My Son’s Girlfriend Locked Me In the Basement

I’d just wrapped up a short trip with my daughter, Elara. On the way back, I figured I’d swing by the Hale, our family’s casino, to check in on my son, Cassian. Maybe grab dinner together.

I didn’t expect to be mistaken for his latest fling.

Correction: not mistaken—accused. Violently.

“You think you can just waltz in here like some queen?” she hissed. “I’m the woman Cassian loves! What kind of whore are you? And is this your bastard daughter with him?”

She locked us in the basement. No phone. No light. Just concrete walls and the stench of mildew and madness.

Then came the fists.