Chapter 142: Hellen’s Backstory (Part 2)
The day of her father’s funeral crushed Hellen like a vice—heart shredded raw, throat tight lump that she couldn’t swallow, not ready to let go of the man who’d forged her alpha steel from day one, but death’s cold hand dragged him under anyway.
Her mother couldn’t even drag herself there—curled foetal tight at home under quilts, voice breaking thin on the phone earlier. "I’m a coward, my girl... can’t face his still body on that slab, can’t breathe the dirt scent. Forgive me."
Mourners swathed black head to toe under weeping gray skies, relatives circling vulture-keen in pressed suits and veils, picking at the will whispers like carrion, when a convoy of sleek black SUVs purred up gravel-crunch sharp—doors swinging wide as a man emerged in a bespoke Italian suit, silk tie blood-red gleaming, a watch flashing diamonds arrogant like he owned the entire damn cemetery.
Her relatives—blood-sucking hyenas every one—straightened spine-snaps instant, dipping heads respectful with oily fake smiles, murmuring something among themselves.
"Who the fuck is that smug prick?" Hellen hissed low venom to her friend huddled nearby, fists balling hammer-tight in her black sheath dress, alpha fire already simmering volcanic under flushed skin.
"Shh—Viktor Leonhart, tech titan, fashion mogul. Don’t stare rude; he’s connected everywhere," her friend whispered frantic, tugging her sleeve.
Hellen’s emerald eyes blew wide with instant fury—low guttural growl ripping from her chest as the bastard strode bold through the crowd straight to her father’s glossy open coffin, tossing a bouquet of pristine white lilies atop the silk-lined wood with pious hand-flourish, lips mouthing silent prayer fake as plastic.
Paparazzi erupted out of nowhere like roaches to light, flashes popping hungry frenzy for tomorrow’s rags.
Her blood boiled straight to acid—he did this murder, she knew it visceral bone-deep, scent of his cologne crawling wrong.
"Filthy liar—acting saint over Dad’s corpse," she muttered teeth-clenched, nails digging palms bloody crescents.
For two grinding hours she shadowed him ghost-silent through the swelling crowd—dodging aunts’ hugs, slipping past flower wreaths heavy-scented, eyes locked laser on his back.
Until she cornered him solo in a shadowed garden alcove tucked behind the cemetery chapel, thorny roses choking air thick cloying, stone walls muffling the distant hymns.
"Did you kill my father, you bastard?!" Hellen snarled feral up close, slamming her palm hard into his chest to stagger him back against ivy wall, her alpha scent exploding rage thick as smoke.
Viktor turned languid slow, bored smirk twisting his thin patrician lips, cold eyes raking her frame top-to-bottom dismissive like trash. "Huh—never knew that man sired an alpha whelp. Fresh meat, pup? Cute fangs."
"Did you kill him? Answer me straight—now!" She fisted his lapels crisp, yanking him nose-to-nose, breath hot fury.
He chuckled low silk-smooth, prying her claws off lazy with manicured fingers. "Easy, pup—you’re just a kid whose cock hasn’t twitched stiff yet. Go chase tails, hump pillows—play stupid kid games away from grown talk."
"Did. You. Kill. Him. Or. Not?!" Hellen’s glare scorched murder-red, teeth bared wolf-sharp, free hand claws itching neck-slash.
"What if I did, little princess? Gonna wail to mommy? Throw tantrum?" His sneer dug deeper cruel, stepping into her space dominant. "Everyone’s got a price tag swinging—yours looks dirt-cheap, bargain-bin."
"I’ll kill you slow—rip your throat out, make you choke on your lies!" She lunged full feral, claws raking air for his face.
Viktor sidestepped fluid predator, snatching her wrist in vice-crush—yanking her against the wall. "Can you even land a hit? Dumb pup—you blundered right into my trap. I cornered you slick—not your amateur stalk."
Hellen thrashed wild bucking but she was trapped by him. "If you got strength, girl, you can do anything—just tap that alpha fire and take what’s yours. You know me, right? Do whatever you think you can."
"Fuck you straight to hell!" she spat rabid, knee slamming up vicious into his groin—thud mashing balls hard.
He grunted sharp but held, glaring disgust pure venom as he shoved her sprawling hard to sharp gravel, knees scraping raw. "Tch—yapping runt pup who dry-humps sex dolls lonely at night, dreaming big. Pathetic."
Staggering up dirt-streaked, bloodied lip split, Hellen growled from gravel. "I promise I’ll kill you one day brutal—make you beg on knees for the end I will grant you."
He straightened his crumpled suit smooth unhurried, laughing cold echoing off stones as he backed to path. "Big empty talk from a flea. I own this city—find even a shred more courage than your dead daddy? Do something real worth spit. Or you’ll die just like him, coward bitch—tortured slow, broken whimpering before the knife kissed final."
He melted into waiting cars sleek, taillights fading red as Hellen lay crumpled on biting stones, rage exploding supernova inside—that day birthed her vow—his death brutal, drawn screams echoing weeks.
Time dragged years relentless after—the fire banked but never dimmed, coals glowing eternal ready to inferno.
Her mother’s health eroded quiet cruel, cancer gnawing lungs vicious post-biopsy confirmed, chemo IVs dripping endless beep-hospital nights.
Hellen powered through her master’s in computer science engineering—but Viktor’s tech conglomerate loomed fortress-unbreakable, firewalls layered titanium-thick.
So, she pivoted knife-edge to his fashion empire—vulnerable underbelly, still behemoth-scale but crackable with right hacks.
Banks stonewalled hard though, her relatives hissing poison into every loan officer’s ear, blackballing her ruthless.
That suffocating night at home, Hellen’s mother lay frail and propped high in her creaky old bed—thin oxygen tubes snaking tight into her nostrils with a steady, rhythmic hiss, fresh chemo ports scarred deep and ugly across her bony arms like permanent marks of war, a simple soup bowl trembling shaky on her lap as faint steam curled up slow.
She looked up deliberate, her faded eyes cutting piercing sharp past the thick veils of constant pain clouding them. "Hellen, girl—what’s gnawing so deep at your soul tonight? Tell me the truth, no hiding."
Hellen paced tight, angry circles beside the bed, her voice low and boiling. "Our own blood relatives—those greedy vultures—colluded straight with Viktor. Sold off Dad’s secret documents for pocket scraps, betrayed us cold. I hate him, Mom—to the marrow deep, every single atom inside me screaming loud for payback."
"Bank loan cleared yet, or they throwing up more bullshit walls?" her mother asked flat, spoon pausing mid-air.
"Refused us flat-out cold—said my tech startup pitch might crash risky, but even the fashion line? Every door slammed hard in our faces, every window bolted shut tight against us."
"Is that so...?"
Hellen clenched her fists vicious till nails dug deep bloody crescents into her palms, knuckles turning bone-white hard. "I want to slaughter them all—torch their fat houses slow, watch the flames eat them alive while they scream and burn."
Mother’s eyes—dull and tired just a breath ago—ignited fierce and abrupt like dry tinder struck, her frail hand shooting out sudden with surprising iron grip to seize Hellen’s wrist tight despite the tremble racking her whole frame.
"Listen sharp now, daughter—your father inherited every last cent of Grandfather’s fat fortune. Could’ve clenched it all selfish in his fist, ruled solo like some kingpin—but no, he split it fair and equal among every scheming family leech, lifted us all up on his broad back without a gripe."
"What?!"
"Hellen... you burning true for revenge down to your final breath, no turning back?"
"Only revenge, Mom—it fuels every single breath I take, every line of code I hammer out late."
"Then etch this eternal deep into your bones—killing for your people—your blood kin, your deep-wronged family, and the one you love—isn’t sin stained black as coal. It’s justice righteous and clean, blade-honed sharp for the cut.
"Mom, I will kill them all—I promise you that."
"Your father hammered winner unbreakable into you straight from the cradle; now prove his legend right and true. Win it all back—crushing them flat under your heel without mercy or pause."
"Mom..." Hellen’s voice cracked rare and raw, throat swelling thick sudden with a lump she couldn’t swallow.
"I back you full throttle always—my fire passes straight to yours, no holding back." Mother squeezed that wrist harder still, her eyes glistening wet but hard as forged steel. "But swear me this one thing."
"What thing, Mom?"
"The day clear in your mind—if you ever find someone you love true, body fused to soul deep, who quenches this vengeance blaze raging wild in your veins and turns it cold dead ash? Walk away clean from the whole bloody warpath, never glance back. Not even once."
"I will never love anyone, Mom."
"You will, Hellen. Build a life good and real, woven tight happy with them forever—let all those old ghosts die quiet in the dirt where they belong."
