The MANny (Whip 4) ✔️

Chapter 1

David ^

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DAVID

I yawn, scratching my head as I sit up in bed, groaning once my eyes fall on the clock on the bedside table to see that it's already half past 10.

I fall back into the pillows, running a hand across my face as I sigh; I'm late for work, again, but still, I can't find it in myself to care much.

Fifteen minutes later, I finally drag my body out of the bed, quickly pulling on the suit Nancy has left for me the previous evening before stepping out of the room and making my way downstairs.

As soon as I reach the ground floor, I'm met with shouts of anger and exasperation coming from the living room, making me roll my eyes.

Here we go again.

"Mr. Cross! Mr. Cross, I cannot take this anymore!" a blond, middle-aged woman exclaims as she rushes over to me, her face red, cheeks puffy, and eyes widened in anger.

"He is impossible! I'm sorry, but I quit!"

"Let's not be too hasty. Why don't you join me in my office? We can sit and talk about this calmly." I say, trying to calm the woman down, though I already know that it's pointless. Even if I manage to make her stay today, she'll probably just quit tomorrow or the day after that; as they all eventually do.

"I'm sorry Mr. Cross, but I've had enough. I'm an educated woman, with a degree in child development and care, who is used to dealing with naughty children, but that, that over there is not a child!" she exclaims, pointing her finger toward the living room, "He's an Antichrist!"

As soon as the words leave her mouth, my face turns thunderous, the polite, though slightly forced smile that was up until that point firmly planted on my lips slips away, its place taking an angry frown. My eyes pierce her with a glare, my bushy brows hooded as I step closer making her take a step back.

"Yes, I think you're right. That is quite enough."

"I... I didn't..." she stutters before thinking better of it and smartly shutting her mouth and looking away.

"I will have your check ready in a moment. Excuse me." I say shortly, before turning around and leaving her alone, afraid of what I'd do to her if I stay just a moment longer in her presence.

I start making my way toward my home office, but at the last moment change my mind and take a detour towards the living room.

As soon as I step in, my eyes fell on the small figure sitting on the floor beside the coffee table.

The boy is leaning against the foot of the sofa, his legs bent at the knees holding up an enormous book that he's avidly reading. I'm sure that the boy will be done with it by this time tomorrow, and another monstrosity will be in its place ready to be devoured.

My son had been barely four when it became quite obvious that he was different than other kids his age, although I've suspected it long before.

Leo was one when he started talking; by the age of two he could make conversation like an adult, and by the time he hit four he was already reading and writing.

By age five he could do first-grade math, and now, at the age of 10, he's already in middle school, soon to finish the 8th grade, which means that he'll be starting high school just in time for his eleventh birthday.

A child genius, people call him. A brilliant, once in a generation mind, but to me, he's just Leo, my son, my little boy.

"Is she gone?" Leo asks, not even bothering to take his eyes off the book.