Chapter 12: Before the Fall Evric’s Flashback

Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Before the Fall Evric’s Flashback Evric’s POV "Before Zayn walked into my life, there was Nicki... and that was when everything I loved got burned to ashes." People in this city worship the Draeven name. Draeven Holdings is one of the most powerful conglomerates in the region, known for influence, philanthropy, and unshakable dominance. And the man behind it all Rogan Draeven is more than just wealthy. He’s respected, feared, adored, and deeply religious. A devout man, a devoted father... and an absolute homophobe. To the world, my father is a man of God, a man of generosity. But those closest to him know that crossing his beliefs means walking into fire. I’m his first son. His pride. His heir. And I’ve always hated it. They say favouritism is a blessing. It’s not. In my case, it was a chain around my neck. Because love, to Rogan Draeven, only exists when obedience comes first. He doesn’t nurture; he manipulates, twisting love into control until you can’t tell which is which anymore. I have a younger brother, Chrisly. To him, my "favoured" status was a reason to hate me. He was always in my shadow, always second. But what he never understood was that being first in my father’s eyes meant you couldn’t ever be... yourself. Then there’s my little sister, Nuela. Still in school. Innocent. Kind. My only refuge. And my mother? She’s alive, yes, but her loyalty belongs to her husband, not her children. She follows every command, never raising a voice, never questioning him. Our family looked like love. But everything shattered because of me. It started in high school. A whisper. A glance. A feeling I didn’t know how to name yet, but it was there real and alive. Chrisly caught me one night. I was texting a boy. There was nothing dirty about it, just words. But he didn’t need to read them. He saw the look on my face, the way my eyes lingered on the screen like it held something sacred. He saw the softness in me and decided it was weakness. And just like that, he ran to our father, eager to report his little discovery. Like he was waiting for a reason to bring me down. I remember the cold in my bones when I was summoned to the study. That room always carried weight. It was the one place in the house where lies couldn’t breathe and truth felt like judgment. My father stood behind the desk, tall and distant, as if he already knew. "Are you into men, Evric?" The words punched through the air like a knife. No soft lead-in, no space to hide. Just the question I never wanted to hear. My chest locked. I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear myself think. And still, I lied. "No." The word fell from my mouth faster than I could stop it. "Whatever Chrisly said... he’s wrong." My father didn’t blink. He stared at me, cold and unmoved, like he was weighing my soul right then and there. I felt the tremble in my voice, the crack in my wall, and I knew he saw it too. But he didn’t have proof. Just a suspicion. So he let it go. But that night stayed with me. The fear. The shame. The way my own truth made me feel like something filthy. That was the moment everything changed. But that wasn’t the end. When I entered university, I thought things would change. I thought distance would silence the voice of shame. I was wrong, but at least, for a while, I could pretend. University was supposed to be my escape. A taste of freedom I’d never known. My father bought me a mansion in the city where I studied, one of his many properties. To him, it was an investment. To me, it was a sanctuary. A place where I could breathe, think, or exist without judgment. Where I could become whoever I wanted, even if only behind closed doors. That’s where I met Nicki. He was nothing like the boys I grew up with. He had a mouth like sin and eyes that burned when they looked at me. He was wild, shameless, and seductive. Confident in his skin. Dominant in his touch. And dirty in ways that thrilled and terrified me all at once. From the moment we kissed, there was no going back. We weren’t just dating. We were addicted to each other, burning through nights like matches in gasoline. We stayed up until sunrise, dancing in our living room with nothing but music and our skin. We kissed in clubs, kissed in public bathrooms, and made love like the world would end the next day. We have sex in the car with the windows fogged. In the pool under the stars. On the marble stairs, where his fingers dug into my hips and I bit down on my own moans just in case someone heard. He taught me how to surrender. How to feel. How to want without shame. He made everything erotic, kissing, whispering, just the way his voice dropped when he wanted me. The way he’d whisper my name against my neck and say mine, like claiming me, was the only thing that mattered. And the sex... God, the sex. It was filthy and beautiful. Raw and sacred. He’d tie my hands sometimes, tease me until I begged, then ruin me with his mouth. He knew every inch of my body, every weakness, every spot that made me cry out his name. We’d take long showers that turned into slippery, heated sessions, water running down our backs as our bodies slammed against the glass. We lived without rules. We partied hard, nights filled with lights, drinks, smoke, and loud music. We’d grind on each other on crowded dance floors, lose ourselves in the rhythm, then slip away into the nearest shadow just to feel skin on skin again. It wasn’t just physical. It was emotional chaos. I’d catch him staring at me across the room, and that look alone would leave me breathless. Like he saw through me. Like he knew the parts of me I still couldn’t name. And for once, I didn’t care who found out. Except for my family. Because deep down, I still feared what their love would cost me. The only one I ever trusted was Nuala. She was younger than me, but wise in ways that made age feel irrelevant. Maybe it was the softness in her voice or the way she looked at me, never with pity, never with questions, just calm understanding. While others whispered behind closed doors, Nuala sat beside me, legs tucked beneath her, quietly listening. She didn’t need every detail. She didn’t ask for explanations. Somehow, she just knew. And that was enough. "I just want you to be happy," she said one night, her arms wrapping around me with a gentleness that caught me off guard. "That’s all that matters." It wasn’t just what she said. It was how she said it. Her voice didn’t crack. Her eyes didn’t flinch. She meant it. And in that moment, I broke a little, not in a bad way, but in the kind of way where something buried deep inside begins to thaw. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until she gave me permission to exhale. Her words meant more than she could possibly imagine. In a world where even I feared myself... Nuala gave me the freedom to breathe. Then something big happened late one night. Nicki and I were drunk on each other, lips swollen, fingers eager, skin flushed. We couldn’t stop. The way his body curved against mine, the way he whimpered my name... God, it made me lose control. We stumbled into the living room, half-undressed, lost in the kind of heat that made everything else disappear. Clothes scattered across the floor like discarded thoughts. His thighs wrapped around me, his head tilted back, mouth open, begging without words. I was inside him, buried deep, moving hard and slow, sweat dripping from my chest to his back as we moaned into each other. The room was thick with the scent of sex and whiskey. My name tumbled from his lips in broken gasps. Our bodies clashed with rhythm and hunger, skin slapping skin, the couch groaning beneath us. Then. Click. To be continued...