Chapter 42
SOREN
When she told me she was a child born of rape, my heart almost split in two.
Because to carry that specific burden, I understand it all too well.
It’s no wonder I’ve been so drawn to her—why we’re soulmates.
To carry that knowledge—that curse—that a monster’s blood, their DNA, runs through our veins. Something we can never outrun.
It doesn’t need to chase us. It’s just there, within us, from the day we are born until the day we die, and perhaps beyond.
I thought I was destined to carry that weight alone. It’s hardly something that people share.
It’s a burden. We are burdens because of it.
We are both poison because of it. And I came up with that nickname without even knowing these specifics. I can sense it in her… because I can feel it within me.
My mentor used it. Painting a picture where I too was destined to become a monster. Using it to justify his preconceived notions of the adult I’d evolve into, the lengths I would go to in order to carry out his darkest plans.
He took my deepest fears and made them real, showing me the monster I was—that I am—and encouraging me to embrace my darkness. Teaching me to use it.
Knowing this about Ivy makes me understand her more—what a complex, layered creature she is. No wonder her fantasies are so dark. We’ve barely scratched the surface.
Hell, adoption makes you feel like you don’t belong because you don’t look like your family or act quite like they do—but that’s the surface stuff.
Being the source of an act so vile makes you feel like you’re destined not to function in society. To be ostracized for something that happened before you ever existed.
It’s felt from the moment you’re in the womb. I may not have gotten to meet my mother seeing she died while giving birth to me—I’m a murderer from the start—the twisted curse of my father’s acts coursing through me and taking my mother’s life before I even emerged from her, kicking and screaming.
Even before I was born, I felt it. During my incubation, I absorbed her sentiment towards me. How she wanted to nurture me but felt a sense of loathing, regret—fear. Even hatred at times.
Imagine not even being born yet—and knowing your mother is scared of you? Imagine knowing that her mind plays with wishes that you didn’t exist.
Wondering what if her body cleansed itself of you—naturally or otherwise—before it was time for her to bring you into this world?
You arrive tainted, and everyone senses it—that something is deeply wrong with you, that you carry the mark of the devil or something just like it.
And the desire to ruin others—to destroy them the way your mother was destroyed—courses through your veins. It’s not a choice. It’s predetermined.
Destiny.
Imagine, once born, your mother gazing upon your angelic baby face with a mixture of fear and disgust. Seeing her attacker in your eyes, your build, your movements as you grow.
Luckily, I didn’t get to see that.
But clearly, Ivy had to endure her birth mother’s approach once she grew old enough.
Kind at first, but then her mask slipping, her true sentiments about Ivy’s existence coming through in a cold email that revealed everything. The ugliness. The dark truth.
I wanted to throttle her birth mother when I heard—and I still do—for what she did to Ivy. So cold and callous, placing the blame on her for something she wasn’t even alive for. Before she was even a bundle of cells.
As if the sperm that created her was sentient, and Ivy willed her father to take her mother by force—all before she was paired with the egg that would eventually make her human.
But hurting her would only bring Ivy more pain. And she’s had enough of that already.
Her birth father, though? He’s dropped all communication with her, and she doesn’t anticipate ever hearing from him again. Her feelings for him are cold as ice—I can tell—not the same guilt or defensiveness she feels for her birth mother.
Because how could you defend a rape like that?
Plans are already in motion. He won’t be a problem much longer. And I’ll make sure that he feels the pain, the fear, the self-loathing that his actions have spawned in my precious Ivy.
Still, as dark and wrong and evil it was that this happened, I’m glad it did. That she exists.
My Ivy.
My little poison.
And it makes it abundantly clear why she’s so desperate for unconditional love. So easy to manipulate just by accepting her the way she is. Not judging her. Not focusing on that dark part of her as if it’s bad or wrong.
Now there’s just another very strong reason why she matters.
Why she’s my world.
We’re the same—two souls, bound by a curse that I would wish on no one.
One that’s shaped every action, every thought, every sentiment I’ve ever had toward myself.
And it’s why I won’t stop until she’s finally completely mine.
Every broken, tarnished part of her.
That’s why what happened was necessary.
It was for her own good.
But she can’t ever know that I was the one who got her canceled.
It would break her. Drive an irreparable wedge between us.
She would never forgive me if she knew that the career—the business she worked so hard to build—was ripped to shreds by the man who loves her. She’d be devastated, and she might even do something drastic.
It wasn’t hard to give them a little tidbit to fixate on—that would have people coming at her with pitchforks without allowing for any context or additional information.
It’s so easy to whip the internet into a frenzy these days. One well-placed leak and it’s all over.
Part of me felt bad for doing it.
But Ivy’s attention was all over the place.
She was good at her job—really good—but her clients were taking advantage of her. Their neuroses were spilling onto her like a disease, each one making her jump back and forth like a ragdoll, responding to their whims.
It was no good. Not sustainable.
The job was treating her as a battering ram, and there was absolutely no way for her nervous system to calm while being involved in that.
So I took matters into my own hands.
And it worked.
It was all planned, and everything went into motion perfectly.
I lined up a new client, someone I knew well from years back. A rare person that I somewhat trust.
She happened to be in the market for a competent PR person, someone excellent with social media.
And I knew she’d treat Ivy properly. That she’d be respectful of her time and appreciate her skillset, the way that Ivy deserves.
She doesn’t need those other people.
They showed their hand, dropping her at the first sign of trouble. Their superficial take-take-take attitude deserving of a more violent end than I’ve given them. They should be grateful they got off so easy.
And as for the way this situation has made Ivy feel. She’s obviously shattered. A husk of her former self.
It’s been hard seeing her like this.
But I know this will pass—it’s already beginning to with the onset of her latest client—and the Internet mob will soon move onto the latest scandal.
The latest target. Someone’s always planting this or that online, whether it has merit or not.
There’s always something to send the internet into a froth, so today’s news becomes yesterday’s.
The death threats are no good, of course. But I have a team working on disposing of everyone who made one of those.
Most of them are probably full of it, but I don’t take risks.
Especially when it comes to my Ivy.
And she will rise from the ashes once again, like she always does. My beautiful poison, just like a phoenix that never stays down for too long, no matter what life throws at her.
She just doesn’t need to know I’m the one who lit the match.
She’ll be happier for it.
And we’ll be stronger together having gone through it. Giving her the ability to see just how supportive I am.
How I would do absolutely anything for her.
Including destroying her.
Especially that.