CHAPTER 29
MIA
One spins the knife between his fingers like it’s second nature . The blade flashes under the dim basement light, twisting effortlessly between his hands before he flicks his wrist and lets it fly.
Thunk . The steel sinks deep into the wooden floor, the handle still trembling from the force.
My eyes widen.
“How did you do that?”
“I just did,” he says, already pulling the knife free. Before I can blink, he’s spinning it again—faster this time, like a game. Like he’s daring the blade to slip.
I want to try. I want to do the same.
One notices and grabs my hand, adjusting my fingers around the cold handle. His grip is firm, controlling, like he’s molding something into shape.
“You hold it like this,” he instructs, his fingers tightening over mine. “Too tight, and you’ll mess up the throw. Too loose, and you’ll drop it. You need to be firm, but light.” He pauses. “Like when you hold something you really like, but you know it’ll break if you squeeze too hard.”
I think for a second. “Like a bug?”
He blinks. “…What?”
“Bugs. If you hold them too tight, they—”
“Okay.” He cuts me off. “Like that. But no bugs. Just the knife.”
I nod and try to mimic his motion, twisting my wrist as I throw.
The knife slips from my grip too soon.
It drops, skimming One’s bare foot before clattering onto the floor. A thin red line blooms across his skin, and for a second, I stop breathing.
“Oh! I’m sorry!”
One glances down at the blood, then back up at me.
And laughs.
“You suck at this.”
My face heats up. “That’s mean.”
He shrugs. “It’s true.”
Then, without hesitation, he picks up the knife and starts spinning it again. The cut on his foot still drips, leaving small, uneven droplets on the floor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, flipping the blade between his fingers. “Just get it right next time.”
I swallow hard and pick up my knife again. His eyes are locked on me now, sharp and assessing. If I fail again, I know he’ll remember it. I know he’s waiting to see if I’m worth his time.
I tighten my grip. Breathe.
This time, when I throw, the knife spins in the air before thunk —it embeds itself in the wood. Not the target. But close.
I look at him, hopeful. “Did I hit it?”
He frowns at the mark. “You missed. Badly.”
I scowl. “Hey!”
“But at least you got something right.”
He twirls his own knife one last time before tossing it into the air and catching it with ease, his expression unreadable.
“Keep practicing when you get bored,” he says. “It’ll help you.”
I glance down at the blade buried in the ground, and for the first time, I want to be better.
I want to be good.
“Okay.”
In the end, I couldn’t keep up the revenge plan against the Rosses.
It felt like everything was flipping on its head. Maybe I should be plotting a thank-you note instead, because Cory Ross didn’t kill my brother like I always thought, like my father believes.
He saved him.
He gave One a second chance. And that... well, that made something inside of me heal.
It hit me hard, the realization that my brother wasn’t just a casualty in some twisted family war, but that he had been living in a completely different world.
Sometimes, my chest tightens thinking this whole thing might just be some delusion in my head—maybe I’m imagining all of this.
But then I see him again, standing there, really here. And it hits me all over again.
He’s real. My brother.
I intentionally left out some key details, like who we’re children of—or rather, who I am a child of. I didn’t bring up Laura, either, since she’s Cecilia’s sister on her mother’s side.
And then there’s Seth—he never told anyone the truth. Never told them he’s Nico’s son.
Honestly, I’m not even sure why. Maybe he thought they wouldn’t accept it, or maybe he didn’t want to burden anyone with that knowledge.
But as soon as I realized he’d kept that from them, it kind of confirmed the gut feeling I’d had all along: They wouldn't take it well.
It’s like everything would shift, the dynamic would crack under the weight of that truth, and suddenly, they wouldn’t see Seth the same way.
It makes sense, right? I can’t imagine how it feels to be in his shoes—walking through all of this, constantly having to hide parts of yourself just to get through the day.
I catch myself staring at him. I can’t help it.
“You keep staring at me with that intense look,” One says, his voice laced with amusement, and I roll my eyes. Speaking Spanish with him—it’s always been our thing. Back when we were kids, it was the only language we had that didn’t get us into trouble with the guards. But, of course, our father hated it.
He said Spanish was only for the enemy and that we needed to learn perfect English. I’m not sure when it happened, but I started thinking in English more than Spanish. Still, I’m fluent.
“It’s hard to believe you’re here. How come Father never recognized you?”
One shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Cory made sure I grew up away from the Cartel in every way. I started going on missions to kill them when I was older. Up until then, the only thing that resembled me to Nico was my eyes. No one would make the connection. And I was careful not to draw his attention. He thinks I’m dead. I wanted it to stay that way.”
“Not only does he think you’re dead, he’s built an entire war on that lie,” I mutter.
He nods, as if this is something he’s long accepted. “I’m sorry you had to grow up in that place for so long.”
I let out a breath, the weight of it all pressing in on me. “I wasn’t always locked up, you know,” I say quietly, my gaze distant. “I lived in James’ mansion for a while, but it wasn’t like any ordinary place. It was... well, it was made for me. He just wanted me protected from the outside world, like some kind of cage with prettier walls.”
“Nico sold you to James.”
“Yeah,” I say, almost as if I’ve already come to terms with it. “After I killed my fiancé.”
“That’s my girl,” Seth says, his pride in me cutting through the seriousness.
“I hate him,” I whisper, my voice thick with the raw emotion I’ve been holding back. “But you know what? He didn’t even bother to face me. He just tossed me aside, sent me off for other people to deal with.”
“I’ll kill him for us,” One offers, and I can’t help but smile, even if it’s weak.
“Don’t let him find out you’re alive.”
“He will. Eventually,” he says, voice low and steady.
I feel the old, familiar weight of everything start to press in again, but I push it down, forcing myself to focus on what’s real.
“Seth,” I say his name for the first time, testing it, letting it sit between us. It feels strange but comforting. Before, we were two weapons, two numbers. Now, we’re something else.
We’re not just experiments anymore. I’m Mia, and he’s Seth. In this moment, we feel more real, more human than ever.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his hand resting on my shoulder like a promise.
“When did you stop being such a crybaby?” I tease, nostalgia thick in my voice. “You used to be the emotional one between us.”
“I don’t know. There was a point when those emotions just... drained out of me,” he says, his tone almost somber. And that hits me in a way I can’t explain.
Because before Seth left, I wasn’t trained like he was. I didn’t go through what he did. Sure, I had my own hell to live through, but nothing compares to what our father put him through.
Nico trained Seth like he was an extension of his own will, making him into something cold, something capable of destruction. He was only a kid back then.
I can’t really feel my pain, but I can feel every bit of his.
“It’s funny, you know,” Seth says, his voice cutting through the silence. “You look at me like I’m the one who needs saving. But you’re the one who lived there the longest. That was your reality.”
I smile, though it’s humorless. “He never cared about my existence. I was a blessing for a while, until he realized he couldn’t use me. Then he just sold me. I know what James did to me, I get it. But that doesn’t take away your pain, Seth.”
“What pain? I don’t feel any pain,” he says, shrugging, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that tells me otherwise.
I understand that. I do.
“Do you trust him?” Seth asks suddenly, his gaze flickering to the lock screen of my phone—Zane, headphones on, lost in his sketchbook, oblivious to everything else. I don’t know why I’m so protective of that moment, but I am.
“You mean my husband?” I raise an eyebrow, the teasing tone evident. Seth rolls his eyes, clearly not impressed.
“You can’t kill him,” I huff, giving him a look that says it all. “I know that look, Seth. You haven’t changed. You’d hunt him down the second I turned my back.”
He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he just looks at me, a knowing expression on his face. I smile, feeling the weight of years of distance, yet realizing he’s still the same.
“Are you talking to Audrey?” I ask, and his face falls.
“How do you know Audrey?”
“We met when I was in Los Angeles. She thought I was you when I almost stabbed a guy.”
“My girl,” Seth says again, pulling me into a hug, and I feel that familiar knot in my chest. He’s never been one for hugs, always keeping people at arm’s length. But now, something’s different. He’s still the same, but there’s a change—he’s letting me in, just a little. It’s strange, but I’m happy for him.
“I promised her I’d spank your ass for hurting her,” I say, teasing. “I didn’t know it was you at the time, but I’m still tempted to follow through.”
“I don’t want to talk about Audrey.”
“I thought her father killed you. Nico would go ballistic if he knew you got involved with a Ross of all people.”
“I owe Nico no loyalty,” he says, the words coming out firmer than I expect.
My eyes narrow. “I know that, but it’s complicated. Maybe if you brought Audrey—”
“Mia, drop it.” Seth’s voice is flat, almost bored.
I squint at him. “So, what, I can’t even text Audrey anymore?”
He exhales slowly, like this conversation is a waste of his time. “No, you can’t.”
I stare at him, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he just looks back, blank and unbothered.
“That’s insane,” I scoff. “You don’t own her.”
Seth chuckles—low, humorless. “You think that matters?” His head tilts slightly, eyes assessing me like I’m something pathetic. “You don’t get it, Mia. You never do. You flutter around like nothing has consequences, but that’s not how it works.”
I cross my arms. “Audrey can make her own decisions.”
“She did,” he says, voice light, indifferent. “And she chose me.”
There’s something chilling about the way he says it, like it’s final, like it’s law. My stomach twists.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to her.”
He lets out a small sigh, rubbing his temple. “You’re exhausting.” His gaze flicks back to me, bored again. “No texts. No calls. No little check-ins. I don’t like people hovering around what’s mine.”
I bristle. “She’s not a thing, Seth.”
He shrugs. “Is there a point in this conversation?”
My hands tighten into fists. “You can’t just cut people off from the people they care about.”
His voice is casual, unbothered. “This conversation is over.”
My chest tightens. “So that’s it? You’re just walking away?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning without a second glance. “I am.”
Seth turns his back to me without another word, his footsteps steady, unhurried. Like he’s already erased this conversation from his mind, like I was never even part of the equation.
I stand there, speechless, frustration curling in my chest, caught between wanting to call him back and knowing it wouldn’t matter.
Then—
A knock at the door. Sharp. Precise.
I shake off the lingering frustration and yank it open, already rolling my eyes. “You’re back already? I knew you’d realize what a major asshole you were being—”
But it’s not Seth I find.
The smugness dies on my lips the second I see who’s actually standing there.
Carter.
"Expecting someone else?" His voice is smooth, almost entertained.
My fingers twitch at my side, itching to reach for something—anything. My heartbeat drums against my ribs, but I force my face to stay neutral.
"Depends," I say, tilting my head. "Are you here to apologize for being an asshole too?"
His smirk deepens. "Something like that."
Carter is sitting on my couch , his expression a strange mix of turmoil and euphoria. I stare at him, debating whether I should call Zane or Lara—after all, he’s not really my problem to deal with. But I let him in without much of a word, and he looks at me, a little apprehensive.
"I'm so sorry, Mia," he says quietly.
I frown. "Do you really mean that?"
His eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see it—just how broken Carter is inside.
"I never told Zane how I felt about him," he begins. "He's always been this distant person. I thought if I gave him enough time, he would…"
"See that you were there?"
"Yeah," he exhales.
I watch him, arms crossed, caught between curiosity and wariness. He sinks into my couch like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. There's something about him tonight—exhausted, yes, but also strangely exhilarated, like he's teetering on the edge of something. A breakdown, maybe. I don't know what brought him here, but for the first time, I get the sense that Carter didn't come armed.
"Then you came along, all energy and fire, and just lured him into your web," he continues, not looking at me. His voice doesn't carry the anger it once did—just a deep, lingering weariness.
I don't react right away. I could laugh at the metaphor, but there's something too raw about the confession for that. Has he always seen me this way? As a force that swept in and took what he wanted for himself?
"I never thought of him like that," I say finally. "Not as a prize to be won."
He lets out a humorless laugh. "But he was everything to me. And I hated you for… for being where I could never be."
I tilt my head, studying him. "So what now? Do you still hate me?"
Carter sighs, closing his eyes for a beat before shaking his head. "No." A pause. "I guess I just hated that he chose you without effort. And I spent years trying to be enough."
Something tightens in my chest—not out of guilt, because I never set out to hurt him, but because I understand. I understand what it’s like to love someone who can’t love you back.
"I get it."
Carter stares at me, surprised.
"I understand," I repeat. "I've felt that before. Maybe not with Zane, but… I know what it’s like to feel like no matter what you do, it’ll never be enough."
He looks away. For the first time since he walked in, he looks uncertain.
"I never should’ve said those things to you," Carter admits, and for once, I believe him. "I just wanted you to hurt the way I was hurting."
I exhale, my shoulders relaxing slightly. "And it did."
He shrinks back a little, guilt flickering across his face.
But then I add, "But Zane fought back. And in the end, it was the first time I truly saw how much he cared about me. So… thanks for that, I guess?" I smile, just enough to lighten the weight of the past.
Carter lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You're insufferable."
"I know."
Silence settles between us, but it's different now.
I realize that Carter was never really my enemy. He was just a boy in love, a boy who had his heart broken.
And maybe, finally, we can leave it at that.
I study him for a moment, noticing how tired he looks—not just from this conversation, but in a deeper way, like someone who's carrying more than they can handle.
I frown. "Why are you telling me all this now?"
Carter sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at me again. "Because things are bad, Mia."
A chill runs down my spine. "What do you mean?"
He hesitates, like he's searching for the right words. "I got involved with the wrong people. I made choices that… I don’t know how to fix." His eyes meet mine, and there's something there that unsettles me—fear. Not the kind of fear I’m used to seeing in Carter. Something deeper. "And I didn’t want to just disappear before I could tell you that I regret it. For everything I did to you. For everything I said."
I stay quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. A part of me wants to press him, to demand the truth, but another part understands—this isn’t why he came. He came to say what needed to be said.
"I don’t hold grudges, Carter." My voice is softer than I expected, free of anger or resentment. "And if you really want to get out of this, I hope you can."
He gives a small smile—not happy, just relieved.
"I’m glad you and Lara are friends," he says after a beat. "She’s always been kind of lonely since our parents died. She tries to hide it, but… she needed someone like you."
I smile. "I like her. I really do."
"I know." He looks at me with something I can't quite name.
For a moment, we just look at each other.
Then, as if he knows he's said all he needed to say, Carter stands. I don't stop him.
"Take care, Mia."
I nod. "You too."
I stand there for a few seconds after he leaves, something inside me stirring in a strange, uncomfortable way. A bad feeling settles in my chest, thick and lingering, like a premonition I can't shake.
It’s not your problem, Mia.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. He made his choices. He didn’t even want to tell me exactly what was going on—he just showed up to apologize and move on.
So why can’t I let this go?
Maybe because, despite everything, I never wanted things between us to end this way. Or maybe because something in his eyes unsettled me—something hollow. Something final.
I cross my arms, irritated with myself. I could just sit back down, pretend this never happened. I could text Lara and tell her Carter stopped by—she’d know how to handle this better than I could.
But my legs won’t move back inside. They want to go the other way.
Shit.
I grab my coat and head out the door before I can talk myself out of it.