Page 117 of Blood and Thorns

I breathed through my nostrils, trying–and failing–to stop the panic growing at just his voice. “Dad?”

“Why the fuck has it taken you this long to call me?”he seethed, but panic underlined his tone.“That monster destroyed my hand. He’s a fucking animal!”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond, deciding to concentrate on the anger that was burning beneath my ribs rather than the growing pain.

“Ara, are you not even going to say anything? Hebrokemy hand with a hammer!”

“Is that all you have to say? After what you tried to do to me?”I hissed. “You’re lucky that was all he did.”

“What do you want me to say? I fucked up, Ara. I panicked, and everything’s gone to shit.”There was a pause, a heavy exhale.“I shouldn’t have said you were like mum.You’re nothing like her, I know that. You were always the strong one. You always did what wasrightfor us.”

“Dad–”

“You have to fix this, Ara,”he said quickly, desperation spilling through the phone.“Be my brave girl. You’ve always been that. Just get through this, gain his trust, and then we can set it all right. We’ll get our payback, just like I’ve planned. After what you made Mum do, you owe me that–”

I hung up, turning the phone off as soon as Dad tried to call back. I wanted to laugh and then cry until every single one of my tears were spent. The man who’d raised me couldn’t care less that he’d orchestrated his own daughter’s rape. He only cared about what he could get from it. He dared to use Mum as an excuse, like her death could somehow justify the choices he’d made, that he’d traded his daughter’s safety for his own survival.

It made my stomach twist and my heart clench. He’d always done that. Weaponised the past, using my guilt to manipulate the situation in his favour.

And I’d let him. ForyearsI’d let him pull my strings, hoping that maybe one day he’d look at me and see something worth loving. Hoping that if I was just good enough, quiet enough, strong enough… he’d finally forgive me for something that was never my fault.

But now it hit me. The brutal, suffocating truth.

He didn’t love me, not since Mum had taken her life. I reminded him too much of what he’d lost, so instead of protecting me like any other parent, he’d used me.

I never knew I could hate someone so much, and yet still love them because he was all I knew. All I had.

“Ara?”

My head jerked up, finding Chip standing in the doorway with a frown. “Oh, hi.” I rubbed at my cheeks,expecting them to be wet. But they weren’t, and for some reason that eased the pain inside my chest.

“Are you okay?” His eyes scanned my body. “I’d heard you’d been–”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted, giving him a strained smile. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

He eyed me warily, clearly unconvinced. “I didn’t expect to see you,” he admitted. “I thought maybe the attack would’ve scared you off. I was worried.”

It probably should’ve, except Sebastian hadn’t initiated it. And he’d been the one to hold me while I’d broken apart and then pieced myself together. Except I didn’t say that out loud, because even in my own head it sounded too raw. Too honest.

“Is your mum around?” I asked, scanning the space behind him. “I’d really like to talk to her.”

It had been over a week since I last saw her, and honestly, the idea of kneading bread dough until my arms ached while she told me stories sounded like the healthiest way to deal with my emotions right now.

“Oh, no. She was fired a while ago,” he said carefully, waiting for my reaction.

“Wait, she was fired?”

He nodded, even his movements cautious. As if he was expecting me to break. “Mr Devereaux’s currently interviewing for a new head of household. Until then I’ve taken over when I’m available. If not, Mr Devereaux has been getting all the meals ordered in.”

“Oh.” The word came out small, flickering with disappointment.

Chip’s smile was soft, almost awkward. “Also, Mr Alexander Ackworth’s waiting for you up in the drawing room.”

I frowned, because I’d never had a guest since no one really knew I was here. “Who?”

“The uncle. Mr Ackworth’s insistent on seeing you without Mr Devereaux present.” His eyes searched mine before he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Want me to ask him to leave? I can make up an excuse that you’re sick or something.”

I swallowed past the unease. “No, it’s fine. I’ll see what he wants.”