Chapter 44 #2
My mother's face had gone pale, her carefully applied foundation suddenly garish against the bloodless skin beneath.
Her hands were shaking slightly as she gripped her designer purse like a shield, her knuckles white, her manicured nails digging into the leather.
"Everything we did was for your own good," she said, but her voice wavered, the conviction draining out of it like water through sand.
"We thought if you spent time with Marguerite, away from.
.. bad influences... you'd learn to accept what you were.
You'd learn to behave properly. To be normal. "
The word hung in the air between us, ugly and poisonous.
"Normal," I repeated, the word like poison on my tongue, like something rotten I needed to spit out.
I could feel my Alphas at my back, their protective energy wrapping around me like armor.
"You mean empty. You mean small. You mean the kind of Omega who smiles and nods and lets one Alpha claim her like property and never wants anything more than what she's given.
" I laughed bitterly. "Or better yet, you wished I'd been born an Alpha like you.
Then you wouldn't have had to be ashamed of me at all. "
"We were never ashamed—" my mother tried, but her voice cracked on the lie.
"You couldn't even look at me after I presented," I shot back, the memory still razor-sharp after all these years. "Terrified and confused, and you looked at me like I'd ruined everything just by being what I was."
"That's not—" my mother tried to interrupt, her face flushing with indignation, a vein pulsing visibly at her temple.
"That's exactly what you meant." I took another step toward her, and she retreated, nearly tripping down the porch steps in her expensive heels, her eyes wide with something I'd never seen there before: fear.
Fear of me. Her own daughter. "But here's what you never understood, Mother.
There was never anything wrong with me. The only thing wrong was you. "
I watched the words land like physical blows, watched her flinch back as if I'd struck her. The morning sun cast harsh shadows across her face, highlighting every line, every crack in the perfect facade she'd maintained my entire life.
"How dare you—" my mother started, drawing herself up with outraged dignity, her voice shrill.
"How dare I?" I laughed again, wild and sharp, feeling something break loose inside me—chains I hadn't even known I was still wearing.
"How dare you. You show up at my home—uninvited, unwanted—because some corporation fed you lies, and you expect what?
Gratitude? You expect me to fall at your feet and thank you for finally showing up after twelve years of silence? "
"We sent money," my father interjected weakly, his face ashen, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool morning air. "Every month. We made sure you were provided for."
"You sent checks," I corrected, each word a blade.
"You outsourced your parental guilt to a woman you hadn't spoken to in twenty years and called it providing.
You never called. Never visited. Never asked how I was doing or if I was happy or if I'd made any friends or—" My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it, hated that they could still make me feel like that broken sixteen-year-old girl.
"You never even came to Aunt Marguerite's funeral.
Your own sister, Mother. And you couldn't be bothered. "
Something flickered across my mother's face—guilt, maybe, or grief she'd never let herself feel. "Marguerite and I had... differences," she said stiffly, her jaw tightening, her eyes cutting away from mine.
"Marguerite was the only person in this family who ever loved me," I said, and the words hung in the air like a verdict.
"She took me in when you threw me away. She taught me that being an Omega wasn't something to be ashamed of—that it was a gift, not a curse.
She taught me that I wasn't broken just because I didn't fit your mold.
" I gestured to the Alphas behind me, to the cabin, to the bayou stretching out beyond.
"She left me this. A home. A life. Something you never gave me because you were too busy being disappointed that I wasn't born like you. "
"We gave you everything," my mother protested, her voice cracking now, mascara starting to smudge at the corners of her eyes. "The best schools, the best clothes, every opportunity—"
"You gave me things," I cut her off, my voice dropping to something quiet and devastating. "You never gave me you. You never gave me acceptance. You never gave me the one thing I actually needed—parents who loved me for who I was instead of who they wanted me to be."
Silence.
My father was staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched like a man bearing a weight he couldn't set down.
My mother's carefully constructed composure had shattered completely, tears streaming down her face, but I felt nothing.
No forgiveness. Just the cold clarity of finally speaking the truth I'd swallowed for sixteen years.
"We came to help," my mother whispered, her voice small and broken in a way I'd never heard before, her mascara running in dark rivers down her cheeks. "The Crescent people said you were going to lose everything. That these men were using you. We thought—"
"You thought you'd swoop in and save the day," I finished for her, exhaustion creeping into my voice. "Play the concerned parents. Maybe convince me to sell to Crescent so you could feel like you'd done something right for once."
"That's not—" my mother started, her voice weak with desperation, her tear-streaked face crumpling like paper in a fist.
"Are you invested in them?" The question came out flat, dangerous, a suspicion crystallizing into certainty as I watched my mother's face. I studied her eyes, the way they flickered, the way her throat moved as she swallowed. "Crescent Holdings. Are you investors?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Somewhere in the bayou, an egret called. A fish splashed. The world kept turning while mine ground to a halt.
The silence told me everything I needed to know.
"Oh my God." I took a step back, my hand flying to my mouth, nausea rolling through me in waves.
The porch railing caught my hip, the only thing keeping me upright.
"You're not here because you're worried about me.
You're here because you have money in this deal.
You're trying to steal my home to line your own pockets. "
Behind me, I heard Harper's growl deepen, felt Remy's sharp intake of breath, sensed Silas going impossibly still in that way that meant he was calculating threats.
"It's not like that," my father said quickly, his hands raised in supplication, his voice desperate.
"We invested years ago, before we knew they were targeting your property.
When we found out, we thought—we thought if we could convince you to sell, everyone would win.
You'd get money, we'd get our return, and you could.
.. you could start fresh somewhere else. "
"Start fresh." The words tasted like ashes, like betrayal, like the final nail in a coffin I'd been building for sixteen years. "You mean abandon the only home I've ever known. The only place I've ever belonged. So you could make a profit."
"Artemis, please—" my mother reached for me, her perfectly manicured hand trembling.
"Don't touch me." I jerked backward, slamming into Harper's solid chest, his arms coming around me instantly, his growl vibrating against my spine like distant thunder. The sound filled the clearing, primal and protective, and I watched my mother's face go white. "Don't you ever touch me."
"I think you need to leave," Harper said, his voice like thunder rolling across mountains, his gray eyes cold as winter ice, promising violence if they didn't comply.
He shifted slightly, angling his body to shield mine, his massive frame a wall of muscle between me and the people who'd hurt me. "Now."
"You can't just—" my mother started, rallying some of her old authority, drawing herself up despite her tear-streaked face and ruined mascara.
"This is her property," Remy interrupted, stepping forward until he was between me and my parents, his usual charm replaced by something sharp and lethal.
His amber eyes blazed like molten gold, his jaw tight, every line of his body radiating barely contained fury.
"Her land. Her home. And you're trespassing. "
"We're her parents," my father protested weakly, though he was already edging toward the car, self-preservation overriding parental instinct. His polo shirt was dark with sweat stains, his face ashen and drawn.
"No." Silas's voice was soft, almost gentle, which somehow made it more terrifying than any shout.
He hadn't moved from his position, but the air around him seemed to have dropped ten degrees.
His pale eyes fixed on them with predator stillness, the scars on his hands stark white against his clenched fists.
"Parents don't abandon their children. Parents don't sell them out for profit.
Parents don't send their daughter away because she presented as an Omega instead of an Alpha.
" His lip curled with barely concealed disgust. "You're just strangers who share her blood. "
My mother made a sound—a sob or a gasp, I couldn't tell—her hand pressed to her chest like she'd been physically struck.
"You want to know what's really happening here?" I said, finding my voice again, stepping out of Harper's arms to face them one last time. "I'm not being manipulated. I'm not being used. These men—these Alphas—they love me. All of me. Even the parts you tried to cut away."
"Artemis—" my mother pleaded, her voice cracking on my name, mascara smeared across her cheekbones.