Married To My Ex-Husband’s Rival by Jobet GraySon

Chapter Seventy Four (Kayden’s Backstory)

Kayden’s POV.

Twenty–two years ago…

I stood still as my father kept hitting me over and over again. I knew he wasn’t going to be satisfied until I shed a tear and showed him that I was in pain, but since that wasn’t going to happen, I prepared to continue getting hit until he would eventually get tired and leave me alone.

“You should never forget whose son you are, you bastard!” he yelled angrily before punching me in the face. Since I didn’t expect the impact of the punch, I staggered backward, and when he realized that I was no longer steady, he did what he did best. He kicked me on my knee, causing me to fall flat,

and that was when it started. Again.

The drunken kicking was a habit my father had whenever he was drunk, upset, or unsatisfied about

something. This time, I was unfortunately the scapegoat of his rage, because he had gotten a call

earlier from one of my teachers who had reported me for failing class.

He started to kick me everywhere he could, and I simply lay there, knowing that there was nothing I

could do to stop him. I closed my eyes at a point, trying not to see his feet come into contact with

my skull, but I could still feel it.

I continued to lie still as my father’s boots collided with my body over and over again. The pain seared through me, leaving me helpless and broken. Each blow felt like a physical manifestation of my father’s disappointment and anger. I tried to shield myself to protect my body, but it was futile. His rage was relentless.

and contempt, echoing in the air. “You’re useless, Kayden! I won’t tolerate your incompetence! You’re a disappointment!” His words cut deep, embedding themselves in my consciousness and fueling

me further into a realm of despair and hopelessness. Each strike struck at my core, shattering whatever remnants of dignity or self–worth I

entire life–a life dominated by fear, pain, and inexplicable

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(Kayden’s Backstory)

5 Stars

abuse had become my nom, whispering lies that convinced me I was inherently flawed and deserving of the

“You deserve this. You’re worthless.” It was a

believe in with every fiber of my

that I was

done, and I was finally

my father’s footsteps faded away, a heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the painful moans escaping my lips. I struggled to catch my breath, my body aching as if every inch of my skin had been set ablaze. The familiar taste of blood lingered in

had

body like an electric shock, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to let it consume me. Bruises adorned me like a macabre badge of

and

cracked mirror hanging on the wall, I winced at the sight of my battered face. My swollen eyes were starting to turn purple, and the cuts across my cheek were beginning to scab over. It was a sight that pained me not only physically but also emotionally–a constant reminder of

life really was.

I was to prepare for a guest’s arrival the next morning, and he expected me to hide the evidence of his brutality. I couldn’t afford

1. me.

he hit me to the point where my bruises would take days, sometimes weeks, to heal. And I couldn’t