Chapter 20 #2
“I know.” My palms sweat, but my voice doesn’t falter. “I know about her. I overheard you talking about her right before my fourteenth birthday.”
My mom places her palm over her heart. “That’s not possible.”
“It happened.” I glance at Jax, who’s staring at me in awe. That’s all I need to keep going. “I heard you. You two were in your room one night talking about her. I heard everything, and I’ve lived with it every single day since.”
My dad’s jaw hardens, his gaze locked on me. “Livianna, that was never meant for you to carry.”
“But I do.” My chest heaves with the admission. “And I’m done pretending she didn’t exist. She matters to me. To what I create and to the empire I’m building. She deserves to be seen, and what better way than to honor her beauty?”
The air quakes with everything they don’t say. My mom’s hand trembles as she finds her wineglass. My dad sits back, shoulders weighted in disbelief.
Jax leans forward, addressing my parents. His arm stays stretched along the back of my chair, his presence pressing steadily into me.
“This isn’t rebellion.” His voice cuts low with iron-laced respect. “It’s bravery, and it’s exactly why Livianna will succeed.”
His gaze shifts to me for a heartbeat, pride alive in his eyes before he turns back to my parents. “You raised a daughter who refuses to bury the truth. That’s not shame. That’s strength.”
My mom swallows with tears threatening to fall, but her voice barely holds. “Lehlani was… She was our heartbreak. And we thought we were protecting you by never speaking her name.”
I shake my head, my throat raw. “You weren’t protecting me. You hid her and in the process, you erased a part of me.”
The weight of it lands like a crash none of us can walk away from. My mom drops her gaze to the tablecloth, her lashes wet. My dad doesn’t move or speak. His stance is heavier than any curse he could throw at me.
The tension threads tight enough to choke on. I can’t tell if they’re furious, broken, or both.
Jax stays unmoved beside me, an anchor in an ocean of guilt I’ve been drowning in for years. His hand slides over my back, gentle yet firm, like he’s daring the world to come at me.
No one breathes.
And then the soft clink of plates. The server returns, her polite approach a dagger of normalcy driving through the wreckage.
“I hope you’re hungry.” She sets lamb in front of my father, salmon in front of my mother, and scallops in front of me.
She places Jaxon’s filet down with practiced elegance, oblivious to the ruins sitting at this table. The aroma of rosemary and butter fills the air, cruel in its ease. My dad thanks her, still in a daze from my reveal.
“Enjoy and be sure to let me know if you need anything else.” She smiles before slipping away.
I stare at the food, my stomach twisting too much to even imagine swallowing.
My mom picks up her knife. Her hand shakes so violently that it clatters against the china. My dad exhales through his nose like a man willing himself back in control.
Jax doesn’t touch his plate. His stare stays on me, and quiet pride burns in his warm eyes louder than anything my parents can say.
And I sit, caught between the carnage of a truth finally spoken and the absurdity of dinner being served like nothing just detonated between us.
The tension doesn’t break. It only mutates.
My dad saws into his lamb with a force that feels more like a punishment than hunger. He chews stiffly and mechanically, as if eating can restore order.
My mom cuts into her salmon, the knife screeching against porcelain. She lifts a bite halfway to her lips before setting it back down. Her appetite seems to have been extinguished by the ghost I just invited to dinner.
I spear one of my scallops, but the fork hangs heavy in my hand. The aroma makes bile churn in my stomach. I set it back down, leaving my meal untouched.
“Delicious,” my dad mutters, the single word brittle and too sharp around the edges.
My mom nods with her lips pressed taut.
“Yes, it’s lovely.” But her voice cracks in half. The pretense tastes worse than the food.
Jax doesn’t move toward his steak. His posture stiffens. It’s deliberate, like he’s claiming the space with an authority that doesn’t need volume.
His eyes fix on my parents, then drop to my hands clenched in my lap, where my nails bite into my skin.
“Do you know what Livianna does when her anxiety gets to be too much?” His tone is calm, cutting clean through the charade of dinner. “She takes those perfectly sharpened fingernails of hers and slices into her own skin.”
My mom’s hand flies to her mouth. My dad freezes. His fork hangs in midair before he sets it down. They already know this, but Jax doesn’t know that detail.
He keeps speaking. “She tells herself she’s letting Lehlani bleed out. That it’s the only way she can give her sister a place in the world, even if it’s through pain and self-harm. That’s how deep Livianna’s guilt runs. That’s how long she’s carried this secret…alone.”
Tears burn my eyes, shame wrapping tight around me. But beneath it, there’s relief. He’s saying the words I’ve never had the courage to lay bare.
I place my palm on Jax’s arm. “They already know, Jaxon.”
“Yes, Jaxon, we know.” My dad shifts as if he’s uncomfortable. “Her therapist told us it’s a superficial release. Nothing more.”
Jax’s stance doesn’t waver. “It’s not nothing, and it’s time you recognized that.”
The air grows tense. My mother’s hand curls around her wineglass, and her knuckles pale. My dad and Jax hold each other’s stares.
“I thought if I let her out,” I whisper, “maybe she could breathe and be seen. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so much like the curse you couldn’t forgive.”
My dad’s hands flatten against the table as if holding it steady will keep him from unraveling.
His voice is raspy. “Livianna…”
“You should’ve talked to us.” My mom’s tears stream down her cheeks, and her chest caves in.
I twist the napkin in my fists. “I didn’t know how. You didn’t want me to know about her. You even said you could never forgive me, so why would I go to you when I’m the person you blame?”
The table quakes with what none of us can undo. My mom pushes her plate away. Her chair scrapes the floor as she pushes back. She trembles as she clutches her purse.
“I can’t—” Her voice fractures. “I can’t sit here right now.”
My dad rises slower, his eyes locked on me, an inch between loyalty and heartbreak. He tosses bills onto the table in clipped movements, betraying the war inside him.
Jax’s hand presses firmer into my back, grounding me in the collapse.
My insides hollow. “Will you ever forgive me?”