His Little Flower (Felix and Flora) novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70 

Felix pushed me into the passenger seat of his car. “Stay,” his voice was a command 

He ran back inside the house, and brought out the suitcase he had filled with the little stuff I had. I knew I had a small life, but I didn’t know it could all be filled into one small bag. I suddenly felt so small. 

With all my things inside the car, he came to my side. “I just have one last thing to do.” He breathed, “Stay put.” 

Felix began to determinedly march inside the house. Oh no! 

“Felix!” I called after him, “No!” 

He heard me, because he stopped in his tracks for a fraction of a second. But he continued walking, I got out of the car. I had to stop him. 

Iran 

ran out of the car to inside the house. 

Dad, eyes bloodshot and venomous, swung at Felix with a rusty wrench, but his blows were clumsy, fueled by rage rather than skill. 

Felix, danced around the attacks, deflecting them with bone–jarring ease. His moves were practiced. Each punch that landed on my Dad a smooth move. Gone were the days of his rough, teenage fighting. This was a man who had learned to fight. A seasoned fighter, now, Each block, each counter–strike, seemed to hold the weight of years of unspoken anger against the man whord failed me so spectacularly. 

“You think you can take her away?” Dad snarled, the wrench glinting dangerously in the dim light. “Flora is mine. My flesh and blood. Mine to do with as I please!” 

Felix stopped, a predatory stillness settling over him. His green eyes were glacial pools reflecting the storm outside. 

utside. His jaw was clenched. A nerve on his forehead throbbed in anger. “You plece of shit” he said, his voice a low growl. “Don’t fucking say her name.” 

With a brutal precision honed by years of training, Felix delivered a swift punch to Dad’s gut. The man doubled over, gasping for breath, the wrench clattering to the floor. 

1, frozen in a corner, my voice lost in the chaos, tried to reach Felix, to intercede. “Please, Felix, stop! 

It’s 

enough!” 

But Felix, fueled by righteous anger, ignored my pleas. He grabbed Dad by the scruff of the neck, lifting him off the ground with ease. “This,” he spat, his voice tight with barely contained rage, “is just a lesson. A taste of what awaits you now.” 

He held him there, face to face, the raw anger in his eyes sending shivers down my spine. I saw then, in the depths of his emerald eyes, a darkness I’d 

never witnessed before. 

“I let her get away once,” Felix menaced, “Lost her to you.” A hard punch to the eye. “Never again. You won’t know what hit you, Samuel. Now that I know you’re alive. Now that I know you took her, nothing can save you.” 

My father had fallen to the floor. He was doubled over in pain while Felix continued to kick him. He spat on him, and my father screamed in humiliation. He tried to hit Felix’s leg, but he was quick on his feet, jumping back. 

“Hide where you want to,” Felix’s words were accentuated with kicks, “Run anywhere you want. There is no place in the world the Corsinos can’t 

reach.” 

Dad finally broke, his bravado crumbling into pathetic whimpers. “Please,” he croaked, tears streaming down his face, have mercy.” 

Felix laughed. A low, menacing, dangerous laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Beg harder.” 

“Please!” He groaned. “Please!” 

Felix released him, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He met my g 

my gaze, his face etched with regret and the lingering shadows of his wrath. “Get in the car, Flora,” he said, his voice rough but gentle. “I told you to stay put.” 

mbling, “what was th 

I hesitated, torn between relief at Dad’s defeat and fear of Felix’s dark side. Telix,” I whispered, my voice trembling. 

He shook his head, his eyes clouded with pain. “Do as I say. Go.” He ordered, taking my hand before I could protest harther. 

His grip was firm, almost bruising, but strangely comforting. As he led me through the rain slicked driveway, I couldn’t help but glance hack at my 

Chapter 70 

house, a dilapidated monument to a life I was leaving behind. 

The storm raged on, mirroring the turmoil within me. But amidst the downpour, a spark of hope flickered. Dad, though humbled, remained a threat, flut with Felix by my side, a shield against the shadows, I felt, for the first time in years, a fragile sense of safety. 

The car roared to life, its headlights cutting through the rain–snaked darkness, I knew the road ahead wouldnt be easy. We’d left behind not just home, but also the ghosts of my past. But as I nestled into the seats of Felix’s car, his warmth anchoring me in the storm, I realized I wasn’t facing it alone. I would never be alone again in my life. 

And as the miles melted away, the rain washing away the remnants of my old life, I knew, with a deep, quiet certainty, that this was just the beginning. 

Maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong 

ng about everything 

Beside me, Felix sat grim, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The silence in the car was as thick as the storm outside, pregnant with unspoken anxieties and the lingering echoes of the chaotic scene we’d left behind. 

My father’s whimpers for mercy still reverberated in my ears, a chilling counterpoint to the rhythmic tap–tap–tap of the windshield wipers. Each beat felt like a nail being hammered into my resolve, a reminder of the darkness I’d just escaped. 

Felix never broke the silence, but I felt his gaze flicking towards me every few seconds. I knew he was battling his own demons, wrestling with the raw anger he’d unleashed and the weight of the responsibility he had now shouldered. The weight of the things that would change. The weight of me. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice roughened by unspoken emotions. “It’s not far, now,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Another ten minutes, maybe.” 

I laughed a little. “I go there every day.” 

His attempt at filling the silence had been sweet. At my laughter, his eyes lit up a little. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t want you to see that side of me.” 

“The seem it before.” I reminded. 

He shook his head, “That’s different.” 

It was different. We were just kids, then. And now he had beaten up my father. Even though he did deserve it. 

We were silent while he drove. Ench groan of the engine echoed my own racing heart, the rhythmic counterpoint to the silence stretching between us.