartments in the town or built new homes, but look at us; we’re still living in a brick house. When it rains, we even have to use umbrellas inside.”

Decades ago, that brick house was considered quite something. The money for building it came from Mr. Thatcher selling off his children over the years. Mr. Thatcher was well-known as a wealthy man within miles. He used to claim his children died of illness, and no one knew he had sold them. But one or two deaths could be overlooked; five or six, however, sparked gossip and suspicion. Secrets have a way of leaking, and soon everyone knew Mr. Thatcher had sold his children for wealth. But in that place, the villagers only muttered a few words about Mr. Thatcher’s lack of morals, predicting he’d face retribution someday, yet nobody went to the police.

As time passed, the retribution Mr. Thatcher faced came indeed. After giving birth to Justin, Mrs. Thatcher’s health declined, and she could not have more children. The Thatcher family’s financial source dried up, and Mr. Thatcher, lazy and gluttonous, relied entirely on Mrs. Thatcher’s farming to get by. Tristan’s paralysis only added to the family’s burdens. Mr. Thatcher was also afraid of Justin coming home, fearing the idle talk, but they needed Justin’s money.

Silent, Tristan angrily said, “It seems you’ve read too many books and lost your sense of empathy. You earn well; why not just buy another apartment later? Buy a house for Dad, and let him have some dignity.”

“Tristan, we can discuss other matters, but selling the apartment is non-negotiable,” Justin replied, lighting a cigarette with a firm stance. “I won’t sell the apartment. If you guys want to buy a house or a villa back home, I can make money for that. Just give me time to save up for the down payment.”

“Ainsley, how can you be so selfish and cold-hearted? That apartment is worth over ten million dollars. You could buy a whole building if you sold it. Why make it so hard?” Tristan was almost frantic. “Take a million to buy us a villa, and with the rest, our family could live comfortably without working.”

“The apartment isn’t mine,” Justin reiterated, though he knew his words fell on deaf ears, and simply added, “I need to go to the office; there’s still work to do.”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

Justin had intended to rest at home, but Tristan’s words spoiled his mood, and he felt he had to escape. No sooner had Justin left than Mr. Thatcher and Mrs. Thatcher returned. Tristan told them, “Dad, Ainsley just came by. I tried to convince him, but he refuses to sell the apartment.”

“He’s made up his mind,” Mr. Thatcher fumed.

“Don’t worry, let’s try to persuade him again,” Mrs. Thatcher suggested, fearing the rift between father and son would deepen.

“I’ve tried,” Tristan huffed coldly. “Now he’s using work as an excuse to avoid us. He thinks we’re a burden.”

Mr. Thatcher, already unhappy and fueled by his son’s instigation, grew even angrier. “If he won’t sell, we’ll sell it for him. I’m his father; it’s my right to sell my son’s apartment.”

Mr. Thatcher thought selling the apartment would be simple-just take the property deed and go to a real estate agent. He immediately searched for the deed and set out to find an agent.

Meanwhile, Justin, increasingly busy with work, had no idea about these developments at home. While Justin faced continuous problems, Meredith, who had been enjoying a peaceful period, was about to encounter troubles of her own.