Chapter VIII
VIII
LUCIAN
People say betrayal is like a knife in the back.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
It’s nothing like a knife—it’s rot. It starts in your gut and spreads through your body. By the time you realize what’s happened, your spine starts to shatter, your lungs crackle with each breath, and your teeth? They’re suddenly too brittle to eat, to drink, to talk.
Now, I can’t breathe without tasting blood.
It’s not from violence—not yet, at least. No, I taste blood ever since she left my cottage, when the realization hit that she gave herself to me, knowing that she had accepted that bastard’s ring only hours before.
I saw it.
A diamond big enough that she feels like it’s worth something.
A diamond big enough that she doesn’t suspect he’s fucking broke, and she’s falling into a trap that will leave her dead sooner than later. It might not even be fucking real, knowing him. Just like the fake cross she has hanging around her neck.
My steps echo in the hallway as I walk away, baseball bat slung over my shoulder, my other hand in the pocket of my slacks. I get curious looks, from students and faculty alike. But they know better than to say anything to me.
I’m not going to touch Silas, yet.
No, he’ll be last. He has to suffer—watch it all disappear before him.
I won’t touch him, but I will touch everything.
The way he looked at me after I laid him out on the floor of his dorm room, I saw the flash of fear in his eyes. But the scheming snake knew that he’d already done the one thing that would throw my world off balance.
I was hours too late.
If I had pressed her at the funeral, maybe—
No, Eden made a choice.
Despite it all—her grief, her fear, the fact that she thinks Silas is her ticket to acceptance—she still chose to accept that abusive asshole’s ring. For a moment I considered what would have happened to her if she had the courage to say no.
Maybe she was scared.
But she called me the last time she was scared.
She knew that I would have protected her—with my life if I needed to.
At the very least, she could have fucking told me before…
I push the thoughts of that night out of my head. If I focus on them, I’ll change my mind about all this. I’d end up on my knees begging Eden to be mine, I’d rip Silas’ heart out of his chest with my bare hands.
Maybe I’d get what I want that way.
But that won’t be fulfilling for me in the long run.
She needs to choose.
Eden thinks she’s engaged to somebody untouchable. Compared to Silas, compared to her, she might think me a commoner, a powerless one at that.
If she wants a powerful man…
Then I’ll show her power.
I grin to myself. The fear in her eyes when I smashed the window—glass shattered against her desk like frozen pieces of a cracked rainbow. I spoke to Tyne while staring through the jagged mouth in the wall.
She held my gaze until she couldn’t anymore.
The infection sunk deeper, then.
Oh my sweet, Edie. This is just the beginning.
Augustine is a den of vipers masquerading as a holy school. Beneath every golden accomplishment, every act of piety is just to mask the decay this school was built on. But I know the truth.
The blood of a cursed commoner once destroyed this place.
She brought The Order to its knees, and ravaged the entire school. It was rebuilt—but the spirit of her and her lover still haunts these halls, angry that The Order was recreated, angry that “men of importance” still torment the girls at this school in pursuit of even more power.
The school might be named after my family, but that doesn’t mean I agree with anything that happens here.
I was clear about my feelings, but my parents still thought it was a good idea to send me here—their only requirement?
That I didn’t disrupt the school’s image.
This wretched school is still part of my family’s legacy, part of their wealth—albeit, a small part—but they’d rather ignore what happens here than try to fix the underlying problem.
That’s how wealth works.
It eventually corrupts you even when you have the best intentions, just like religion.
Until now, I had been able to follow their instructions.
I declined the offer to join The Order.
Through my family’s charity, I made sure that each girl they used for their fucked up ritual would get psychiatric help and everything else they needed to recover. It was the only thing I could reasonably do. Other than that, I was disconnected.
Until her.
Lady Eden Grace Lockhart.
The interesting girl I first met in the shadows.
Vivienne’s roommate, my English Literature partner.
The more I learned about her, the more I found myself pulled to her.
It was more than just her beauty. Something in her soul called to mine. Deep down, I felt like we were more alike that she realized, that our souls were destined to meet at this crossroad.
I don’t allow myself to think like that anymore.
I’ve put my feelings for Eden into a box, somewhere far inside my—because I don’t have a heart anymore.
Just rage. If she wants to choose the path of least resistance, if she wants to play by the school’s rules and follow the suffocating laws that come with building your entire life around unforgiving social hierarchy, I will certainly let her.
My baseball bat and I visited her this morning to give her a taste of what she’s got herself into. But my wrath is hardly quenched. That fucking ring on her finger was just kindling to the fire that’s melded with the infection taking over my body.
I thought I’d buried this part of myself.
But Eden broke down my walls.
She’s the first girl I’ve had sex with in over a year.
And she betrayed me.
I start with the faculty.
They’re responsible for covering up most of the shit that goes on here. Visuals of Vivienne’s funeral pop into my mind, and that’s when I realize that I’m doing this for her too. Somebody killed her, but the school didn’t care enough to investigate.
So I’ll destroy their illusion.
Because there’s one thing I’ve known ever since I was child—it came with belonging to one of the most revered noble houses in history—you don’t need to spill blood to kill faith.
All it takes is a well-placed whisper, a thread that when pulled unravels it all, or a simple truth that’s so dark it can’t be explained away.
I begin with Archbishop Bloxham.
There was always something off about him. I could sense it. But it didn’t matter much to me, unlike most of the people here I never saw him as different. Yet when I told my older brothers of my plan, they dropped everything to help me.
They all attended Augustine.
They all hated it here.
When I started the group video call and explained my objective, they both had vital pieces to contribute.
Draven, my oldest brother and CEO of some tech startup that I don’t care to know of, was able to find court documents that the school had tried to bury.
Thorne, in his final year of study to become a psychiatrist, had many on how to use psychological manipulation tactics to get what I want.
I would’ve been scared if they weren’t my best friends.
I might be the last Augustine-Beaumont from my family to attend this wretched school.
So when Draven sent me a nameless file early this morning—I wasn’t entirely surprised by what I found inside it.
Archbishop Bloxham always lingered after choir practice.
His hands were always a little too soft on the shoulders of the students he prayed with.
I always found him a little too eager to comfort us.
He would always preach sermons about purity.
The ones that act the most holy are usually compensating for something.
And Draven sent me exactly what Arthur Bloxham wanted to hide from the world.
I printed four sets of the file—one for him, one for the headmistress, one for the Dean.
Inside them lay typed confessions that had disappeared from the local authorities, photos, transcripts of calls made by boys whose parents the school paid to stay silent and an entire timeline of his crimes.
All of the files all had the same demand.
Remove him or this will be leaked to the press.
They were delivered anonymously.
But the fourth file? I’ll be sending it directly to the nation’s largest newspaper—because I know how Augustine likes to do things. They’ll ask him to leave, sending him to retire with a cushy pension plan, funded by my money.
So when police swarm the campus and haul him away, I watch from the shadows. My first mark has fallen. The scared faces of the nuns, the grim looks on the Dean and headmistress; they’re the perfect entertainment as I spark up my joint.
They have no idea the chaos that’s about to descend on them.
I take a deep puff, leaning against a wall in the front courtyard.
Everyone gives me strange looks, but that’s all they can do. I could piss on the statue of Virgin Mary in front of all the nuns and they wouldn’t be able to do anything but turn their heads and hastily make the sign of the cross.
The Headmistress looks the most angry.
Her body’s weathered by age—deep wrinkles in her face, gray hair pulled back in a severe top knot.
She can’t be more than five feet tall. But she’s a spitfire, and it’s all in her eyes.
They’re sharp, severe. That, coupled with the fact that she rarely smiles, makes her seem twice as tall.
I’m standing at the top of the steps, watching her approach me.
Her shoes click against the stone steps.
Today, she’s dressed in a floor-length dress that looks like it belongs to another era. Yet I can tell it’s well made—gold embroidery and stiff, expensive fabric. She stops right beside me, turning her head to look up at me.
I exhale, letting the smoke drift between us.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I speak first.
“Be careful of the next words you speak, Guinevere,” I whisper to her. “You might have given your entire life to this school, but you and I both know that it hardly matters.”
Her face turns red. Fire rages in her eyes.
But her lips stay sealed, and a macabre smile twists my features as I take another puff. Guinevere was appointed by my family decades ago. Yet she knows I have the power to remove her on a whim. I just never had the desire to.
I wanted to leave this place quietly.
Then Eden happened.
There are a few heartbeats of silence between us, during that time more students start to gather to watch the Archbishops fall from grace. I look around, a foolish part of me hoping to spot that coily head of auburn hair. But of course she isn’t here.
If I had to guess, her mother saw the article and told her to stay away from it. I push the thoughts down as deep as I can. Part of me knows that I’m doing this for her, but I’m also doing it to hurt her—and I don’t want to deconstruct the complexity of that thought right now.
I turn my attention back to Guinevere Moreau.
“What is it you want, Lord Augustine-Beaumont?”
This time, I blow smoke directly in her face. She keeps her composure still—I guess years of leading this place made her feel like an impenetrable fortress. Yet here I am, with a wrecking ball, threatening to destroy it all.
“What are you talking about?”
She narrows her eyes. “I know this is your doing.”
“Is that an accusation?”
Guinevere huffs. “No it is not, my Lord. Whoever did this—” Her gaze grows harsher. “—I’d like to know their motive. Do you have any idea who might be behind this?”
“I’m not sure, Headmistress,” I say with a menacing smile. “But whoever it is, they seem to have a vendetta against this institution.” I push off the wall, standing to my full height and look down at her with thinly veiled disgust. “If I had to guess, this is just the beginning.”
I walk away before she can reply.
Despite the cannabis, I feel anxiety climbing up my throat—I’ve been smoking more, yet my anxiety is still pressing at the edges of my consciousness.
Fuck.
I duck into the empty chapel and into the nearest room—the sacristy.
It starts small, it always does.
A flicker behind my ribs, like someone lit a match in my lungs and forgot to put it out. I’m pacing the length of the room. I just crossed the first thing off my list—I should feel powerful. But my skin is too tight.
My breath is too short.
The silence presses in.
And that’s when I surrender to the feeling, because I know there’s nothing that I can do right now other than ride it out. It doesn’t come all at once, but when it does, it doesn’t feel like fire anymore.
No, this is drowning.
My heart stumbles in my chest.
My ribs rattle like a locked door somebody’s trying to break down.
I try to take a deep breath.
I can’t.
My throat clamps shut. I stagger backward, hitting the walls, my palms slick with sweat. Somewhere along the line I lost my joint—not that there was much left of it anyway. I can’t breathe.
I feel ridiculous.
I’m Lucian Augustine-Beaumont, the most powerful man at this school. I shouldn’t ever panic, but my vision blurs at the edges anyway. My fingers twitch.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
In.
Out.
Focus on what’s real, Lucian.
And as the thought floats through my mind, I’m reminded of the reason I’m having a panic attack.
Because the voice sounds like Eden’s. Should I have been that harsh with her?
Could I have gotten her to call off her engagement if I had tried instead of chasing her away into his arms?
We could have kept our relationship a secret.
I feel the ghost of her lips on mine.
My hands curl into fists.
I slam them against the wall until I can’t feel them anymore. They’re bloody, but that hardly matters. I have to get my mind together and focus on the facts.
Eden betrayed me.
She’s engaged to Silas.
Some part of her still believes in this religion.
And the monolith of this religion? This fucking school.
As for Silas, she needs him to keep her parents happy.
I’m not sure how happy they’ll be when they find out he’s broke.
Eventually the burn fades.
And for a moment, I’m raw—and hopelessly in love with a girl who is set to marry someone else. No, I can’t think about that. It’ll only distract me.
I need to get back to my mission.
I may not have been able to control the start of Eden and Silas’ fucked up relationship of convenience, but I will certainly control the ending.