Spiked for Revenge: Bull Heat in a Bottle

To acquire solid evidence and see Susan and Roman's cruelty for what it really was, I installed hidden cameras in Dad's bedroom, the living room, and even the kitchen—4k resolution, crystal-clear audio.

The next day at work, I sat in my large office chair and opened the surveillance feed on my phone.

On the screen, Susan was carrying a bowl into Dad's room. That was the kingroot soup I had specifically told her to prepare that morning.

She walked to the bedside and glanced at Dad, the caring mask she wore in front of me long gone. In its place was a look of pure disgust and malice that made my stomach turn.

"You old thing. All you ever do is sleep!" she grumbled, pouring the kingroot soup into an insulated bottle she carried with her. I immediately recognized that it was the same bottle she used for Roman, the one I had seen on the livestream.

Then, she pulled a bottle of sleeping pills from her pocket, shook out two, crushed them, and mixed the powder into a bowl of pitifully watery porridge.

She sneered. "Kingroot soup? You don't deserve that. Just die and stop wasting my time!"

Roughly, she grabbed Dad by the chin and forced his mouth open, pouring the drugged porridge down his throat. He choked and made hoarse, gurgling sounds, instinctively trying to struggle as the liquid went down.

Susan didn't hesitate to slap his withered shoulder. "Stop moving and just drink it while I'm being nice! My son is still young and needs all the nourishment he can get.

"What do you, a crippled geezer, need from this good stuff? Once you die, everything in this house will belong to my son and me, anyway!"

On my end of the feed, I stared at the screen without blinking. My nails dug into my palm, nearly breaking the skin. I felt the pain as much as I felt it in my chest.

I had never imagined that humanity could sink this low. This wasn't greed anymore. This was murder. Susan was slowly killing Dad, milking that last bit of value out of him to feed her useless, man-child of a son.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to do something irrational.

Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a number. It was an old friend of mine, someone who now ran one of the largest farms in the country.

My voice was unnervingly calm. "Hey, Ryan. Do you have any aphrodisiacs? The kind you use on breeding bulls, where just a few grams can drive a multi-ton animal insane."

Ryan Manson was silent for a few seconds before asking dubiously, "What do you need that for? That stuff is banned. Too much of it can kill someone."

"Oh, it won't." I looked at Susan's twisted face on the surveillance feed and said deliberately, "I just want to buy a couple of animals a good drink."