Chapter Twenty Six
Talia
Day Two
I barely slept. It wasn’t because of the cot or even because of this room.
The cameras don’t bother me. It was because every time I close my eyes, I can feel him.
He’s weak, hungry, and exhausted. The bond isn’t screaming anymore.
It’s worse than that, actually. It’s like standing beside a dying fire and watching the flames slowly disappear into the ashes. I hate it. I hate all of this.
The sound of the door opening drags me from my thoughts, and Soren’s eyes snap open immediately. Micah walks into the room carrying a breakfast tray. It’s not for Soren, but for me. The sight makes something ugly twist in my stomach.
“Morning, beautiful,” Micah says warmly.
I don’t answer, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the silence.
If anything, he looks pleased. It’s like yesterday went exactly according to plan.
Like, he won. My gaze flicks towards Soren and the murderous expression on his face.
Micah notices and just smiles. He deliberately sets the tray in front of me as I sit up.
“Eat,” he commands gently. Oatmeal, toast, and fruit. It is a normal breakfast while Soren is hanging from the ceiling just a few feet away, slowly starving. I want to throw it in his face; instead, I pick up the spoon. Micah’s smile widens.
Good. Let him think he’s winning.
“Julie wants to see you,” he says simply.
The words make me pause with the spoon halfway brought to my mouth.
Not Mom, not mother, just Julie. Like she’s any other person, and maybe she is.
She is the woman I called Mom, and I thought died two decades ago.
I have distant memories of things that felt like happiness, but now I’m not even convinced it was actually her.
I still don’t answer, but I eat like I am instructed to. I don’t look Micah directly in the eyes because I don’t want him to take it as a challenge. I just eat until the tray is empty, and then look up at him.
He offers me his hand, and I just stare at it for a moment. When I take it, he pulls me up to stand, and then I am led to the door. I don’t even get a chance to take another glance at my mate before we are in the hallway.
It is quiet as he leads me through the house, and for the first time, I really look around.
Large windows, expensive artwork, and dark hardwood floors. It is a beautiful prison. The kind of prison that rich people build for themselves.
We stop outside, and Micah straightens his shirt as I pull the door closed. He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s nervous, and that catches my attention immediately.
“Julie?” he calls out, knocking carefully.
“Come in,” a woman says simply.
When he pushes the door open, the room is not what I expected.
There aren’t any candles or occult symbols.
No jars filled with eyeballs, either. It’s just sunlight, bookshelves, and fresh flowers.
A tea set resting on a small table beside the window.
A woman sits neatly in a chair beside it and looks up from the book in her lap.
She smiles warmly, but the expression instantly sends a chill down my spine.
“There you are,” she says as she shuts the book and sets it on the table. She takes a dainty sip from the cup as Micah moves me to sit across from her in the empty chair. “You may leave, Micah.”
Like an obedient little puppy, he nods and leaves the room. I watch as Julie stands and moves in front of me. Her hand rises slowly, then settles against my cheek. “You look so much like me,” she says.
There it is. The first red flag that I knew existed. It’s not that she missed me or that I’m beautiful. It’s not even an acknowledgment that I am her daughter. She sees herself, and nothing else.
“I always wondered what you’ve become,” she remarks. I don’t answer because what the fuck am I supposed to say? She doesn’t seem bothered, and it’s not a question. She simply turns and returns to her chair.
She pours tea into the empty cup, like we are having a normal conversation. Like she didn’t help kidnap my mate. Like she didn’t spend years manipulating my life in the shadows and pretending to be my dead mother. The silence stretches, and it’s comfortable for her, but it’s unsettling for me.
“You’re frightened,” she says, and I nearly laugh.
“I’m not.”
She smiles, and it’s the same smile adults give to children when they think they know better. “You’ll understand eventually,” she says.
“I understand plenty,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm. Dad warned me of how her attitude might be. She is a narcissist to her very core, and it is evident in how she carries herself.
“I loved him, you know?” she offers. “Soren… I gave him everything. I gave him immortality. He… he gave me nothing.”
Julie genuinely believes she gifted him something wonderful. I suddenly understand why Soren has always been so damn bitter. She doesn’t think that she has hurt him and that he should be grateful. How fucking pathetic. “And what did you give me?” I ask. “Besides trauma.”
“Me,” she says softly.
Her answer is immediate and certain. It’s like it should be obvious, and my stomach twists. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does and simply doesn’t care.
“You say that like it’s a gift.”
“It is,” she says with a stiff smile.
I stare at her, and she stares back. She’s completely serious. “You think I want this?” I ask.
“You don’t understand everything yet,” she says dismissively. “You were never meant to live an ordinary life.”
“No?”
“You were created for something greater,” she muses, sipping her tea.
Created. Not born, just created. She is speaking like I’m an object or a project she is most proud of. It’s like I’m not even a person.
Something dark settles in my stomach because, for the first time, I realize Julie isn’t talking like a mother. She is talking like an inventor admiring her creation.
“You keep talking about me like I belong to you,” I snark.
“You do,” she says, with a wide smile. It’s not cruel, but patient. The way someone smiles at a child struggling through a difficult lesson. The words land harder than any threat, because she means them. She believes them.