Spoilt Rich Boy Did This To His Sister To Punish His Dad After He Pissed Him Off Until…

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The Fall of the Untouchable Prince

There were rich men in the city, but none quite like Chief Johnson. He wasn’t just wealthy; he was powerful. His name opened doors others couldn’t even knock on. When he entered a room, people stood. When he spoke, people listened. Chief Johnson had built his empire from nothing, rising from selling spare parts to owning factories, oil blocks, and political influence that could shake the country.

His mansion could easily pass for a hotel—tall white pillars, shining floors, and a compound so vast it took minutes to walk across. His cars lined up like soldiers: black SUVs, a Rolls-Royce, even a private limousine that rarely left the garage. He had everything people dreamed of: money, status, respect. But all that power cast a shadow he didn’t see growing—inside his own home.

Chief Johnson had one child, Prince. Prince was his pride, his only son, his heir. Chief had grown up under a hard father—a man who believed love was weakness and only fear could make a boy a man. Chief swore he’d be different when he became a father. He would give his son the freedom he never had, the comfort he never tasted. And he did—maybe too much.

From the moment Prince could walk, Chief gave him everything. The best schools, the best toys, his own driver at twelve, his own car at sixteen. No one was allowed to shout at the boy—not teachers, not house staff, not even Chief’s own wife. Whenever anyone complained about Prince’s behavior, Chief had one answer: “Leave him. He’s just a boy.” But Prince was learning the wrong lesson: that there was no line he couldn’t cross.

At school, Prince fought teachers and bullied classmates. When a teacher punished him, Chief called the principal and the teacher was transferred the next day. When Prince crashed a car after a night out, police officers saluted him instead of arresting him. His father’s name was a shield, and he wore it proudly.

At home, his mother tried to correct him. “Chief, you’re ruining this boy,” she’d say. But Chief never listened. “You worry too much. You see how I suffered growing up? My son will not go through that.” She’d sigh and walk away, feeling the wall between them grow taller every year.

Prince continued to grow wild. He partied, he drank, and every time trouble came, his father cleaned it up. The more Chief saved him, the more reckless he became. Soon, stories began to spread—about how the chief’s son slapped a police officer and nothing happened, how he threatened a lecturer and still graduated with top grades. Some called him untouchable, others called him cursed. But in Chief’s eyes, his son could do no wrong.

Chief told himself that all great men had wild sons, that Prince would calm down when he matured, that he was just enjoying life. He didn’t realize he was watching his own downfall in slow motion. By sixteen, the city already knew Prince Johnson. He wasn’t famous for achievements; he was famous for trouble. Teachers, police officers, even club bouncers—everyone knew the chief’s son. You didn’t cross him if you valued your peace.

Chief’s empire stretched from oil and construction to government corridors. Ministers came to his house for favors. Police commissioners took his calls personally. So when Prince got into trouble, it never lasted long. If he crashed a car, Chief sent a new one. If he hit someone, the case disappeared. Power had built a wall around him, and nothing could touch him.

His mother tried to warn her husband. “Chief, you’re turning this boy into something dangerous,” she said one evening as Prince’s car screeched into the compound, loud music shaking the night. Chief didn’t even look up from his phone. “You women worry too much. You see how my father treated me? You want me to do that to my son?” But discipline is not wickedness, she argued. He waved her off. “I’m giving him what I never had.” Chief’s own father had ruled him with iron hands. He’d been beaten for every mistake, denied joy, denied freedom. Now that he was rich, he swore his son would never know pain. But what he didn’t see was that freedom without limits was poison.

By eighteen, Prince was driving cars that cost more than most people’s houses. At nineteen, he was known in every nightclub. At twenty, he was feared. He was the kind of man who could slap a police officer and go home smiling. Once, he punched a lecturer for questioning his grades. The next day, the lecturer was transferred. Another time, he hit a motorcyclist on the road after a night of drinking. The man ended up in the hospital. Witnesses said Prince was drunk, but the police report said otherwise. Within hours, the story vanished.

Chief’s friends warned him. “Your boy is going too far,” they said. But he only laughed. “You don’t understand. My son is untouchable.” And truly he was. Prince began to act like his father’s wealth was a license. He insulted elders, bragged openly, threw parties that made headlines, and surrounded himself with friends who loved his money more than him. His mother stopped trying to control him—not because she didn’t care, but because she couldn’t.

One night, Prince threatened her. She had tried to talk sense into him after he shouted at a housemaid. “Prince, you can’t keep talking to people like this,” she said softly. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he snapped. “You think your father’s money will always protect you? One day—” Before she could finish, he stepped closer, eyes cold. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll hit you.” For a moment, she saw something terrifying in him—a hardness that didn’t belong to a boy anymore. She stepped back slowly and walked away. That night she cried in silence. When she told Chief what happened, he didn’t believe her. “Prince hit you? Impossible. You must have provoked him.” She looked at him like he was a stranger. So even now you can’t see it, but he didn’t want to see it. Admitting Prince was out of control was admitting failure, and Chief was not a man who failed.

From then on, she stopped interfering. Prince became completely free and dangerous. He crashed cars, fought people in public, even got accused of assaulting a girl at a party. Chief fixed everything. Police reports vanished. Witnesses recanted. Money flowed quietly in the dark. Rivals tried to use these scandals against him. But Chief was always one step ahead. His connections ran too deep. His influence too strong.

Every attempt to bring him down ended the same way: silence. To the outside world, he was still the great chief, a man who could buy peace with a phone call. Inside his home, he was raising chaos with his own hands. Yet, he didn’t care. As long as his empire stood, as long as his power remained untouched, nothing else mattered.

What he didn’t know was that every time he saved his son, he was pushing him closer to the one mistake that money could never erase. The day Mary arrived, the mansion came alive in a way it hadn’t in years. Slim, shy, with a soft kind of beauty that didn’t try to be noticed but always was. Chief introduced her at breakfast—“She’s from my mother’s village,” he said. “A good girl. She’ll help around the house.” His wife looked up, curious. The girl looked barely nineteen, too delicate for house chores in a place where even workers wore designer uniforms. Still, she smiled politely and greeted everyone.

From that day, the rhythm of the house began to change. Chief started coming home earlier, asking for Mary, sometimes just to help organize something in his study. He said she reminded him of home, of where he started before all the wealth and politics. He bought her new clothes, enrolled her in a good college, even gave her a small car. To outsiders, it looked noble—a wealthy man giving a poor girl a chance. But to those in the house, it looked like something else.

Prince noticed first. At dinner, his father asked Mary about her studies, her grades, her friends—things he’d never asked his own son. He’d smile at her softly, in that rare way he smiled only when he was proud. Prince hated it. He couldn’t understand how a village girl had stolen the attention that once belonged to him. Even if that attention came with scolding and lectures, he had grown up getting everything he wanted. But suddenly, he wanted something he couldn’t buy: his father’s eyes back on him.

The jealousy turned into open hostility. He mocked her, insulted her, sometimes threw things just to see her flinch. But Mary never talked back. She only bowed her head and whispered, “I’m sorry, sir.” Her humility made him angrier. He started drinking more, staying out late, crashing cars again. His father still bailed him out, but now the scolding came with less patience. “Grow up, Prince,” Chief said once after pulling him out of yet another police mess. “You’re a man now. Act like one.” The words cut deeper than any slap.

Prince left the house that night drunk and raging, muttering about how his father would regret ever bringing that girl into their lives. He didn’t know then. None of them did. That Mary’s arrival had already set destiny in motion. What looked like kindness would soon expose the deepest secrets buried in Chief’s past. And when the truth came out, no amount of money or power would be enough to save them.

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