**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 151**
**Chapter 94: It’s The Truth**
**Flashback: 8 years ago**
The door swung open with a creak, and there he stood, the embodiment of my darkest fears.
Professor Kingston. The very star of my nightmares, radiating an unsettling charm.
His teeth gleamed in a wide, almost predatory grin, and his laughter spilled into the room, filling the air with an unsettling warmth. My father joined in, his own laughter deep and hearty, as if they had just exchanged the most hilarious joke known to man. The way Kingston clapped his hand on my father’s shoulder made it seem as though they were brothers, united in some dark camaraderie, rather than predator and the parent of his victim.
Back then, I was still ensnared in my own delusions. I had convinced myself that my father was a good man, a pillar of strength and virtue. So, I found myself questioning what he was doing in the company of Professor Kingston—the devil incarnate.
But now, the veil had been lifted. I understood the truth: they were cut from the same cloth. My father was a monster, a terrible man, just like his closest companion.
The world around me tilted, spinning out of control as a wave of nausea washed over me. My knees felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath me as I fought for breath.
My mother’s hand pressed firmly against my back, nudging me forward as if I were being pushed onto a stage, ready to perform a role I had never wanted. I wanted to retreat, to flee from this nightmare, but my body felt paralyzed, screaming at me to turn and escape, to vanish before his gaze fell upon me.
But it was too late.
Kingston’s eyes flicked over my mother’s shoulder, locking onto mine. For a fleeting moment, I saw recognition flicker across his smile, a shadow passing through his eyes that narrowed just slightly, though it was almost imperceptible. But I felt it. I sensed the shift in the atmosphere.
Then, as if nothing had transpired, he widened his grin, the facade of warmth returning to his face. “Savannah! What a delightful surprise,” he crooned, his voice smooth as silk, laced with mockery. “How are you doing, lovely girl?”
A wave of nausea churned violently in my stomach. I glared at him, but I couldn’t hold his gaze; I looked away, still acutely aware of the weight of his stare.
My father turned, his eyes landing on me. “Savannah? What are you doing here? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important?” His tone was laced with irritation, a stark contrast to the concern I so desperately wished for.
“She has something to tell you,” my mother interjected crisply, her hands guiding me forward with an unsettling steadiness.
I stumbled into the office, feeling as though I were being swallowed by the walls that seemed to close in around me. The air was thick with the acrid scent of whiskey and tobacco, sharp enough to sting my nostrils. Papers and ledgers were strewn across my father’s desk, but he was oblivious to the chaos. His eyes were fixed on me, expectant, impatient, and filled with an unsettling hatred.
Kingston leaned casually against the desk, arms folded across his chest, exuding an air of calm that belied the storm brewing within me. Only I knew the truth of those hands—how they had held me down, how they had taken everything from me.
My throat tightened painfully, words clawing at the back of my mind, desperate to escape but refusing to leave my lips.


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