Chapter 104: I’m The Monster You Created
The front door closed with a muffled thud behind them.
The Jenkins estate, despite the grandness of its columns and chandeliers, felt too quiet.
The kind of silence that buzzed faintly in the ears—the kind that made every step echo louder than it should.
Rachel stepped out of her heels in the entryway without thinking, the soft rugs brushing her bare feet as she stood in the dim foyer.
Her eyes swept the familiar interior—marble floors, tall windows draped in velvet, the faint tick of the antique clock in the hallway.
Everything looked the same.
But nothing felt the same.
Logan hovered behind her, slipping his car keys back into his pocket. He didn’t speak.
He just looked around—curious, but reserved. A man in another man’s kingdom, careful not to overstep.
Cassandra walked past them quietly, her heels clicking against the tile, straight for the living room.
Her coat slid off her shoulders as she moved, and she let it fall on the edge of the couch without care. She rubbed at her temples.
Lewis was the last to enter.
The driver had helped him from the car, but Lewis had insisted on walking the final steps himself.
Now, he stood just inside the doorway, gripping the edge of a carved console table for balance.
The scent of leather polish and the distant trace of old wood smoke clung faintly to the air—home, and yet somehow foreign now.
Rachel turned quickly, stepping forward. "Daddy, sit down before you collapse again."
"I didn’t collapse," Lewis muttered with irritation because he don’t want to remember what happened in the meeting room, but let her guide him anyway.
They helped him to the leather armchair he’d always favored, the one beside the marble fireplace in the sitting room.
Cassandra came over and placed a folded blanket over his legs without a word. He didn’t thank her, but she didn’t expect him to.
The fire was unlit, but sunlight pushed through the tall windows, casting warm, pale gold patterns across the floor.
Dust floated silently in the air, catching in the light.
No one spoke for a moment.
Rachel’s fingers twisted nervously in the hem of her blouse as she stood across from her parents.
The grandfather clock ticked.
Somewhere in the distance, a servant closed a cabinet, the faint click echoing like a gunshot in the stillness.
Finally, Lewis broke the silence. His voice was quiet but carried weight.
"Everyone’s walking away," he said. "One by one."
His gaze moved to Cassandra, then to Rachel, then—perhaps surprisingly—to Logan, who had remained near the entrance, hands in his pockets.
"You—Logan?" Lewis said slowly, as if tasting the name.
Logan blinked, then stepped forward a little. "Yes, sir."
"You with my daughter now?" Lewis asked trying to know whether this guy of the Steve is on their daughter’s side.
Rachel stiffened. "Daddy..."
But Logan nodded calmly. "I am."
Lewis studied him, as if measuring every inch of the man.
"You don’t look like the type to be easily impressed."
"I’m not," Logan replied evenly.
Lewis gave the barest nod, something like approval flickering in his pale features.
"Good. I’d rather her be around someone like that than someone who follows her around like a shadow."
Rachel shot a glance at her father, not sure if it was a compliment or an insult. But she let it pass.
Cassandra sat on the opposite couch, resting her elbow on the armrest, her fingers against her lips. Her eyes were trained on Lewis.
"You need to start thinking about next steps," she said softly. "Before more people jump ship."
Lewis let his head fall back against the chair. "There’s nothing left to salvage, Cassandra."
"There is always something to salvage," she countered. "But not if you sit in that chair and mourn the empire instead of fighting for what’s left of it."
Her voice wasn’t cold—it was steel wrapped in velvet. The voice of a woman who’d watched a kingdom rise, and now refused to watch it fall without a word.
Rachel folded her arms. "We can’t do this tonight. Not now. He just got home. We’re all exhausted."
"We don’t have time to rest," Cassandra snapped, standing. "You think the world waits for us to catch our breath? People are making calls right now—circulating rumors, placing doubts in boardrooms, calculating their chances."
She paused, her voice lowering as she looked at Lewis again.
"You need to be ahead of them, Lewis. Not three moves behind."
Lewis’s jaw worked for a moment. He looked down at the veins in his hand, at the IV tape marks still faintly bruised on his skin.
He’d built everything.
The Jenkins name.
The network.
The power.
And now, it was all trembling on the edge of collapse like a badly built tower.
"I’m tired, Cassie," he said, and his voice wasn’t weak—it was honest.
Cassandra blinked at that. Just once. Then she turned and left the room.
The air felt colder after she exited.
Rachel moved to her father’s side again, kneeling beside him.
"You’ll rebuild," she said quietly. "You always do."
He didn’t respond. His hand simply moved to rest gently atop hers.
For the first time in years, it felt like a truce. Not trust—no, not yet. But something that wasn’t war either.
Behind them, Logan quietly picked up the forgotten purse and Rachel’s abandoned phone from the hallway bench, placing them carefully on the table nearby.
Then he returned to the doorway and stood there, watching the family crumble and rebuild in silence.
"You’ll rebuild it, Papa," Rachel murmured, her voice syrup-sweet, eyes gleaming with strategic confidence. "You always do."
Lewis gave a tired, appreciative smile, resting his hand over hers.
"I will. For you," he said. "For the family. We’ll silence the gossip. The video will disappear in time—just a ripple."
They looked strong. Like royalty plotting a comeback in their castle.
But in the corner of the room, in the soft shadows near the French doors that led to the garden, Logan stood quietly, a wine glass untouched in his hand.
You’ll rebuild it, she’d said.
Logan’s lips curled ever so slightly, but not in amusement. In mockery.
’ You always do? No, Rachel. Not this time. This time, I’ll make sure you lose everything you think you’re entitled to.’ Logan said in his head.
He turned slightly, just enough so the light didn’t catch the simmering anger in his eyes.
To them, he is just Rachel’s boyfriend who is someone who helps them and think they can use.
But in Logan’s mind, the night was thundering. The rage was absolute.
’ You sit there, touching glasses, thinking you’re the heirs of an empire you never built. Rachel, Lewis... You think this company is yours? You think your name shields you from the rot underneath?’ He said and continue
’ No. The Jenkins company is mine. It was stolen—like my life. Like my parents’ lives.
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding behind a closed smile as he watched Lewis pat Rachel’s hand fondly. It made Logan sick.
That man—that murderer—was sitting there like a proud patriarch. A man who had once paid strangers to put a bullet through Logan’s father’s skull.
A man who burned down the truth and handed the ashes to his daughter, calling it legacy.
Logan could still remember the smell of smoke, even after all these years.
He could still feel the chill of the rain the night he was orphaned, still hear his mother’s scream as they tried to escape, still remember the silence that followed her last breath.
’ And now you toast to your strength? You toast to rebuilding what was never yours to begin with?’
’ You won’t rise, Rachel. Not while I’m breathing.’
Rachel shifted in her seat, eyes glowing as she leaned into Lewis. "Once Roman is out of the way... it’ll be easy. Julie’s reputation is already fragile. Just a little more pressure."
Lewis chuckled. "Yes. Roman Thompson is a thread that needs trimming. But he’s reckless. He’ll expose himself in time. And that girl... Julie... she’s soft. We just need to push harder."
Logan’s grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles turned white.
’ Push her harder? So you can break her?’
’ You never change. You destroy to protect your illusions.’
But the worst part—their greatest miscalculation—was that they thought he was on their side.
They had no idea.
’ You let me in, Rachel. You fed me lies, and thought I’d forget the truth just to orbit your petty schemes. But I remember everything even though I deeply love you,’
’ You accused me of something I never did. You crushed my dignity and turned the world against me with a single word. And now, you invite me into your home like a pet—expecting loyalty?
’ I am the monster you created.’
"Logan," Rachel called sweetly, snapping him out of his reverie. "Would you like more wine?"
He turned to her with a gentle smile that masked everything.
"No, thank you. I’m fine."
She nodded, already forgetting him again as she turned back to Lewis her father.
Like always, she assumed he was too simple to understand the bigger game.
But Logan had played this game long before she’d learned how to lie with a smile.
He walked toward the hallway, excusing himself. Once alone, he reached into his jacket pocket and unlocked his phone.
A silent video file waited in his drafts.
Unreleased. Untouched. Waiting.
It was footage from a decade ago—smuggled out from a dying investigator’s archive.
It showed a transfer of funds. A meeting. Names. Faces.
Audio of Lewis Jenkins giving a final nod of approval for the hit on Logan’s parents.
It had taken Logan years to find it.
Soon, the world would see it.
’ They’ll know what kind of man Lewis Jenkins truly is. And when that truth surfaces, every investor, every loyal board member, every family friend... will burn their allegiance and flee.’
’ And Rachel? You’ll realize too late that the company you wanted to inherit is a rotting throne. One that will bury you.’
’ The press will eat it up. The public will turn. You’ll be the daughter of a murderer. The heiress of a stolen kingdom.’ Logan said in his head.
Logan’s fingers trembled as he locked his phone again. Not with fear—but with anticipation.
’ This is justice. This is reclamation. I will never let you rebuild. I will be the flame at your foundation. And when it all comes down... the Jenkins name will mean nothing but disgrace.’
He smiled to himself in the hallway mirror—calm, polished, unreadable.
Then he walked back into the room.
"Sorry," he said with effortless charm. "I got a call."
Rachel waved her hand dismissively. "No worries. We were just talking about the company’s recovery plan."
Logan sat back down. "Sounds like a solid idea," he said warmly.
But in his mind, he was already pressing play..