Chapter 16
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THERESE’S POV
After the engagement was announced and I read thousands of comments in the comment box, I watched myself in the mirror.
The one inside the glass looked like me but didn’t feel like me. She wore diamonds and satin but had eyes that belonged to someone else. Someone who died in silence years
ago.
The mirror was old. Towering. Framed in gold. They said it came from the French Revolution. I believed it. It felt like it held ghosts. Maybe one of them was me.
Behind my reflection, Ephraim appeared. He didn’t walk in like most men. He didn’t need to. He moved like smoke and always ended up where I was, like he was summoned by my thoughts before I even called him.
He stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His voice came low against my neck.
“Do you want me to destroy them for you,” he said, “or do you want to use your own
bloodline for the kill?”
I looked at him through the glass and didn’t blink. My voice came out calm, but I could feel the hatred swimming underneath it.
“Your bloodline is darker than mine,” I told him. “And more powerful. My father only took me back to give me his name again. But not his war. He made that clear the second I said yes to you.”
Ephraim smiled against my shoulder and kissed it. “Then use mine,” he said. “Use me. I take pleasure in ruining anyone who ever dares to lay hands on what belongs to me.”
I closed my eyes and let my hands rest on his. “Then we burn them slow,” I whispered.
He said nothing for a while. He just held me. That kind of silence… it was heavy, but not suffocating. It felt like the calm before a storm I’d waited years to cause.
**
Later that night, I walked into the estate’s private salon alone. It was quiet, like the whole wing held its breath.
The lights were low. The room smelled like jasmine and old books. I stood in front of the same mirror again, but this time, I brought scissors with me.
My fingers trembled when I opened the blades. I took one long breath and grabbed a thick strand of hair. The first snip was loud. Almost too loud.
The strands fell, one by one, curling on the marble floor like pieces of a woman I used to be.
Chapter 15
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I didn’t cry. Not once. I just kept cutting. Until the softness was gone. Until my neck felt
bare and my head felt lighter. Until I looked up and saw someone sharper. Colder. And finally calm.
I stared at her. I didn’t recognize her, but I didn’t flinch.
Ephraim found me there. He stood at the doorway for a long time without speaking. Then he finally said, “Now the world will finally see the face of their reckoning.”
I met his eyes in the mirror. I didn’t need to smile.
I just said, “Let them.”
But that night, I can’t sleep.
Ephraim was already out cold in the master bedroom, stretched across the velvet sheets like some ancient king who never lost anything. He was always calm. Always untouched. Like he’d never seen a night that stole breath from your chest. I envied that about him. I hated it too.
I didn’t want to lie beside someone who felt peace when I was crumbling inside, so I went to the guest room in the east wing. It was too clean and too white and too damn cold. The kind of cold that crawled into your bones and stayed. But I didn’t care. Nothing felt like home anymore.
At two in the morning, I slipped out barefoot onto the terrace. The stone floor was sharp and freezing and honest. I welcomed the bite because it reminded me I was still alive.
I
I brought the bourbon with me. No glass. Just the bottle. Just the burn. Just pain and liquor in equal measure.
The moon was out. Full and high and glowing like it had no business watching someone like me. Everything beautiful felt cruel now. Even the stars looked like they were laughing.
I took a long swig and felt the fire slide down my throat. It burned, but not nearly enough. Not compared to the fire that’s been living in my chest since that day.
My fingers found the necklace around my neck. The one with the tiny glass locket. The one that held what was left of Cleo.
Her ashes.
What little was left after Torren dropped the urn. Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.
And Jude. That filthy brat. He kicked the remains like it was dirt. Laughed while he did it. While I screamed. While I begged them to stop.
I remember scraping the ashes off the floor with my bare hands. Shaking. Crying. Feeling like I was losing her all over again. There wasn’t even enough left for a proper memorial. Not enough to bury. Not enough to honor. Just fragments.
I went to a local artisan that same night. Still in my funeral dress. Still smelling like death.
Chapter 16.
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and smoke. I begged him to make me something. Anything. He told me it wasn’t enough. I told him to shut up and do it anyway.
So he did. And now it hangs around my neck like both a noose and a weapon.
I clutched it hard and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve taken you and left sooner. I should’ve never let them near you.”
The wind picked up and I tilted my head back. I let it slap me in the face. It felt fair. It felt
deserved.
The alcohol was hitting me hard now. Everything blurred. My chest hurt. My throat was raw. I laughed, loud and bitter and broken.
“They killed you,” I said out loud, “and they still sleep at night like they didn’t.”
I looked up at the sky like it had answers and I whispered their names.
“Torren. Ruby. Jude. All of them. Every single one.”
My hand trembled and the bottle slipped. It shattered on the floor near my feet and a sharp piece caught my palm when I reached for it like a fool. The pain was sharp and hot and sudden, and I didn’t even react. I just stared at the blood mixing with the bourbon and the broken glass.
