Chapter 28
28
Cecely
“What’s your favorite color?” Bonnie asks.
We all wait three seconds and answer.
“Purple.”
Laughter bubbles up, light and unexpected, shattering the weight of the day. For the first time since I learned they exist, it doesn’t feel so heavy. We aren’t just standing in a room, forced into a situation none of us asked for. We’re bonding.
Bonnie grins, still laughing. “How are we so similar?”
Alyssa smirks, shaking her head. “Maybe genetics aren’t as weak as they say.”
I glance between them, my heart lighter than it has been in days.
“Okay, next question.”
Bonnie hums in thought, then grins. “Guilty pleasure movie?”
We all think for a second?—
And then, again, we answer at the same time.
“ The Mummy .”
Another wave of laughter erupts.
Alyssa clutches her stomach, falling back against the pillows.
“Okay, this is getting weird.”
I bite my lip, smiling. “Maybe it’s fate.”
Bonnie tilts her head, considering. “Maybe it’s just us.”
“Maybe so.”
“Okay, new game.” Bonnie wiggles her eyebrows. “It’s called ‘are you sleeping with the hot man who lives here’.”
My mouth drops open, and I playfully throw a pillow at Bonnie.
“Here I was thinking you were the quiet, innocent one!”
Bonnie just winks, completely unbothered. “You know what they say about the quiet ones.” She leans forward, her grin wicked. “Now, answer.”
Heat rushes up my neck. “I—” Nope. Not doing this. I grab another pillow and smack her with it. “That is none of your business.”
Alyssa gasps dramatically. “That’s a yes.”
Bonnie just smirks. “Oh, definitely a yes.”
I groan, covering my face. “I hate you both.”
Bonnie nudges my knee. “No, you don’t.”
And dammit, she’s right.
Alyssa grins. “Fine, fine. We’ll drop it.”
Then Bonnie, with the most innocent voice ever, asks, “But is he good?”
“Bonnie!” I shove her, laughing despite myself.
Alyssa loses it, practically falling over. And suddenly I don’t feel so alone anymore.
“I am not answering that.”
Bonnie gasps, delighted. “Oh, my God. That means yes.”
Alyssa leans in, grinning. “It totally does.”
I peek at them through my fingers. “You two are the worst.”
Bonnie shrugs. “We just want to make sure you’re properly entertained while you’re here.”
Alyssa nudges my arm. “Come on. Just a little something. We’ll drop it if you say one thing.”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. One thing.”
They both lean in, waiting. I hesitate.
Then, in the softest voice possible, I mutter, “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Bonnie squeals. Alyssa clutches her chest like I just gave her life.
“Oh, hell yes,” Alyssa cackles. “I knew it.”
Bonnie sighs dreamily. “That man has ‘ruin your life and vagina in the best way possible’ energy. You’re so lucky.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You two are ridiculous.”
Alyssa smirks. “Maybe. But we’re not wrong.”
And honestly? They’re not.
“What about the two of you? Are you dating anyone?”
Alyssa and Bonnie exchange a look, this one heavier. It’s not teasing or playful, but something real. Something that makes my stomach twist.
Alyssa shrugs, but it’s forced. “We’re not allowed to.”
“Why not?”
Bonnie sighs, picking at a thread on her sleeve. “Because Dad arranged marriages for us a long time ago.”
I stare at them, unblinking.
“What?”
Alyssa snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s true. We were bought and sold like cattle before we could even walk.”
The words hit like a slap. It shouldn’t surprise me. Not with a father like Blanc, the same man who ignored me for twenty-four years. But somehow, it still does.
“Have you met the men?”
Bonnie shakes her head. “Not officially. But we know who they are.”
Alyssa’s jaw tightens. “And trust me, we don’t have a choice.”
Something sharp lodges in my chest. I wish there was some way I could help them. Do something. Anything.
A heavy silence fills the room. Bonnie traces a pattern on the bedspread, avoiding my gaze. Alyssa just stares at the ceiling, lips pressed together like she’s holding back every ugly truth she’s never said aloud.
“How do you feel about him? About your father…”
Neither of them answers right away. But then Alyssa lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.
“You mean the man who arranged our futures before we could talk?” She shifts, turning toward me. “Or the man who lied to us for our entire lives?”
Bonnie swallows hard. “The man who made sure we were always perfect. Always obedient. Always his.”
A lump forms in my throat. Because I know what it’s like to be controlled. But at least I wasn’t raised by the man pulling the strings. No, it was my mother…
“How do we feel about him? We hate him, Cecely.” Bonnie exhales, her voice quieter but just as raw. “And we love him.”
I freeze. Because that?
That is a truth I know far too well. The conflict of resentment and loyalty. The war between hating someone for what they’ve done, but still craving their approval. It’s exactly how I feel about my mother.
Bonnie lifts her gaze to mine. “I think that’s the worst part.”
Alyssa nods slowly. And for the first time, I see it. The part of them that is just like me. Because no matter how much I want to believe I’m different… I still want answers from Blanc and my mother. I still want to know why I wasn’t enough.
My voice is low as I say, “It was the same way with my mother. She was…hard to live with.”
“So I’m guessing you’re not thrilled she’s on her way?”
I shake my head. “She has this way of getting under my skin. She sees my weak spots and attacks.”
Alyssa says, “Gee, sounds like Dad. No wonder they love each other.”
“And your mom? What’s she like?”
Bonnie sighs, running a hand through her hair.
“Mom has had it rough. She grew up in this life knowing what to expect, but I think it still hurts, you know?”
I nod slowly, because I do know. I know exactly what it’s like to hope for something that was never meant to be. To want love from someone who would never give it.
Alyssa shrugs, but it’s not careless. It’s the shrug of someone who’s learned to bury the things that hurt. “Yeah. I mean, at some point I’m sure she thought Dad would fall in love with her.”
Something tightens in my chest. Because that’s the cruelest part of this world. It doesn’t just take choices away. It dangles them in front of you just close enough to make you believe they were possible.
Bonnie says, “I don’t think she ever wanted to hate him.”
Alyssa lets out a bitter laugh. “Too bad love and hate aren’t all that different sometimes.”
The words settle over the room, heavy because they’re true. I think of my mother. I think of the rage that still lingers in my gut, and the ache that comes with it. Because I don’t just hate her. I still want something from her. And I hate that I do.
I swallow hard, voice quiet. “Did she ever try to leave him?”
Alyssa shakes her head. “No. Not once.”
Bonnie whispers, “Because she was never allowed to.”
And just like that, I understand her more than I ever expected to.
“Girls, I’d like to speak to you.”
We all freeze like we’ve just been caught sneaking out after curfew. Their mother stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable, her posture perfect. Not a single hair out of place. Oh, crap. How much did she hear?
But she doesn’t look at me. Not once. Her gaze is locked only on her daughters.
“Alone,” she adds in a smooth, controlled tone.
Like she already expects obedience.
Alyssa’s jaw tightens, but she says nothing. Bonnie glances at me, uncertain. I don’t wait for their mother to acknowledge me because I know she won’t.
I stand.
“I should go.” My voice is casual, like I don’t feel the weight of what just happened. I force a small smile. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Bonnie’s lips part like she wants to say something, but Alyssa nudges her, giving me the smallest nod. I take the out. Because no matter how much I like my half-sisters, this is a conversation I don’t belong in.
I slip past their mother, her perfume sharp in my nose, her presence icy and immovable. She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
But I get it now. She doesn’t hate me. She hates what I represent. And I can respect that.
I make my way toward Claudius’ wing, but my steps slow. Because suddenly, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I don’t want to sit in silence, replaying that woman’s cold dismissal in my head. I need to do something. To take control of something. I’m sick of being ignored. Sick of being left out. Sick of feeling like I’m just waiting for the next blow.
I exhale sharply, making my decision. I’m going to find my father and get some fucking answers.
I find Blanc exactly where I expect him. Sitting at the bar in the study. He has a drink in hand, his shoulders tense, his eyes dark with thoughts he hasn’t shared with anyone.
I step inside, the click of my sandals snapping him out of whatever daze he’s in.
He glances at me, expression unreadable. “Cecely.”
I don’t hesitate. “Why am I really here?”
His brows lift slightly. “Excuse me?”
I cross my arms, holding his gaze steady.
“Don’t bullshit me. This isn’t just about Gabriel. Or safety.” I pause, let the words sink in. Then I hit him where it matters. “And it sure as hell isn’t about family.”
His jaw tightens. Good.
I step forward.
“So tell me the real reason you finally decided to acknowledge me.”
His grip on his glass tightens. He doesn’t answer right away. But that’s fine. Because I’m not leaving until he does. Blanc takes a slow sip of his drink, stalling. I don’t move. I don’t blink. I just wait. And when he finally speaks, I know it’s a distraction.
“You remind me of your mother.”
A flicker of heat ignites in my chest. Because of course he would go there.
“That’s not an answer.”
“You want the truth, Cecely? The truth is complicated.”
I huff out a laugh, crossing my arms. “It’s also not what I asked.”
His jaw tics as I lean in, lowering my voice.
“You can spin this however you want, but I see through you. You don’t care about me. You never have. So why am I here now?”
His expression hardens. But he still doesn’t answer. Instead, he shrugs, like none of this matters.
“You’re my daughter. I should have brought you into my life a long time ago.”
“Bullshit.”
His eyes flick to mine, sharp. “Careful, Cecely.”
“No, you be careful. Because I don’t give a damn about your carefully crafted image. You can control everyone else in this house, but you will never control me.”
Silence. Then he smirks, like he’s enjoying this.
“Maybe I was wrong about you.” His voice is almost amused. “Maybe you are my daughter, after all.”
That? That pisses me off more than anything else. Because I am nothing like him. I won’t let myself be.
I press forward. “You’re afraid.”
His jaw locks.
I tilt my head. “Why?”
He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “This was a mistake.”
“Bringing me here?”
He doesn’t answer, which means yes. The realization should hurt. But it doesn’t. Because now I know for certain that this isn’t about me. It never was.
“Tell me the truth, Blanc. Why am I really here?”
His shoulders rise and fall. For a moment, I think he’s going to dodge again.
But then he speaks. “Because Gabriel is coming.”
I freeze.
He meets my gaze, and there’s no amusement left. No smugness. Just the bitter truth.
“And if he doesn’t kill me first… I think he’ll come for you next.” A pause. “Or your mother.”
Blanc’s voice is grim, certain. Like this is something he’s already prepared for.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Blanc scoffs. “Doesn’t it?”
I swallow hard. “Why would Gabriel come for my mother?”
Blanc leans back, eyes dark. “Because he knows she’s the thing I love most in this world.”
I exhale, shaking my head. “Thing. Not person. Thing.”
I let the words hang there, let him feel the weight of them. Because that’s what she is to him, isn’t she? Not a woman. Not a mother. Not even a lover.
Just a thing to possess.
“You are so fucked up that you can’t even see it, can you?”
His eyes flash. “Cecely, do not speak to?—”
“I’ll speak to you however I want.” The words snap like a whip, sharp and absolute. “You’re not my father, Blanc. You never will be.”
I see it. The way his jaw tics. The way his breathing changes. He doesn’t like that. Good. Because I don’t owe him respect. I don’t owe him anything.
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.
“I feel sorry for my half-sisters who have to live with you.”
His nostrils flare, but I don’t stop.
“I even feel bad for your wife.” My lips curl in something sharp, cutting. “It must be terrible trying to live up to whatever pedestal you’ve put my mother on.”
The words land like a blow. Blanc’s face darkens. For the first time, I see true anger flash behind his eyes. But I don’t care. Because I’m done. Done playing his game. Done letting him act like he’s some kind of victim.
If Gabriel is coming for him, maybe it’s because he deserves it.
The anger in his eyes sharpens, but he doesn’t explode. Instead, he goes cold. Like a man who’s done with the theatrics, done with pretending to be something he’s not.
Blanc leans forward, placing his glass down so softly, so deliberately, that it makes my skin crawl more than if he had shattered it.
“You think you know me, Cecely?”
I don’t answer. Because something in me knows this is the moment I need to be careful.
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a chess piece he’s deciding whether to sacrifice.
“You don’t. But let me tell you something.” A long, unbearable pause. “I have no problem ruining you, daughter or not. In fact, the only reason I’ve tolerated you this long is because of your mother. Really, you should thank her when she arrives.”
Ice slides down my spine. I don’t blink, don’t flinch. But I feel the shift in the air. The understanding that I just made an enemy out of a very dangerous man.
Blanc leans back, taking another slow sip of his drink like he didn’t just threaten me. Like I’m not worth the effort of being angry.
“Go on, then,” he murmurs, waving me away like a nuisance. “Run back to Irons. Tell him all about how cruel I am.”
His eyes gleam, amused, as if he already knows Claudius won’t do a damn thing about it. Blanc’s eyes stay locked on mine, that smug, icy calm settling over him like armor.
But then someone calls out, “Charles.”
Sharp and familiar. My spine goes rigid. Blanc’s lips press together, his entire demeanor shifting. Not with surprise, but with… happiness?
I turn just as Beatrice Blight steps into the room. My mother. She looks exactly as I remember. Perfectly put together until you look closer. Her clothes are wrinkled. Thick make-up hides the lines on her face. And her eyes? Cold as always.
Her gaze flicks to me for half a second. Then, her focus returns to Blanc.
“I see the two of you met.”
Blanc says, “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”
Beatrice exhales slowly, moving past me like I’m a piece of furniture. Her perfume—vanilla and tangy fruit—floods my senses, taking me back to a time when that scent would terrify me. Should I be scared now?
And then, just like Blanc, she lowers herself into a chair, like she has all the time in the world.
“We should talk.”
Blanc lifts a brow, like he was waiting for this. “About?”
Her gaze flickers to me. And finally, she acknowledges me.
“About our daughter and what she’s done.”