She Loved A Parasite For Years

Ten years after my father died, I ran into my mother, Diana Senn, while working the afternoon shift at a local boba tea shop.

Unlike me struggling to scrape together enough change for dinner Diana looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue.

She wore an elegant, tailored silk dress, her posture flawless as she navigated the nearby boardwalk with her new husband and son, looking every bit the billionaire philanthropist the magazines made her out to be.

She was looking at her pampered son, her voice dripping with maternal warmth as they approached the counter. "Too much sugar isn't good for you, sweetie.

Just one cup today." Even with my face mask on, she recognized me instantly. I saw the sudden, sharp shift in her eyes as they narrowed, her face instantly hardening.

Her voice dripped with quiet sarcasm. "Is your father dead?

Did he really make you work a service job to 'build character' after high school graduation instead of taking you on a trip?" I kept my head down, pretending her words didn't cut right through me.

I slid the cup across the counter. "Here's your drink. Have a nice day." Her son, Christian, noticed the sudden tension.

He looked me up and down, his eyes filled with a teenager's easy arrogance. "Mom, do you know this guy?" Diana’s jaw tightened.

She stared at me for a long, agonizing second before spitting out two words: "I don't." They walked away, leaving me standing behind the register.

As she turned, a faint, cloying scent drifted from her the sickeningly sweet smell of wild honey and copper. It was the distinct scent of the loveworm.

I let out a bitter, silent laugh. She was right about one thing, though. My father was dead. Everyone knew it.

Everyone except her. … "Man, she’s even more stunning in person," my coworker sighed, leaning on the counter with an envious stare. "Forty years old and she looks like that.

Rich, beautiful, devoted to her family. Must be nice to be her kid." I froze, the metal shaker heavy in my hand. Nice?

To be loved by a woman who threw you away like yesterday’s trash, who left you penniless, and who blocked your birth registration out of spite, turning you into a ghost in your own country?

My father had to work illegal, backbreaking construction jobs under the table just to buy groceries. When he died, I couldn't even afford a proper casket for him.

I had the grades to go to Stanford. Instead, I’d been forced to drop out because there wasn't a single cent for tuition.

While other kids my age were spending their postgraduation summer on European beaches, I was pulling double shifts, working myself to the bone just to survive.

I gave a faint, empty smile and kept shaking the tea. "Honestly, Wyatt," my coworker teased, nudging my shoulder, "you kind of look like her.

You sure you aren't some longlost relative of Diana Senn? If you could get on her good side, you wouldn't have to slave away in this heat." It was true.

Diana’s brand as the ultimate doting wife and mother was plastered across every billboard and social media feed. Even without a smartphone, I couldn't escape her face.

Somewhere in the foggy corners of my memory, I remembered what her love felt like. Warm. Safe. Until he showed up. Until Uncle Charles ruined everything. "Fifty more cups.

Made by him." A voice, both foreign and dreadfully familiar, broke through my thoughts. I looked up. Diana was standing there, her eyes icecold as she stared at me.

My coworker stammered, "Ma'am, he can't do fifty alone... we usually split the large orders " As the CEO of the Senn Group, Diana wasn't used to being questioned.

She possessed the kind of quiet, terrifying authority that could silence a room with a single glance. My coworker withered under her gaze and stepped back.

I was used to being bullied, used to keeping my head down. But as I silently grabbed a fresh cup, she was the one who couldn't bear the quiet.

She frowned, her manicured fingers tapping the sticky counter. "Are you mute?

I told you to make the drinks." I didn't look at her. "It's my job." She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, looking around the cramped, sweltering shop.

The cheap ceiling fan hummed loudly, doing nothing but pushing the hot, humid air around. "You call this pathetic little place a job?

Is this how your father raised you?" At the mention of my father, the father who had been buried in an unmarked grave for ten years, the mask of indifference I’d worn all day finally cracked. "I don't have a father," I said, my voice dead.

Diana blinked, caught off guard. Then, a look of profound disgust washed over her face. "A liar raises a liar, I see.

You won't even acknowledge the man who raised you." I opened my mouth to tell her the truth that he was dead but shut it the moment Christian swaggered back into the shop. "Mom, what are you doing back here?" He looked at my stained apron and cheap sneakers, his brow furrowing with jealousy. "Are you looking for him?

You lied to me. You do know him." Diana's face softened instantly.

It wasn't fear, but a desperate, coddling need to keep him happy, to make sure her golden boy never felt threatened. She gently smoothed his hair. "Of course not, sweetie.

I just wanted to buy some drinks for the security staff." "Oh. Good." He glared at me, his eyes carrying the same possessive, controlling streak as his father, Charles.

Diana whispered something in Christian's ear. He smirked, gave me a final, mocking look, and walked out. The shop went quiet again.

Diana stared at me for a long time, as if waiting for me to beg.

When I didn't, she spoke with a cold, magnanimous pity. "Go home and tell your father this: the moment he admits he was the one who put that bloodbinding loveworm in me all those years ago, I'll forgive him." She paused, her voice tightening. "Once he begs for my forgiveness, I will personally compensate both of you for everything you've suffered over the last decade." Looking at her stubborn, arrogant eyes, a wave of bitter grief crashed over me.

I clenched my fists, fighting back the tears stinging my eyes. "You want him to apologize?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "He's been dead for ten years." Behind me, my coworker gasped, dropping a freshly sealed cup of boba.

It burst on the floor, splattering black pearls across our shoes. Diana’s immediate reaction wasn't shock. It was disbelief.

She let out a mocking, cynical laugh. "Still playing these pathetic games! When your father cursed me, he denied it to the very end. He was always so clever, so full of tricks.

You expect me to believe he just died?" Her impatience flared, her brow furrowing deep. "I am a woman of my word. If he apologizes, I will let the past go.

Even if he hadn't cursed me back then, I still would have married him. But his greed got the better of him.

He touched my boundaries..." She stopped herself, shaking her head as she looked at me. "I'll give him three days.

Tell him he has three days to come to me." Three days. "Three days from now is the anniversary of his death," I said, my voice flat, devoid of hope. "If you want his apology so badly, you can come with me to his grave." "Don't test me!" Diana snapped, her voice rising, unable to bear the word 'death' associated with him.

She took a deep breath, smoothing her designer dress. "Do not push my patience, Wyatt." I watched her walk out, my heart completely numb.

But I hadn't expected her family to strike so soon. The very next afternoon, Christian showed up at the boba shop.

He brought four burly bodyguards with him, effectively blocking the entrance. "Ten thousand cups," Christian demanded, pointing a finger at my chest. "By tomorrow morning." Like mother, like son.

Their cruelty lacked any real imagination. "I'm sorry," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Even if you chopped me into a hundred pieces, it is physically impossible to make ten thousand cups in twentyfour hours." The wealthy heir looked like he’d never heard the word 'no' in his entire life.

His face twisted with rage. "Fine. Refuse me, and I'll have my guys trash this place.

Let's see how a broke loser like you pays for the damages." "On what grounds?" I yelled, my anger finally boiling over. "You can't just destroy a business and blame me!" "I have money, power, and lawyers," Christian sneered, leaning in close. "Who do you think the police will believe?" I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

Slowly, I lowered my head. My father's memorial was in two days. I needed every cent of my paycheck to buy him flowers and a small offering.

I was already drowning; I couldn't afford a lawsuit. My aunt was coming from the mountains, and I didn't want her to see me ruined.

But I had severely underestimated how malicious Christian could be.

By the time my hands were cramping and raw from making a hundred cups, he decided he was bored. "Not fast enough," he barked. He signaled his bodyguards.

Before I could react, two large men grabbed my arms, pinning me to the floor. "Since you made them, you should drink them," Christian smiled, grabbing a cup off the counter.

Drinking a hundred cups of sugary liquid would rupture my stomach. I thrashed, trying to scream, but Christian grabbed the back of my neck, slamming my face near the floor.

He leaned down, whispering in my ear so the terrified customers outside couldn't hear. "Angry? Feel helpless?

Do you want to curse me too, just like your pathetic father did to my mom?

I honestly don't know how shameless parasites like you and your dad had the guts to try and steal my mother's wealth. You think you can do dirty tricks and get a payout?

Keep dreaming." He stood up, his face cold and indifferent. "Pour it down his throat." In broad daylight, they forced cup after cup of milk tea down my throat.

My stomach bloated to the point of agony, my chest tightening until I couldn't breathe.

By the time they finished, I collapsed onto the floor, my eyes rolling back as white foam seeped from my lips.

When I finally woke up in the hospital, the first thing I saw was a face that looked eighty percent like my father’s. For a split second, my mind slipped. "Dad...?" I whispered.

The man's eyes flashed with a brief, sharp flicker of disgust before quickly smoothing into a warm, gentle smile. "Wyatt, you're awake," he said. It was Charles.

He paused, looking around the sterile room. "You've been asleep for a whole day. Why hasn't your father come to see you?" Uncle Charles. As memory rushed back, my skin crawled.

It was him. Ten years ago, he was the one who had cast the loveworm on Diana, trying to force her to love him.

When she discovered the curse, he had masterfully pinned the entire thing on my father, throwing us from luxury into a living hell.

Remembering that I had almost called him 'Dad,' a wave of nausea hit me. "Get out," I rasped, my throat raw. "You don't deserve to be here.

Get the hell out!" Charles’s face fell, a look of deep hurt masking his eyes. "How can you say that to me, Wyatt? We're family.

We share the same blood." In the span of a second, his expression turned dark. I knew what was coming. The hospital door swung open. Diana walked in.

Seeing Charles's pained expression, her eyes turned into absolute daggers, directed entirely at me. "What did you do to Charles?" she demanded.

Looking at her immediate, unquestioning defense of him, a suffocating weight settled on my chest. Was this how helpless my father felt back then?

One frown from Charles was all it took to condemn us without a trial. I wanted to scream at her, to ask if she remembered how much she used to love my father.

But I knew the words would only bounce off her armor of hatred. "I hoped ten years of poverty would teach you and your father some humility," Diana said, looking at Charles with deep tenderness before turning back to me, her voice dripping with venom. "But you're still as wicked as ever.

Where is your father? Is this how he raised you?" "Diana, don't be angry," Charles said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He's just a child. He didn't mean it.

Don't ruin your health over this." My stomach churned, and I began to dry heave over the side of the bed. Charles's expression hardened slightly.

Diana's jaw clenched. "What is wrong with you? Apologize to your Uncle Charles right now!" Apologize to the man who ruined my life? "Never," I said, staring straight into her eyes.

Diana raised her hand, her face flushed with fury. "Why, you " "Hey, it's okay," Charles intervened, catching her wrist and offering me a sweet, patronizing smile.

He brought over a bowl of broth from the bedside table. "Just drink this broth as an apology, Wyatt. Don't force him, Diana.

He's innocent in all of this." The hypocrisy made me physically ill.

I grabbed the bowl and choked down the hot liquid in seconds, wanting nothing more than for them to leave me alone.

I didn't notice the faint, victorious smirk on Charles's lips as I handed the empty bowl back. An hour after they left, my body began to feel incredibly strange.

My limbs felt heavy, yet entirely disconnected from my mind. When I tried to get out of bed to use the restroom, my legs moved on their own, tripping me onto the cold floor.

And then, the horror set in.

I watched, completely powerless, as my body stood up, walked out of the room, and began stripping off my hospital gown in the middle of the crowded hallway. The submissionworm.

My father had warned me about this. It was a highlevel, dark binding spell that took away all physical autonomy. Even my father had never mastered it.

I was naked in the bustling hospital lobby. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me.

I could feel the burning weight of their stares, the whispers, the laughter. "Look at this freak!" someone laughed. "Is he off his meds?" another whispered.

People pulled out their phones, recording me. When they realized I wasn't fighting back, they stepped closer, thrusting their cameras directly into my face.

Because of the submissionworm, I couldn't even close my eyes or open my mouth to scream. The humiliation washed over me like a freezing tide.

Dad, please help me, I cried out in the silence of my mind. But no one came. Instead, through the crowd of flashing screens, I saw them. Diana. Charles. Christian.

Diana's face was twisted in disgust. Charles looked utterly smug. Christian was grinning, enjoying the show.

I tried to force my vocal cords to explain, to tell everyone I was cursed, but the parasite in my throat twisted my words. "I...

I am garbage," my mouth rasped out. "What did he say?" a spectator laughed, leaning closer with his phone. "I am garbage!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the lobby. "I am the son of a filthy thief!

I am a mistake!" The flashes multiplied. The laughter grew louder, pounding against my skull like iron hammers. I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

By the time the doctors finally tackled me, pinning me down and wrapping me in a tight restraint blanket, the three of them were gone. They strapped me to a psychiatric bed.

Even then, my limbs thrashed, trying to tear off the sheets the nurses had placed over me. I lay there, tears of absolute despair leaking into my hair.

Five hours later, the curse finally faded, leaving my muscles sore and my spirit entirely broken. By then, the video of my breakdown was the top trending story in the state.

That evening, Diana walked into my room alone. "Well, you're famous now," she said, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm. "The Senn family can never associate with someone who has humiliated themselves like this.

The threeday deadline is almost up, Wyatt, and your father still hasn't shown his face." She tapped her polished nails on the bedside table. "My patience is wearing thin.

Tomorrow is the last day. If he doesn't come to apologize, don't blame me for what happens next." A sudden, fierce spark of anger flared in my chest.

Why did my father have to bear the blame for a crime he didn't commit, while the real monster lived in luxury, bathed in her love? Tomorrow was the day Aunt Lorelei was arriving.

As Diana turned to leave, I called out to her. "Fine. Tomorrow, I'll take you to see him.

But you have to come to a place of my choosing first." Diana hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Deal." It was time she learned the truth.

The loveworm inside her had grown too large to ignore anyway. The next morning, the anniversary of my father's death, we set out.

To my disgust, Charles and Christian insisted on joining us, claiming they "missed Thomas" and wanted to pay their respects. I kept my mouth shut, letting them play their roles.

When a member of our mountain community left the Hollow to live in the city, they were considered dead to the clan, never allowed to return.

Years ago, Diana had wandered into our woods by mistake, and my father had fallen in love with her.

He gave up everything his family, his heritage to build a life with her in the city.

He lived in a cramped, moldy apartment, ate cheap instant ramen, and took care of her every need while she built her empire.

And all the while, Charles had traveled back and forth between the Hollow and the city, pretending he was trying to help my father find a way back home.

He was my father's younger brother; we trusted him blindly. Aunt Lorelei, who wasn't allowed to leave the mountains, had begged Charles to bring my father home.

Instead, Charles lied to everyone. For wealth and for Diana, he had driven my father to his grave. But a few days ago, I had managed to get a message to Aunt Lorelei.

When it came to folk magic, Aunt Lorelei was far more powerful than Charles could ever hope to be. Once she arrived, Diana would finally see the truth.

As the sleek black SUV wound deep into the isolated mountain roads, Charles began to fidget. "Wyatt, where exactly are you taking us?" his voice trembled slightly, his eyes dangled to the dense pine trees outside.

To hell, Uncle Charles. "To see Dad," I said coldly, closing my eyes to end the conversation. Diana patted Charles's hand comfortingly. "Don't worry, honey.

I'm right here." A bitter smile touched my lips. If only you knew, Diana. Your 'heroic' protection is the very thing that killed the man who actually loved you.

When the car stopped, we were surrounded by towering trees and wild briars. Diana stepped out, her designer heels sinking into the damp earth.

She frowned. "Your father lives here?" I nodded. My father had spent his final years longing for these mountains.

Since he couldn't return to the Hollow, I had buried him as close to the boundary as possible.

I carried a bundle of carnations his favorite and walked toward a small, grassy mound in a clearing.

The cheap wooden headstone was weathered, but his carved face was still recognizable. Diana’s face darkened instantly.

She marched over and kicked the carnations out of my hand, scattering the pink petals into the dirt. "Enough of this theater!" she hissed. "Where is he!" I pointed to the grave. "Right there." Diana lost all control.

She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "I have given you so many chances.

If you insist on lying to me, then don't expect me to show any mercy!" Charles quickly stepped in, playing the peacemaker. "Wyatt, please, stop lying to your mother.

Look how upset she is..." Christian spat on the grave, his eyes filled with juvenile malice. "Good riddance. He was just a filthy leech anyway." My heart stopped.

The blood drained from my face. "I'm not lying!" I screamed. "My father is buried here!

Why won't you believe me?!" Diana’s face twisted into something monstrous, her voice cold as winter frost. "You really won't admit it, will you? You're just like him.

A parasite who lives on lies." She pulled out her phone and made a call. "Send the men up with shovels. I want this grave dug up.

Let's see if the bastard is actually inside." I shook violently, the horror suffocating me. She had lost her mind. My father was dead, and she still wouldn't let him rest.

With a raw scream of fury, I threw myself at her. "Diana! How could you do this to him?! Do you remember how much you loved him?

Do you have any idea how he suffered?!" Before I could reach her, a heavy boot slammed into my chest.

The force knocked the wind out of me, and I fell backward into the dirt, coughing.

Christian retracted his foot, pretending to look apologetic as he covered his mouth. "Oh, sorry about that. You were getting too aggressive.

I didn't want you hurting my mom." Seeing me on the ground, Diana's hand twitched, a momentary flicker of instinct crossing her face.

But before she could move, her hired men arrived. Ignoring my screams and tears, they drove their shovels into the earth. Within minutes, they unearthed a small, square wooden box.

Diana’s face paled slightly. Charles quickly whispered in her ear, "They probably prepared a fake urn just to fool you.

I bet it's empty." Diana stared at the box for a moment, her voice turning flat. "Bring it up.

Open it." "No!" I shrieked, scrambling forward on my hands and knees. "Don't touch him!

Don't you dare touch him!" I threw my body over the wooden box, locking my arms around it. "Beat him," Diana commanded, her voice devoid of any human warmth. "I want to see how long he can keep up this lie." I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself as the heavy blows began to rain down on my back. "Stop this at once!" A commanding voice echoed through the clearing.