Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 263: Death of Angela’s Husband

"A fix," she murmured. "A significant technological leap. We created a device capable of something like teleportation." Her tone became more stable, though her gaze remained distant, trapped in her memories.

"Instead of risking human lives by sending them to other planets with unknown survival variables, the research focused on wormholes. Following years of intense labor... the Exodus Protocol was born—a machine for time travel."

She took a difficult gulp. "The objective was to transport us to 10,000 B.C.—a period when the world was pure and humanity could begin anew. However, the wormhole lacked stability." Her voice cracked under the strain.

"After several groups were sent through... the portal collapsed. We lost all means of contacting the other side."

Her chin dropped, and her posture slumped. "Harry, my husband, was the project lead." Her words were nearly silent. "Walter murdered him. He desired sole authority over the wormhole... and to rule this era as well."

Angela let out a shaky breath, her respiration fluttering as she forced the confession out. "Following Harry’s passing, I pushed Mary and Veronica away." Her voice sounded raw, heavy with a mixture of remorse and sorrow.

"I planted clues at our home so they would find the wormhole themselves... I allowed them to follow me here while I acted oblivious... and then I forced them to depart, far from this location."

She raised her head to look at me, her eyes shimmering with held-back tears and her face contorted in agony. "I did it to ensure they wouldn't be involved," she whispered, her voice fracturing.

"I feared Tyler would use them as leverage against me. I couldn't endure the thought of losing them like I lost him." A single tear tracked down her face, and she made no move to stop it.

"I believed that if I distanced them, if I made them despise me, they would remain safe. But now..." Her breath caught in her throat. "Now I don't even know if they are still breathing."

I watched her closely, the gravity of her revelation filling the room. The trembling of her shoulders and the way she fidgeted with her hands showed she wasn't merely frightened.

She was shattered. For the first time, she didn't seem like a manipulator or a danger, but a mother who had been backed into a corner and forced to make impossible sacrifices.

I let out a sigh, touched by the depth of her loneliness—carrying such a massive burden alone, alienating her remaining family just to ensure their survival.

Reaching out, my fingers softly wiped the moisture from her cheeks, the warmth of her skin radiating against my touch.

"Rest easy," I told her, my voice quiet but resolute, offering a promise she could rely on. "Now that I am here, no one will be able to harm or threaten you or your daughters."

Something inside Angela finally gave way.

Letting out a stifled sob, she threw herself forward, her arms locking around me with a desperate strength that caught me off guard.

She hid her face against my chest, her frame shaking violently as she wept—these weren't the fake, tactical tears of a con artist, but the genuine, agonizing cries of someone who had been strong for far too long. Her hands gripped my shirt tightly, her breath coming in jagged, uneven gasps.

I made no move to push her away.

Instead, I allowed her to vent her grief, resting my hand on her head and letting my fingers weave through her hair. Silence filled the room, punctuated only by her weeping, as the heat of her tears soaked into my clothing. I felt her body vibrate against mine, her breath hitching as she finally permitted herself to collapse emotionally.

After a long while, Angela straightened up, her face flushed and her eyes swollen from crying. She glanced at my shirt, now stained by her tears, and spoke with a stuttering voice full of embarrassment.

"I—I apologize..." Angela’s voice was a mere breath, her fingers twisting in her lap as if trying to wring out her own nerves.

She swallowed with difficulty, her breath hitching as she looked at the wet patch on my chest—a mark of her sorrow and vulnerability. "I didn't intend to—I just—"

I silenced her by placing a finger against her lips. "It is alright," I whispered, my voice soft yet commanding, silencing her guilt.

My thumb cleared away the final traces of her tears, my eyes meeting hers with a focus that made her stop breathing for a second. "There is no need to explain anything to me."

For a moment, the only sound was her shaky breathing. Then, my expression grew grim, my tone turning cold and purposeful. "This Walter is currently here, isn't he?"

Angela’s muscles locked at the mention of the name, her hands balling into fists. "Yes," she replied, her voice strained. "He commands the fortress. He claims everything as his own." Her lip curled in disgust, her eyes sparking with a dormant rage.

"He stole it all—my husband's legacy, my own work, my very life. He has played king over this land ever since."

The atmosphere grew tense, heavy with the shadow of the coming conflict. I leaned back, my chair scraping harshly against the floor, and allowed a slow, predatory grin to form. It was not a smile of compassion. "That won't last."

Angela’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on the table. Her eyes searched my face for any sign of a bluff—any hint of doubt or hesitation. She found none.

"What are you saying?" Her voice was low, but the underlying terror was clear.

I maintained eye contact, letting the silence build the tension between us. When I finally answered, my voice was a dark, iron-clad vow. "I mean," I said, emphasizing every word, "that I am going to strip him of everything. His authority. His command. His whole kingdom."

I leaned in, causing her to flinch slightly. "And by the time I am finished, he will have forgotten what it felt like to hold power."

Angela’s breathing accelerated, her chest heaving. She tried to speak, but the words failed her.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the night. The screaming of engines—not just a few, but dozens—tore through the quiet like a jagged blade. The floor vibrated beneath us, the tremors traveling up through my boots.

Then the helicopters arrived—massive and unrelenting, their blades slicing the air into a cacophony of noise. A storm of dust and debris whipped around us as they descended. The walls began to rattle, and the windows shook violently in their casings.

I remained still. I simply smiled, the sound of the approaching carnage sounding like a symphony to me. "The festivities have started."