Page 191 of Yearn
“You heard me.”
“W-what?”
“Checkmate.”
“N-no.”
“Your games are over. Checkmate.”
“S-stop saying. . .that.” He shook. “S-stop it.”
I chuckled. “Checkmate, you son of a bitch.”
“Dear G-god. How?” Scott's legs gave out. He slumped into the desk chair. The leather creaked under his weight. His head dropped forward. “How? I. . .was a good. . .husband. . .g-good. . .father. . ."
Those words came out broken and wet with tears coated in self-pity.
A narcissist's brain was an odd thing. Regardless of the evidence, it would remain within its victim-reality as the narcissist began to gaslight himself.
Scott could cheat, lie, abandon his family, be as emotionally abusive to them as possible and even bring cocaine into a house with sleeping children, yet still—somehow—construct a narrative wherehewas the wounded party.
Where Teyonah was the villain for having standards.
Where consequences led to obvious persecution. The mental gymnastics required gold medals.
And the most exhausting part?
He genuinely believed he was a good father and husband. There was no reaching him with logic, no breakthrough waiting on the other side of the "right" argument, because in his mind, he'd already won every debate before it started.
The sirens were right outside now.
Car doors slamming.
Heavy footsteps on the walkway.
I looked at him—this man who'd had everything and destroyed it through negligence, narcissism, and cruelty. Who'd been given a second chance with his kids tonight and used it to get high and threaten violence.
"No," I shook my head. "You really weren't."
The doorbell rang.
Upstairs, I heard Teyonah's footsteps moving toward the stairs.
I walked out of the office, leaving Scott slumped in his chair, leaving the gun on the floor, leaving the cocaine where anyone with eyes could see it.
This was finally over.
The police would document everything.
Spencer would handle the legal angles.
Teyonah would be safe.
And Scott?
Scott would truly learn how it felt to lose everything that truly mattered.
Chapter thirty-two
