SURVIVOR: Ghost – Bodyguard Series (S01 • E21) 🩸🔞
By:- Adewole Kelvin.
“ACT OF FATHER’S SIN”
Marissa’s pov
“Do what you love, and use it to serve others. That’s where true success and fulfillment begin.”
That was my mother’s favorite quote—something she often said to me when I was a kid, before she and my annoying father divorced. God, I regret having him as a father for so many reasons. I was only fifteen when my parents divorced, after my mother caught him cheating on her repeatedly with other women. During the time of his infidelity, my mother was incredibly patient. In fact, she’s the most patient woman I’ve ever known. She held onto hope that he would change and come to his senses. But instead, he only got worse. Sometimes, he would even bring young girls home—girls who were barely old enough to be his children—while my mother was out. I witnessed it all firsthand as I grew up around them.
What my mother once hoped would change eventually became a hopeless situation for her—not to mention the heated arguments and fights they had countless times right in front of me and my little brother, Grayson. God, there wasn’t a single day when the house didn’t feel like it was turning upside down from their constant shouting. That was also what triggered and finally forced my mother to divorce him and take my brother with her. She tried to take me too, but my father refused, leaving me behind while she moved on with her life. Ever since then, I’ve never seen or heard from my mother again.
I even took the risk of searching for her by myself when I got a bit older. God, when my father found out, that day was a living hell for me. Still, there was nowhere she could be found. I even tried calling her, but she never answered. At first, I thought she was just busy with work—she had always been a busy mother—so maybe she just couldn’t pick up. But later, I was forced to believe she must’ve changed her SIM card, leaving me to believe she didn’t care about me anymore, just like she didn’t care about my father. And as for my father, his fornication only got worse after the divorce. Not only he was a father of fornication, he was also wealth-driven, which had a psychological impact on me.
All my life, I’ve always wanted to be a philanthropist by helping people financially—it’s what has made me happy since I was a young girl. The question is, was that dream fulfilled? Yes, it did come to fulfillment, although not in the way I had always envisioned. Some people do it for fame or recognition, but that was never my true purpose. Still, I can say it came to pass—even though I had become the opposite of who I used to be. I was once a timid, gentle, and ambitious person. And when it finally happened, the ending wasn’t good at all. In fact, it was tragically painful.
And Camellia, my so-called friend was the perfect example of what happens when you bite the hand that fed you. She thought she could humiliate me and walk away like nothing ever happened, after everything I did for her. When I met her just a year ago, she was nothing. Hungry. Bone-thin. Worn down by life. Ugly—not just on the outside, but from the pain and bitterness she carried. She was barely surviving in a life no one would wish for.
When we crossed paths again, she opened up to me about her struggles. I listened. I felt pity. So, I brought her in—not just as a friend, but like a sister. I gave her shelter. I cleaned her up. I took her from rags to a life many could only dream of. I spent my own money to support her. I taught her how to build something for herself, how to rise, how to win and everything I taught her began to pay off. She had a passion for modeling as a career, and I supported her dream every step of the way. And then ‘Boom’ she started gaining recognition. Before long, she was being called up to be the ambassador of several big brands. I was genuinely happy for her.
Afterward, I noticed Camellia began to create distance between us and stopped all the friendly interactions we used to have—no calls, no chats. At first, I thought it was because of how busy she might be as a business model and with other ventures she was involved in, which could be taking up her time. So, I didn’t take it too seriously. Besides, I was also busy trying to grow myself the more and had no time to dwell on it.
But then, yesterday, I decided to surprise Camellia at the Canadian Arts & Fashion Awards (CAFA), where the best models of the year were being recognized. Piper drove me there, and the event was filled with many well-known celebrities, not just models. My intention was to shock Camellia—in a good way—when she saw me at the event.
Although, she had told me about it earlier in the week, and surprisingly, she was awarded for brand ambassadorship and magazine features.
She gave a speech of appreciation when she received the award, mentioning the names of friends who supported her—excluding mine. A wave of shock and disappointment surged through me after hearing that. I couldn’t help but to wonder, how could she forget me? What in the world could have made her exclude me?
I felt there was more behind her actions—no normal human being would do that, for sure. Well, after the Canadian Arts & Fashion Awards (CAFA) event, I searched for her and finally caught sight of her with her three new rich friends: Luna, Hazel, and Willow, all beautifully dressed on a red carpet, taking pictures after a brief interview with a broadcaster. Despite being disappointed by her appreciation speech, I was still happy for her achievement. I went ahead to meet her—Piper leading the way—hoping to wish her well and maybe have a quick conversation and take a few photos together.
But she had this expression on her face that clearly showed she wasn’t happy or excited to see me approaching. I sensed it from afar—even her friends gave off strange vibes after having a brief discussion about me between themselves, which I know for sure. Still, I didn’t let it bother me. I went ahead to meet her and tried to give her a hug, but she pushed me away so suddenly that I lost my balance and nearly fell—if not for Piper, who quickly caught me and kept me from hitting the ground. Next thing Camellia she and her friends says was:
Camellia: Back off, what do you think you’re doing?
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Hazel: Who the hell is this?
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Camellia: Just another clout chaser who thinks one little favor gives her VIP access to my life now.
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Luna: (eyes her) Oops! Another clout chaser, huh? Tell me, is that what you are?
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Willow: Well, nice try, clout chaser–Barbie’s plastic, but you’re just f*****g tragic.
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Camellia: (clips her nose with her fingers) Who even invited the fashion disaster? She stinks like cow shit.
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Hazel: Speaking of the fashion disaster that stinks like cow shit, you didn’t even mention those shoes she wore. Girl, those heels look like broken dreams held together with prayer and duct tape.
Each insult they threw at me was followed by mocking laughter, cutting deep like sharp pins piercing my skin. The embarrassment was unbearable, especially with the attention it drew from everyone around. As if that wasn’t enough, Camellia spat in my face and hurled cruel words at me, flaunting her success, achievements, fame, and wealth—loudly declaring how much bigger and better she was than me in front of everyone. I had never felt more humiliated in my life. It was enough to make me want to beat the hell out of her. But I didn’t say a word. I held back the storm of rage surging inside me and let her pour out every last insult with her friends, all of them laughing as they walked away. All eyes were on me. I left that place embarrassed, humiliated, and deeply frustrated, with their insulting words replaying in my head all the way home, especially Camellia’s.
After what happened yesterday at the CAFA event, she was already dead to me, along with her pathetic friends. The only thing burning inside me, after hours of deep reflection on everything I had invested — my money, my time, my support was revenge. She had no idea she had crossed the wrong person. If she did, maybe she’d still be alive today. But I made sure she and her worthless clique paid with their lives for what they did to me. Camellia was the first scapegoat. She bit the very hand that pulled her out of the storms, saved her from nothingness, and gave her a life. Wicked to the core. So I repaid her wickedness with justice — my kind of justice. Sent her and her little assistant straight to the afterlife. And even then, the bastard still had the nerve to insult me with that filthy mouth of hers.
I killed her in a pool of her own blood — split her face open with Piper’s axe. All thanks to Piper, who planted a tracker in her bag, we were able to locate her and finish her off in her house today. I only regret not taking my time… not savoring the pleasure of giving her a slow, painful death — one where I could look her in the eyes and make sure she felt every second of it before she died. Still, I enjoyed the satisfaction of sending that miserable, ungrateful bastard to the afterlife. It was a quick death, yes… but I don’t regret it. In fact, I felt a twisted kind of happiness and satisfaction after the deed was done.
The next person on the list was Hazel—the skinniest and tallest of them all. After giving that ungrateful bastard Camellia a one-way ticket, Piper and I got lucky. We spotted Hazel stepping out of a fancy restaurant, arm-in-arm with her spouse. I was honestly surprised the bony bitch was even married. We tailed them quietly until they reached their home—a mansion even bigger and more stunning than Camellia’s. But I didn’t care about wealth or appearances. All I wanted was to give her the shock of her life the moment she laid eyes on me… and to make her bleed. Just like before, we sped through the gates right before they closed, just as we had at Camellia’s place.
Well, I ordered Piper to take care of her spouse, and she did—piercing him in the chest with her axe, quick and deadly, while I handled Hazel. As tall as she was, I gave her the beating of her life before dragging by the hair and throwing her into the house. Even though the bitch had maids, I didn’t waste a word before Piper did what needed to be done—brutally hacking them all to death with her axe. Not a single soul was left in that house, as I couldn’t risk being exposed. Expecting that the skinny bitch Hazel might try to fight back or insult me like Camellia did, she was begging me to spare her life after what she’d done to me at the event. Well, I ordered Piper to torture her brutally—cutting off all her fingers and toes, breaking her arms and jaw—before I hacked her to death myself with Piper’s axe, leaving her beyond recognition. Before I ended her life with my own hands, I had already ripped the information out of her about the last two friends who were still clueless about the death that awaited them
The third person on my blacklist was Luna. And Luna was no small target. As much as I hated to admit it, I admired her lifestyle. She was so rich that she lived in a massive villa, guarded by ten security personnel—security I didn’t see with her at the event yesterday. It was almost as if she already knew I was coming for her, which set her apart from Hazel and Camellia, who had nothing but big, fancy mansions and expensive cars, empty of real protection. Well, bad luck for them.
Despite the number of guards Luna had, Piper handled them all on her own with deadly precision. My bodyguard is a damn lethal weapon—she tore through those men like they were nothing. She even slaughtered the house staff—four strong male servants and four female maids—leaving only the four men alive for a reason.
Luna, on the other hand, I ordered her male house helps to f**k her right in front of me and Piper. Those men weren’t small between their thighs by any means — I doubt they hadn’t had their time with her if she ordered it. From the first day I saw Luna, I knew she could be a naughty one, especially since she’s rich and can do whatever she wants. But I didn’t care. Even though it was tempting when the men fucked her. I stayed focused and savored the pleasure. I made sure she was fucked painfully until she bled and had no life left in her, before ordering Piper to kill her miserable house helps. Who cares if I did or didn’t use them?
And Willow, the last of them and the fat one, promised me anything—her entire wealth, even the world itself—if I spared her life. Funny enough, she was the same one who called me “Barbie’s plastic” at the event yesterday. She begged desperately, terrified of death. Maybe if I weren’t the version of myself I am now, I’d have spared them and let karma deal with them—which, honestly, might never happen. Instead, I hated her all the more for it. I wasted no time on that fat pig. I ordered Piper to claim her life. Piper slit her open, and her intestines spilled out like a bag of writhing worms. It was wickedness at its highest level, but I savored the pleasure of sending them one by one to the afterlife. In fact, I found peace of mind after that.
Satisfied with the deed, I was on my way back to my home when my annoying father phoned me, asking me to come see him at the house, saying it was something important. But most times, the things he calls me for aren’t nearly as important as they sound. Sometimes, he’ll act like it’s urgent—like I absolutely have to come over—but by the end of the day, we don’t even talk or do anything together. Every time I show up, he either has some appointment or finds an excuse to leave, telling me in that same cold, commanding voice to wait for him—like I’m still his little girl. It gets to me every time. Being in that house becomes exhausting. He still treats me like the child he used to know, and that’s what makes it all the more frustrating.
Additionally, what made the house—and even him—so unbearable to visit was a tragic event that happened to me. A tragedy that completely changed my life. Every time I’m summoned there, everything about that place, including my father himself, reminds me of that nightmare. It makes me feel even more disappointed, frustrated… and terrified. God, I miss my mother. As much as I miss her, another part of me doesn’t—because she forgot me so easily. And the question I can’t stop asking is: why did she do that? Divorcing that annoying father of mine didn’t mean she had to cut me out of her life too. Even to this day, she’s never called or checked on me. When all these things flood my mind, I start to regret ever being born into this family. And it hurts–It really hurts how everything turned out.
As soon as we arrived at my father’s house, Piper stepped out from the driver’s seat and opened the back door for me. I got out, and right away, that familiar wave of frustration, disappointment, and unease hit me—the same mixed feelings that always consumed me whenever I came here. The most annoying part? Piper still welcomed me in her usual cheerful, sometimes frivolous, funny manner. And in that moment, it struck me hard no one really understood me. I had always thought Piper was the only one who did. But I couldn’t blame her for bringing me—or still welcoming me into my own father’s house. She was only doing her job. I must admit, Piper is fun to be around. She’s friendly, playful, funny, and always cheerful… though sometimes, she can be downright annoying. But dangerous? Oh, absolutely. She knows nothing but how to protect—and how to kill. That’s exactly why I hired her in the first place.
Even so, Piper and I had a brief serious discussion before I eventually entered the house as much as I hated it so badly. When I got to the front door, I knocked first, then opened it, surprised to find it unlocked. It was the first time I’d ever seen it that way. As far as I know, it had never happened before. Still, I didn’t think much of it. I just wanted to hear whatever was so “important” that he couldn’t tell me over the phone, and then get the hell out of the annoying, frustrating place. I locked the door behind me and scanned the parlor. No one was in sight—not even my father’s maid. I wandered through the parlor and into the kitchen. Still, nothing. Feeling thirsty, I made my way to the refrigerator in the dining area, opened it, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a glass cup from the cabinet. I poured the water and gulped it down satisfactorily.
In that moment, I heard the sound of a glass cup shattering upstairs. The sharp echo prompted me to quickly return the cup and bottle of water to the cabinet before closing it. I then walked over to the bifurcated staircase and gently held the handrail as I quietly climbed the stairs. Once at the top, I turned toward my father’s room, suspicious and observant. As I approached, I began to hear blatant moans and the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing from the room. I stopped in my tracks—not entirely surprised, since it wasn’t his first time fornicating. What caught me off guard, though, was that the door to his room was slightly open. Then, my instincts kicked in. I had to take a look. I crept closer without hesitation. As I reached the entrance, the m*****g began to fade, though the smacking sounds grew louder. It was clear as I was already at the doorway, and whoever was being banged had probably muffled her moans, whimpering softly. I stayed at the entrance and pushed the door open just a little more for a quick view of what was going on inside.
I’ve been shocked by a lot of things in my life, but after stealing a glance inside, I was stunned at the sight of my chiseled father, with a bit of grey in his beard and an earring pierced in his right ear, p******g the housemaid from behind. She was on all fours on the bed with her skirt raised, while he stood on the floor, gripping her waist tightly and thrusting hard and fast. The strange part was that the housemaid was trying to shift away, probably feeling some discomfort, but my father yanked her back by the waist and intensified his pace. It was the first time I’d seen him pound a woman like that. As much as she tried to pull away, the slut was clearly enjoying it—biting her lips and salivating like a wild bulldog. I hate to admit it, but my father was damn good at it. The way he moved his hips like a wild stallion sent a strange tingle between my legs. And then there was the sight of her thick juice dripping down from her to his balls and pooling onto the bed.
As much as I felt aroused by the sight, I was disgusted watching my father have s*x with the maid. I wouldn’t have felt this way if it had been with another woman—but a maid, of all women? His own housemaid is the one he chooses to f**k? How low can he stoop? Is he cursed to chase every skirt he sees like a dog in heat? And this is the same man who called me on the phone, claiming he had something “important” to tell me—yet here he is, in his bedroom, screwing the foolish housemaid. I bet this isn’t even the first time he’s had his way between her legs. I believe she must have spread them for him countless times, being the only one around to satisfy his twisted desires. I regret ever stepping foot in this place. God, I can’t believe I’m still standing here, watching them go at it like wild animals in the jungle—while I’m torn between disgust and a strange, shameful arousal.
Disappointed and ashamed, I quietly turned around and walked back downstairs without alerting them. Minutes later, the housemaid came down holding a laundry bag, adjusting her skirt as she walked with a limp. She froze for a moment, clearly shocked to see me sitting on the chair with my legs crossed. Then she quickly tried to compose herself, pretending as if nothing had happened. Just seeing her in that moment made me want to pounce on her and beat the hell out of her, but I kept my composure, watching her closely. She had no idea I had already caught her in the act. What pissed me the most was how she boldly walked past me without even greeting me—which was unlike her—and to make it worse, she had the audacity to eye me coldly as she headed toward the laundry room, swaying her hips like she owned the place.
In that moment, I felt she had let the privilege my father gave her—by having his way between her legs—get to her head. If not for that, why would she dare act that way toward me? But if only she knew what she had just brought upon herself, she would have been more respectful instead. Now, I only pray she survives what I’m about to do to her. Pretending I hadn’t noticed her behavior, I gave her a free pass for the moment and let her enter the laundry room. As soon as she stepped inside, I rose from the chair and followed her in. Then I said, locking the door of the laundry room quietly behind me—sneeringly.
Marissa: Oh, Sierra, sierra!
Then I gently clapped my hands and walked calmly toward her, just as she was about to open one of the washing machines in the laundry room. I expected her to stop what she was doing and look at me like a responsible person who knew her place in the house. Instead, the slut shot me a quick eyeing glance and continued what she was doing, focusing on the washing machine as if it were the only thing that mattered to her in that moment—which only made me angrier. Well, now, she’s dead!
Angered by her attitude, I bit my lip and went ahead to kick her hard in the midsection just as she stood, slightly bent over, checking the clothes in the laundry bag. The impact of my kick made her yelp sharply. She jerked up, hit her side against the washing machine, and then stumbled to the floor.
Marissa: When I’m speaking, you stop whatever you’re doing and show me some respect, you hungry slut.
I snarled, a deep frown etched across my face, as I looked down at her clutching her stomach in excruciating pain—coughing blood just a few meters from my feet. The sight of her coughing blood didn’t move me. I simply folded my arms across my chest, tucked my bob-cut yellow hair behind my left ear, and said confidently after letting out a relieved sigh.
Marissa: I see you’ve been having a good time in this house lately—quite a pleasurable one, for that matter. Enjoyable, isn’t it? Now f*****g answer me when I speak, you slut! Or I’ll teach you with a punch this time.
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Sierra: (coughing) G-good time…? Pleasurable…? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma’am.
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Marissa: Oh, denying it now, huh? F*****g pathetic.
After saying that, I bashed her in the face with a powerful kick, sending her head tilting backward as she fell flat on her back. She groaned, clutching her face, her nose bleeding instantly before I snapped at her.
Sierra: Graaah!!!
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Marissa: You see, there’s one thing I hate in my life — lies. And what’s worse is you’re terrible at them. So don’t f*****g lie to me, you f*****g slut. Just seeing you right now irritates me and makes me want to drain the miserable life out of you by throttling you. And I say this boldly, with my full chest: nothing in the world would happen if I did. Not a damn thing. Even my father — your sugar daddy, the one you’re spreading your tiny legs for — wouldn’t do shit. In fact, he’d move on like nothing happened, chasing other beautiful women and enjoying himself while your corpse rots and decays into worms in the dirt. You’d be dead, forgotten, wasted for nothing, like a rat. My old man sees you as a fool and played his cards right. You were just an easy game.
Shocked by my statement, she slowly took her hands off her face and glanced at me with one black eye before quickly darting her gaze away
Marissa: (Scoffs) Oh, looks like the slut is shocked I figured out what’s been going on between her and my father, huh? Well then, let me remind you—you were m*****g, salivating, even cumdripping from that stinking, filthy p***y of yours while he screwed you like a street dog just moments ago. Now tell me… his thrusts felt good, didn’t they?
I squatted beside her and asked, but she didn’t respond—just adjusted herself in fear, still lying flat on the floor with terror etched in her eyes. Then I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her face upward. She groaned, eyes squeezing shut in fear, her face twitching as blood trickled down her nose onto her maid uniform. I growled.
Marissa: Nice black eye. Maybe a blow to your other eye will knock the answer out of you this time.
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Sierra: (in a trembling voice) Y-yes, yes… it felt… good. His thrusts felt good. P-please, don’t hit me…
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Marissa: How dare you beg me not to hit you? Are you out of your mind? Do you want to die?
I asked gruffly, grabbing her hair harder. She winced and only shook her head, trembling. I looked at her face with disgust, feeling like I should just grab a knife and stab her to death.
Marissa: I thought so. Now I see why you were so confident and had the guts to pass me by in the parlor without greeting me. His c**k has been good and satisfying enough for you to ignore me?
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Sierra: (fearfully) N-n-no, ma’am!
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Marissa: Then you better have a damn good explanation, slut, In fact—f**k your damn explanation. Look at you now… skin glowing, cheeks full, walking around like you own this place. You think I didn’t notice? Back when you first got here, you looked like something the gutter spat out—skinny, crusty, pitiful. Now? Fresh and smooth like a spoiled queen. I wonder how many times he’s dumped his sperms inside you to make you blossom like this. All thanks to his c**k, huh? No wonder you’re feeling yourself. You’ve never been fucked by a rich c**k before. Look at you, trembling like a fish caught on a hook. Where’s all that confidence now, huh? I haven’t even started dealing with you yet. Just so you know—after today, the next time you see me, you’ll remember to act like a normal human being with sense.
After saying that, I smashed the back of her head against the washing machine, making her let out a loud groan and fall onto her side. I stood over her and kicked her repeatedly and aggressively in the midsection and chest. She kept groaning, wincing, and coughing up blood until she passed out. Satisfied, I spat on her and said gruffly as I walked out of the room.
Marissa: Bitch!
In that moment, I saw my father casually coming down the stairs, completely unaware of my presence. He was dressed in a green sleeveless shirt and loose baggy shorts, with grey-and-white socks and a pair of Crocs. He had this stupid grin stretched from ear to ear, rubbing his stomach like some proud beast, clearly satisfied. And why wouldn’t he be? He just finished screwing that slut of a maid upstairs in his bedroom. I wasn’t even surprised to see that look on his face—I already knew what was behind it. Honestly, I can’t believe he’s actually smiling over having s*x with her—as if she’s anything close to attractive. God, he’s such a disgrace. No, more than that… he’s a pathetic excuse for a man. Always chasing after anything in a skirt, shamelessly fornicating like it’s his life mission. Frustrating and Disappointing!
Upon reaching the last two steps of the staircase, his eyes met mine just as I gently closed the laundry room door behind me. The beaming look on his face instantly disappeared, replaced by a serious expression. He quickly composed himself like a boss, cleared his throat, and took the final step down. Even with that serious look, I wasn’t moved—it wasn’t the first time he had given me that look whenever I was around. Yet somehow, it always managed to send a cold chill through me, even if I wasn’t afraid. Still, I met his gaze with an equally serious look of my own, especially considering how angry I already was before he came downstairs.
After we exchanged glances, I walked to the parlor to meet him. I hesitated before greeting him and got straight to the point gruffly. In that moment, the only thing that mattered to me was leaving the house. There was nothing good left for me here.
Marissa: Hey Dad, good evening. You said you had something for me—what’s so important you wanted to discuss with me? (Glances at her wristwatch.)
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Loic: Pas de “Comment s’est passée ta journée ?” Pas de “Comment tu vas, papa ?” Juste “Salut papa, bonsoir. T’as quelque chose pour moi ? Qu’est-ce que tu veux me dire d’important, s’il te plaît ?” Putain, pathétique. (English: No ‘How was your day?’ No ‘How are you, Dad?’ Nothing more than just ‘Hey Dad, good evening. You got something for me. What’s so important you want to tell me, please?’ F*****g pathetic)
He muttered God knows what in French as he went ahead and sat on his favorite small king-sized couch while I stood beside the chair facing him, toying with its armrest. The annoying man is French-Canadian and used to speak French fluently with my mother before they divorced, but my brother and I weren’t taught the language. Personally, I never wanted to learn or even know it. But whatever he said in French didn’t matter to me, as long as he spilled the beans and I could leave. I glanced at my wristwatch.
Loic: Anyway, sit down.
He said, grabbing a bottle of liquor from a golden ice bucket on top of a short glass table before him. I still stood there, watching him open it with focused attention, when he looked at me and spoke harshly.
Loic: Didn’t hear me when I said you should sit. Sit the f**k down!!
At first, I hesitated to sit, wanting to tell him I was fine standing, but after a deep exhale and growing frustration with the passing minutes, I finally took my seat, rolling my eyes. Then he sipped from the liquor bottle before he spoke.
Loic: You asked what’s so important that I wanted to discuss with you, huh? Well then, listen—I’ve got some good news for you.
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Marissa: So, what’s this good news you’re talking about?
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Loic: Good question. Honestly, ever since that day, my sleep has been all messed up.
Hearing that, I couldn’t help but wonder inwardly—who is this man trying to fool, as if he actually cares? The same man I caught p******g his own maid in his bedroom just moments ago, smiling with that lecherous grin afterward. Not a day goes by that I don’t see him with some woman in this house. Does someone who truly cares about his family behave like that?
Tbc…