Chapter 9
ELLIE
Holy fuck.
This was a trap.
This entire time, it was a trap.
How could I have been so stupid?
I know why—because I was driven by my need for vengeance, by my need to avenge Landon and all the others who these twisted motherfuckers have harmed.
A part of me always knew it was dangerous to come here tonight, but I’d overlooked the danger, choosing to believe that we’d be able to outsmart The Divine One.
The plan was supposed to be simple. Find Fischer. Convince him to help us. Grab The Divine One’s little black book. Destroy the organization. Take down The Divine One once and for all.
And now…
The Divine One stalks forward, her steps preternaturally quiet, and moves until she stands directly in front of me.
Dominic begins to struggle in earnest, throwing his body from side to side.
Another member of POP stands behind him, holding him still, though he simply throws his head back, cracking the asshole’s mask, though he doesn’t release him.
The Divine One ignores him and keeps her focus on me.
“Ellie.”
The air feels heavy, fear pressing on my chest. But I refuse to allow that emotion to show on my face. Not even for a second.
“Aria,” I greet her, smirking when she stumbles a little bit. It’s apparent she wasn’t aware that I knew the truth of her identity.
She gathers her composure quickly and brushes a hand down her robe before shifting her masked face toward the man behind me.
“You did good, Harvey. You’ll be rewarded.”
More guards have surrounded Dominic, pulling at his arms and waist. My golden god bares his teeth at his father, his features etched in fury.
“You’re going to fucking pay for this! I’m going to murder you—” Dom’s threat is interrupted by a guard placing his gloved hand over his mouth. The guard immediately drops it when Dom bites him.
Dom’s rat bastard of a father puffs out his chest, practically preening under her praise, ignoring Dominic completely.
“Blessed Divine One.” He lowers his head subserviently. “If I would’ve known that the goddess has been with us this entire time, that she has been right under my nose, I swear I would’ve—”
“Silence.” The Divine One doesn’t yell the word, but then again, she doesn’t have to. Harvey stops babbling immediately, though he doesn’t yet lift his head. “You may leave us now.”
Harvey nods erratically. “Yes, of course.” He turns toward me, his voice taking on a reverent tone that makes revulsion slither across my skin. “Goddess.”
Is he being serious? He has to know that this is nothing but a ploy by The Divine One—one last attempt to get me under her control.
She tried brainwashing me, recruiting me, and even selling me, but none of that worked.
Now, she has played her final card, and it was one that none of us were expecting. We don’t have a solution for this.
My stomach attempts feebly to displace my lungs as I heft my chin imperiously in the air, turning from Harvey to focus on The Divine One—Aria—once more.
“What’s your plan here?” I ask her, my voice scathing and bitter. “You can’t seriously believe—”
“Come. Let’s talk privately, goddess.” She pivots on her heel and moves toward a door located in the back corner of the ballroom.
What the hell is her plan?
Is she going to kill me? Sacrifice me? That won’t stop my guys.
Nor my uncle, for that matter. They’re all hell-bent on taking her down.
Does she think I’ll willingly join her and this organization if I don’t have a choice in the matter?
Maybe, but that doesn’t feel right either.
There’s something I’m missing, some piece of the puzzle I haven’t quite collected yet…
Thoughts form in my mind like chemicals mixing together, creating a toxin so pungent, so vile, it could obliterate entire populations in seconds.
“Ellie!” Dom growls, lunging for me. He must’ve broken free. Two masked men pull him back immediately, though that doesn’t stop him. He simply rocks his body from side to side, freeing one arm and throwing a punch at the bastard’s face.
“Stop the senseless fighting,” The Divine One says, having stopped a short distance away, the crowd around her parting like Moses in the Red Sea. “And bring the boy.”
No! I want to scream. Don’t!
Who knows what they’ll do to him?
My anxiety spikes. I just pray that my other guys are here, hidden in the crowd, choosing not to react in case we need them later.
I don’t search the masked faces, however, as I follow Aria—I refuse to think of her as The Divine One a second longer, though I know I won’t be able to help myself—into the room.
None of us speak as we maneuver down a series of halls before finally stopping at what appears to be an office or study. Two masked men deposit Dominic onto the floor, then immediately move to guard the door. Dom hurries to stand and races toward me, pulling me flush against him.
The room we’re in is dimly lit by a grand, bronze chandelier hanging from an intricately molded ceiling, its warm glow reflecting off the dark mahogany-paneled walls.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line two of the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes, antique globes, and curated artifacts from various countries.
At the center of the room sits a massive desk—its surface immaculate except for a vintage fountain pen, an open notebook, and a crystal decanter of whiskey beside a matching tumbler.
A high-backed leather chair with deep button tufting faces the desk, while two wingback chairs in burgundy velvet sit across from it.
Heavy drapes frame tall arched windows, which offer a view of the estate gardens beyond, gilded with moonlight.
A ticking grandfather clock stands sentry in the far corner of the room, and I focus on the soft rhythm of its hands.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
On the wall above the unlit fireplace hangs a somber oil portrait of an unfamiliar man, with crinkled cheeks and wispy gray hair.
Is that…Melody’s father? Mr. Ladouceur? The man who started this entire fucked-up cult?
Would that make him a distant relative of mine? My great-great-great-grandfather or whatever?
The thought makes me physically sick.
“Come. Take a seat.” The Divine One moves toward the chair behind the desk, though Dom and I remain standing.
“What’s your end goal here?” Dom demands, ripping off his mask and tossing it on the ground. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes violent emeralds in his striking face.
“My end goal?” Aria reaches for the decanter and the tumbler, pouring herself a generous amount of whiskey.
“What the hell do you want from me?” I ask. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”
“Like you’ve been leaving me alone?” she asks.
And then The Divine One removes her mask.
She’s not what I would expect from the leader of a twisted and depraved organization.
Not at all. She has styled her short blonde hair in a carefree pixie cut, the kind that lends her a youthful, almost impish charm.
Her face is delicate, though lined with age in a way that speaks more to laughter than sorrow.
There’s something almost kind in her smile, a gentle upturn of the lips that seems to invite conversation, even comfort.
But her eyes betray it all.
Pale, unblinking, and flat—her eyes are devoid of warmth, like glass left in shadow.
They don’t follow the rhythm of her expressions, don’t crinkle with the smile currently tilting up her lips.
They just stare. Cold. Still. Watching. There’s no malice in them, but no kindness either, just an eerie vacancy, like something behind them burned out long ago and never came back.
The longer I stare at her, the more the disconnect grows.
That empty gaze, paired with such an innocent, even sweet, appearance, leaves me unsettled.
She’s nothing but a porcelain doll.
The Divine One.
My…mother.
A lump manifests in my throat.
“It seems as if your Uncle Raymond has been talking,” she says, taking a sip of her whiskey. Even her voice is sweet, belying the evil I know lurks beneath her innocent countenance.
I ignore her comment about Raymond and take a single step closer. “I know exactly who you are, Aria. But what I don’t know is what you want from me.”
A tentative smile plays at the edges of Aria’s lips as she takes another sip of her drink, allowing her mouth to linger on the rim.
“If you know who I am, then is it hard to believe that I want my family back together?” Her cold, unnerving eyes land on me. “Daughter.”
I blanch. “Don’t call me that.”
“No?” One of her eyebrows arches. “But it’s the truth, is it not? You came from me. You were supposed to be mine.”
For the first time since this meeting started, a hint of emotion reflects in her expressionless eyes—rage. A rage so potent I feel physically sick, my stomach cramping and nausea churning.
But just as quickly, Aria suppresses her rage, adopting her indifferent mask once more.
“We have all the time in the world to discuss that.” She waves a hand in the air dismissively. “But where are my manners? Do you two want something to drink?”
“No,” Dom bites out, practically vibrating with unfettered fury.
Aria ignores him. “Guards, please send him inside,” she instructs.
In an almost choreographed move, the two men manning the door step to the side and open it.
A familiar man staggers inside, trembling.
Senator Reece Whipers.
Like the last time I saw him, he’s naked, his body covered in bruises and lacerations. He doesn’t even glance in my direction as he presents a tray full of drinks.
Neither Dom nor I take one.
Aria’s smile stretches as she watches the exchange, and it’s clear this is nothing more than a power play. She wants me to see exactly what happens to the people who cross her. This once-powerful man is now nothing more than a puppet for her to use and discard.