Chapter Forty-One #2
“Money,” I say flatly. “This is about money?”
Her grin widens. “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” She claps slowly, mockingly. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
My stomach churns. “Tell me how much,” I say, forcing the words out. “I’ll get it for you. Just let me go.”
“Oh, honey…” she drawls, tilting her head. “Where’s the fun in that?” Her eyes gleam. “I need you to understand something. I’m in control now. I’m the one who deserves all of this. Who deserves the fame. Not you!”
“Why would you even want fame?” I ask, genuinely confused despite everything.
She rolls her eyes as if I’ve offended her. “Because fame brings money. And by the end of tonight, everyone will know who I am.” Her smile sharpens. “Everyone will know I’m your mother. That I made you.”
“You didn’t make me who I am,” I snap. “My parents did.”
The shift in her is instant. Her smile drops. She strides forward and backhands me hard across the face. Pain explodes through my cheek before my head snaps to the side.
“Don’t you ever say that again,” she hisses. “It’s my blood in your veins. Not theirs! You are me.” She jabs her fingers into her chest to make her point.
“I am nothing like you!” I shout back.
Her brows lift, amused. “Oh, Acacia,” she says, almost fondly. “You’re exactly like me.” She leans closer. “Where do you think your music comes from? Not Colt, that’s for damn sure. I was a musician. I was almost famous.”
Her voice turns bitter. “I had a band. I had everything. Freedom, parties, money… a life.” Her lips curl. “Then you came along and ruined it. I got pregnant, and they kicked me out. Just like that. Everything gone… because of you!”
“I thought you were a hooker,” I shoot back.
She laughs again, unfazed. “Money has always been my priority. Fame comes a close second. The men I was with?” She shrugs. “Record execs, musicians, managers… I was in the right circles.”
Her eyes darken. “And then you happened.” My stomach drops. “I tried to get rid of you,” she says as though it’s the most ordinary thing she’s ever admitted. “Paid a guy to hit me. Didn’t work. Drugs, alcohol, nothing fucking worked.” Her gaze locks onto mine. “You just wouldn’t go away.”
“I was a baby,” I shoot back. “How could I possibly be responsible for ruining your life? That’s just—”
The slap comes fast and hard. My head snaps to the side, pain flaring across my cheek as I suck in a sharp breath, trying to steady myself.
“Because I was fat and hormonal,” she spits, her voice rising. “No one wanted me anymore. The money dried up because no one wanted to fuck a pregnant woman. The band kicked me out, so there went my one shot at making it big.” Her eyes burn into mine. “And that, my dear, is entirely your fault.”
I grit my teeth, swallowing back the obvious response, knowing it will antagonize her. “So why keep me here?” I ask instead, forcing calm into my voice. “Why not just let me transfer the money and be done with it?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Because your mum…” she sneers, dripping contempt over the word, “… needs to pay for the way she treated me. She thinks I’m scum, but really…
” her lips curl, “… it’s you who’s the problem.
She needs to see what her daughter really is.
A mistake. Something that never should have existed.
” My stomach twists, but I don’t give her the reaction she wants.
“You, Acacia…” she continues, pacing slowly in front of me, “… are the bane of my existence. I waited for you to get rich and famous so I could take my cut, but you had to go and deny me what I deserve.”
“You deserve a straitjacket,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?” She steps in close, invading my space again.
I lift my gaze to hers, forcing neutrality. “I said you deserve to be respected.”
Her expression shifts instantly. “Yes… yes, I do,” she says, nodding to herself like it’s finally been acknowledged. She turns and walks over to a desk, dropping into the chair in front of an open laptop.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my pulse picking up again.
She glances over her shoulder, smiling. “Letting the world know I have you.”
Ice floods my veins. “The world?” I push. “Wouldn’t it make more sense just to contact my parents?”
“I don’t only want money,” she says, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “I want attention. Think about it… interviews, headlines, documentaries. They’ll make a movie about this. About me.” She lets out a soft, almost dreamy laugh. “Can you imagine the publicity?”
My stomach churns.
She’s not thinking about consequences.
She’s thinking about fame.
“You’re right,” I say carefully, keeping my voice even. “You do deserve recognition. I’m sorry I messed up your life.”
“Finally!” she beams, satisfaction dripping from her tone. “Something worth listening to.”
She hits a few more keys. “There we go. When your parents wake up, they’ll see the ransom demand. Photo included, to prove I have you.” She glances back at me, her eyes gleaming. “I expect the money in a few hours.”
My chest tightens. “And then you’ll let me go?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
She tilts her head, considering. “Maybe,” she says lightly.
“Not sure yet.” A slow smile spreads across her face.
“I might kill you anyway.” My breath catches.
“Just imagine the headlines,” she continues, almost giddy now.
“The notoriety. The woman who killed Annie Slade.” She exhales like she’s savoring the moment. “That kind of fame lasts forever.”
A cold, heavy dread settles deep in my gut.
She’s not just talking.
Now she means it.
My heart pounds so hard it makes me feel sick.
How can she do this?
I’m her daughter. Her flesh and blood.
And none of that matters.
All she cares about is being seen, being remembered. And right now, I believe she’ll do anything to make that happen.