Page 27

Alexander

S he’s hysterical. A complete fucking mess. The maids try to calm her. They try to pacify her, but it makes no difference whatsoever.

She’s naked, filthy, with blood and god knows what else smeared on her skin. She looks savage. She looks like some feral beast.

In frustration, I stride across the room, grabbing her by her waist and throw her over my shoulder, hauling her back to her bedroom.

She pounds her fists into my back and kicks into my chest, but it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference.

Once inside, I kick the door shut and toss her onto the bed.

She screams more.

She lashes out.

Shouting some bullshit about my father. About the Forster’s. About her own father too. None of it makes any sense.

“Get the meds.” I snap over my shoulder. She’s clearly catatonic and won’t see reason.

“She’s already had her morning dose.” A maid replies. “Any more might be too much…”

I wave my hand, dismissing her words. Like now is really the time to worry about limits and overdoses.

“You bastard.” Scarlett hisses, having scrambled up enough to get right in my face. “You bastard. You can’t do this to me. You can’t.”

A smack to her face seems to knock some sense into her, but only for a brief moment.

I grab her hands, holding them tightly so she can no longer hurt me or anyone else.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I growl.

When I left her this morning, she was fine. She was laying there, asleep, peaceful, perfectly damn content. What on earth could have happened to explain this sudden turn?

“Like you don’t know.” She spits, practically frothing at the mouth. “Like you haven’t let him fuck me enough times.”

That gets my attention. I pause, narrowing my eyes as an anger flares inside me. No one should be touching her without my say so, without me there, allowing it. “Who?”

She screws her face up with more scorn, more disgust. “Your piece of shit father.”

Relief washes over me, just for a second. It wasn’t him; it wasn’t my brother. Rafferty hasn’t laid a hand on her.

But I was also very clear with my father, very explicit about the rules. He could fuck her all he wanted, he could hurt her, use her, do what he liked, but only in my presence. When she was alone, when I was not with her, she was off limits.

Apparently, he’s broken that rule.

I let out a huff which is met with a firm shove from Scarlett. “You bastard.” She screams again. “You sick, disgusting piece of shit.”

The maid hands me the needle as Scarlett does her best to fight, but she’s no match against me, against the staff either. I let them haul her back, pinning her flat against the mattress.

She shakes her head, she kicks out, but her legs meet nothing but the stale air.

I kneel over her, shoving my groin into her pelvis just for the sheer kick of seeing that fear in her eyes.

It’s the only downside to the drugs, that it mutes her emotions, it tarnishes these moments.

I jab the needle into the furious vein in her neck, pushing the plunger down, and within seconds that fight has gone entirely.

She slumps, she gasps, her limbs fall still, and the maids step away.

“There,” I soothe, brushing the sweaty hair from her face. “That’s better. It’s all better now.”

She doesn’t reply, though she tries to. A soft gurgling noise comes from her lips. I brush my thumb over them, feeling how cracked they are. Her skin looks dry too. She looks unkempt. She looks like a mess.

She’s practically unfuckable in the state she’s in.

“Get her washed.” I say. “And brush her hair too.”

The maids nod in unison, but I don’t stay to see it done. I need to find my father. He broke the rules, he disrespected me in going behind my back, and I need to make it clear that I won’t stand for it.

I push the door open, my gaze immediately falling on my father seated behind his grand mahogany desk. His silver hair is slicked back, a testament to his fastidious nature, and his eyes, a mirror of my own, are fixed on the neatly laid out paperwork before him.

My mother is behind him, standing like a beady little bird, staring down over his shoulder.

“Father,” I begin, my voice steady despite how pissed off I am. “We need to talk about Scarlett.”

He doesn’t look up, his attention seemingly consumed by the columns of numbers that occupy his time. “What about her?” he asks, the dismissiveness in his tone igniting the simmering rage beneath my skin.

“You’ve gone behind my back,” I accuse, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “We had an agreement. She’s my wife, and you had no right?—”

“No right?” he interrupts, finally deigning to meet my gaze. “I have every right. She belongs to this family, just as you do. Just as I do.”

My mother remains silent, her cold eyes watching the exchange with an air of detachment.

It’s as if she’s merely a spectator. In moments like this, I wonder whether my father drugs her too.

But then she doesn’t need such measures to keep her under control.

She’s had years and years of practice, years of training.

He taught her what it meant to be a Forster long before I or my brother were born.

The air in the room grows thick with tension, a palpable force that seems to choke what little life there is in this opulent space.

I can feel the weight of my mother’s gaze, yet her silence is a void that offers no comfort, no counsel.

“She’s not just a piece of property to be used at your leisure,” I retort, my voice a low growl that betrays the thin veneer of control I’m struggling to maintain. “We had a deal, and you broke it. You disrespected me.”

My father leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he regards me with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“Disrespected you?” he echoes, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Alexander, I think you’re overreacting. She’s just a woman—a means to an end, as you well know. Why should it matter when or how I choose to enjoy what’s rightfully ours?”

My mother shifts uncomfortably, her eyes flitting between my father and me, but she remains mute. Her loyalty to the man who rules this house is as unyielding as the stone walls that contain us.

“It matters because you made a promise,” I insist, though the words sound infantile even to me. “Because when you take what’s mine without my consent, you undermine everything we’re working towards. You make me look weak.”

My father scoffs, waving his hand as if to dismiss my concerns. “Weak?” he repeats. “Weak? You’re a Forster. Weakness is not in our blood. Clearly this business with the girl is clouding your judgement. There are greater machinations at play here than your petty jealousies.”

“It’s not petty…” I begin but he cuts across me.

“Your wife is not the pressing issue. What happens to her between now and our end point is irrelevant.”

“Without her there is no endpoint…”

“Without her, we’d be free of all this unnecessary drama,” my father interjects, his voice dripping with condescension.

“You suddenly finding a conscience, boy? Next you’ll be saying you’ve changed your mind entirely and you don’t want to go through with this anymore, that you want to sail off into the sunset with your slut of a wife. ”

The word ‘conscience’ hangs in the air like a foul odour. The idea that I might harbour some misplaced sense of morality is laughable. This isn’t about right or wrong; it’s about power and the preservation of our family.

“This has nothing to do with conscience,” I snap, my patience worn thin. “It’s about respect and honour. It’s about maintaining the delicate balance of our agreement. You’ve overstepped, and you’ve done it knowing full well what the implications were.”

My father rises from his chair, his stature imposing despite the years that have begun to stoop his shoulders. “Implications?” he bellows, his wrath filling the room like a poisonous gas. “I am the implications, Alexander. Do not presume to lecture me on respect and honour.”

I stand my ground, refusing to be cowed by his attempt to cowl me. This moment here will define our relationship moving forward. This will ensure that I am the heir, not Rafferty. He will learn now that I am not going to be disrespected anymore.

The room goes silent but for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the distant tolling of the grandfather clock in the hall.

And then my mother shifts, placing herself between us both.

“Perhaps,” She begins, her tone measured, “there is wisdom in Alexander’s words. We have walked a precarious path with Scarlett, one that requires a gentle hand as much as a firm one.”

My father tilts his head, his eyes flashing for a moment before that fury seems to soften. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” She says as she places her hands on his shoulders, “…that if this girl is truly nothing, then what does it matter when you fuck her? Your relationship with your son is worth far more than that little slut.”

“I agree.” I say quickly. “Unless it is you who is growing a conscience? Maybe you’re more attached to my wife than you want to admit?”

My father looks between us, and I can see it; we’ve caught him out, got him on the backfoot. “Why would I give a fuck about your wife?” He sneers. “Beyond…”

“You were more than content to break our agreement.” I state, twisting the knife just a little. It’s not just me he technically cheated on, how will he feel knowing our mother is right here, and more than aware of his transgressions.

He scoffs, placing his hands on his hips. “She’s a whore.” He says dismissively. “I enjoy fucking her, there’s nothing more to it.”

“Then keep it that way.” My mother says stiffly. “If you want to use the bitch then you ensure Alexander is there.”

I can’t help but smirk as I watch him. He may be the head of the house, but in so many ways it is our mother who is the real brains.

After all, it was her who came up with this great plan in the first place, her who pointed out that at their core all women are gold diggers.

That it would be easy to catch my wife, to ensnare her, and she wouldn’t have a clue about any of this because she’d be so dazzled by my wealth and lifestyle.

“…she’s a conniving little slut.” My mother continues before meeting my gaze. “More than likely she sought your father out, put herself right in his path for him to fuck. She wanted this situation to occur, for us to be here, fighting over her like she’s a thing worth such attention.”

I narrow my eyes, but I can see it, the truth of her words. Scarlett is a conniving, manipulative piece of trash, just like the rest of her family. It would make sense for her to have done that, to have tried to seduce my father and then act all innocent and like the victim after the event.

My mother draws in a long breath, holding her hand out for me to take.

I reach forward, clasping it in my own, feeling the strength she still has despite her age.

“We need to stick together.” She says. “It’s more imperative than ever. Scarlett is a cunning, devious little bitch. She will try anything to get between us, and you can’t let her do that.”

She’s right. She always is. Maybe part of this jealousy is also of Scarlett’s creation.

She wants friction. She wants us divided.

We need to rise above her manipulation.

I walk out, leaving them to it. But that thought still sits in my head. Her manipulation.

Maybe it isn’t my father who deserves my wrath, but her. She’s the one who seduced him. She’s the one trying to play us against each other.

It’s time she truly learnt her place. It’s time she realised that she can’t beat us.

Actions have consequences.

And it’s about time I teach my wife this lesson.