In a private room at Kings Hospital, the steady hum of machines filled the air, sharp and unrelenting. A woman lay weakly on the narrow bed, her chest rising unevenly as she struggled to breathe despite the tubes and wires attached to her fragile body. The scent of antiseptic clung heavily to the room.
Her frail hand was clasped tightly around her young son's small fingers, as though letting go—even for a second—might make her disappear.
"Grandfather says Father will come," the child said softly.
His voice was careful, hopeful in a way only children could be. He knew how long his mother had been waiting—hoping—for his father to visit ever since she fell ill. Every footstep in the hallway had made her lift her head. Every door opening had stirred that fragile hope.
Katherine tightened her grip on her son's hand and gently ruffled his hair, forcing a smile onto her pale, sunken face.
"I'll wait then," she whispered.
Her voice trembled, but she meant it.
"Tell me," she added after a moment, "how was school today?"
"Fine, Mama," Kelvin replied.
He didn't tell her the truth—that he had spent most of the day hidden beneath the large tree behind the school building, knees drawn to his chest, avoiding the other children. He only returned when the bell rang, when the school day was already over. He didn't want her to worry.
After five years of marriage, how could Katherine not know her husband?
Still, deep down, a small part of her hoped David would appear—at least once—before she drew her final breath. Just once, so she could believe her life hadn't been a complete mistake.
Her marriage to David had always been rocky. Born into influential families, their union had been arranged by their parents. Katherine had agreed willingly—she had already been in love with him. Even after discovering that David loved another woman, someone he had met during his college years but could not marry because of their difference in social status, she stayed. She endured. She believed.
She believed that one day, he might return her feelings.
That hope shattered the day she learned he had fathered a child with that same woman.
At the exact time she herself had just given birth.
That was when the pretence ended.
David stopped coming home. They met only at formal events, standing side by side like strangers bound by a title neither truly wanted. During that period, Katherine sank into a deep, consuming depression. Soon after, she was diagnosed with cancer.
"Kelvin," she called softly.
Her son lifted his head, wide innocent eyes locking onto her face.
"Promise me you'll be a good boy… even when I'm gone."
Little Kelvin climbed onto the bed, careful not to disturb the wires, and wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could.
"I'm already a good boy," he said earnestly. "So you have to get better, Mother. When you do, we'll travel around the world together."
She chuckled weakly, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
"Kelvin," she whispered, brushing her thumb across his cheek, "don't be angry at your father, okay?"
She knew her son well. He had always been sharper than most children his age—sharp enough to notice the things adults tried to hide. Sharp enough to see that his father did not love them.
Kelvin nodded obediently.
That night, his mother died.
And something dark took root.
That same night, Kelvin stood alone in the long, empty hospital corridor after his mother's body had been taken away. The floor was cold beneath his feet. The lights above flickered faintly.
Only his nanny stood beside him.
Then his father arrived.
David walked toward him with another little boy at his side—one about Kelvin's age. The child's clothes were neat, his hand firmly held, his presence undeniable.
Kelvin watched his father with a cold, indifferent stare as David approached.
"Kelvin, don't worry," David said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure your mother is resting now."
Though he had never loved Katherine, he had respected her. And deep down, he believed this was simply how things were meant to end.
Kelvin lifted his eyes slowly.
"She waited for you," he said.
His voice was flat. Detached. Not a single tear fell.
David froze.
For the first time that night, he was speechless.
Straightening, he reached for the other boy's hand. The child stared at Kelvin with wide, curious eyes—unaware, untouched by loss.
"Take care of him," David instructed the nanny before turning away.
Kelvin watched his father's back disappear down the corridor.
Something inside him cracked.
Then it broke completely.
That night, a vow was carved into the heart of a child.
He would destroy everything his father held dear—until David became just like him.
If only David had known…
The devil he created would one day come hunting.