Page 47

God, they’ve always been alike. Two devils who can’t get enough of their own selfish wants. They’d set the world on fire if it meant warming themselves for a fleeting moment.

But what they don’t realize, what they’ve never been able to realize, is that I’m the thing they should fear. For all their power, for all their sadistic games, I was the one thing they could never fully control.

And now? Now, I’m going to finish what they started.

The faint creak of a floorboard snaps me out of my spiralling thoughts. My head jerks toward the noise, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Scarlett?” I rasp, my voice low and rough as it bounces off the silent walls.

Nothing.

Just the cursed wind.

I press forward, forcing back the rising panic clawing at my insides. Panic won’t help her. Panic is what they want—what they’ve always wanted. To see me unravel, to see me as weak.

But I’m not that boy anymore.

The boy who cowered in the corners of these very halls, hiding from shadows that felt far too real. That boy has been gone for years.

Tonight, I’m something else. Something darker. Something sharper. Something far more insidious.

There’s a flicker of light from beneath the door at the end of the corridor, and my pulse spikes. I move quickly, silently, instincts honed by years of watching my brother and father manoeuvre like predators in the night.

I tuck the knife into my pocket, needing both hands to push the huge oak doors wide open.

Inside, there’s a roaring fire, and in front of it, like the very devil, is my father.

The man who stood over me with disdain etched into every line of his face the day I was old enough to realize he’d never see me as a son—only an inconvenience.

He stands, swirling a glass of amber liquid as if every sin of his hasn’t left its mark on this house, on me, on Scarlett.

“Rafferty,” he drawls without turning, his voice as smooth as the silk cravat around his neck. “I thought I might run into you tonight.”

He doesn’t look surprised. He never does. His posture, his tone—it’s all calculated, as it always is. A performance for an audience of one.

“Where is she?” I demand, stepping closer, my body thrumming with energy, with rage.

He finally turns, his eyes meeting mine, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. “She?” he asks, feigning ignorance. “You’ll need to be more specific. I find myself surrounded by so many ‘she’s’ these days. Maids, whores, beggars…”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” I hiss through clenched teeth, my fists tightening instinctively.

He chuckles, low and venomous. “Still so emotional, Rafe. Always leading with your heart. That’s why you’ll never amount to anything. A man who can’t control himself is no man at all.”

It’s hard not to laugh at those words, at the irony of them. He thinks he’s so superior, he truly believes he has control of himself?

“Tell me where she is,” I growl, stepping forward until there’s no more space between us. The sour scent of his cologne mingles with the whiskey on his breath, and it makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. “Now.”

He tips his head back and laughs, the sound hollow and cruel. “Look at you. Pretending to be the hero. Do you think she’ll love you for this? Do you think you’re saving her? You’re nothing to her, Rafe. Just another Forster she plans to use...”

His words are a match to the fuel of my fury. I lunge, grabbing the lapel of his tailored jacket and slamming him back against the mantle. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering on the hearth as the firelight dances in his eyes.

For the first time, I see a flicker of something there—uncertainty, maybe fear. Well, he should be afraid. He should be shitting himself.

“Where. Is. She?” I snarl, my voice low enough to rattle the embers glowing behind him.

He doesn’t answer; instead, his lips curled into a contemptuous sneer. “Do you know what you are, Rafe?” he says coldly. His hand rises, shoving ineffectively at my grip, but I don’t budge. “A failure. You’ve always been a burden, a mistake from the moment you were born.”

The words scrape at old wounds, but I refuse to bleed for him anymore. I’m not that broken little boy he sent away. I’m not that child longing for love, longing for a family. He killed that part of me. He destroyed it so long ago I don’t even feel the scars.

“And do you know what you are?” My voice cracks like a whip, my eyes locking onto his. My fingers yank him closer roughly. “A parasite. Feeding off everything you can lay your grubby little hands on.”

That’s when I see it, his mask slipping, the shadow of guilt passing through the cracks of his impenetrable facade. It disappears as quickly as it surfaced, but I catch it. I hold on to it like a weapon, wielding the truth that I’ve always known but never dared to say.

“You taught Alexander to be just like you. Another coward. Another monster who hides behind money and power because without it, the world would see you for what you are, a hollow pathetic little man.”

I don’t see it coming. His hand lashes out, colliding with my jaw in a burst of pain. My grip falters for a moment, but it’s enough for him to shove me back a step.

“I should’ve drowned you as a child,” he spits, straightening his jacket like my existence has wrinkled his pristine appearance. “You’ve been nothing but a stain on this family. Weak. Idealistic. A pathetic dreamer too stupid to realise that the world you want doesn’t exist.”

I taste blood on my tongue, metallic and sharp, but the pain is nothing compared to the fire roaring in my chest. “If you think I’m weak,” I say, my voice low and taut, “then you’ve grossly underestimated what you created.”

Before he can react, I lunge forward again, my hand slipping into my pocket and gripping the cold steel of the knife.

The blade glints in the firelight as I draw it, and his eyes widen. Not from fear exactly, but with a hint of realization.

“You wouldn’t,” he scoffs, but there’s a tremor in his voice now. “You’ve always been soft, Rafe. You don’t have the stomach for real power.”

“Soft?” I echo, and the laugh that escapes me is bitter, broken. “It seems you’ve mistaken restraint for softness. Well tonight, I’m done restraining myself.”

The knife plunges in with delightful ease. The blade cuts through fabric and flesh as though the universe itself wills this moment into being. His gasp is sharp, a sound I’ll carry with me, not as guilt, but as a reminder of what it took to end this nightmare.

“That one,” I say, my voice trembling but steadying with each word, “is for me. For every time you made me feel small. For every part of me I lost trying to live up to the impossible idea of a son you wanted.”

God, it feels good to do it. To finally have my vengeance.

He stumbles, his hand clutching at his side where the blood spreads dark and fast through his jacket. But I don’t let him fall. Not yet. My grip on his collar tightens as I hold him upright, forcing him to meet my gaze.

“And this one,” I say, raising the blade again, my voice harder now, colder, “this one is for Scarlett. For everything you’ve done to her, everything you were going to do.”

The second stab is more deliberate, punctuated by the finality swimming in my veins. He collapses this time, slipping out of my grip and sinking to the floor, his breathing shallow and ragged. The firelight flickers across his face, lighting up his eyes with something that looks like disbelief.

He stares up at me, choking on his own arrogance and blood, finally understanding that his throne, his empire, his dominion over all of us is crumbling into ash.

I stand over him, panting and unflinching, the blade still gripped tight in my hand.

There’s no regret. No guilt. Only the odd taste of victory fills my mouth, mingling with the blood on my tongue.

“You’ve lost,” I whisper, the words like a sentence, heavy and irreversible. “You always thought you were untouchable. Untouchable and eternal. But in the end, you’re just a man. And once you’re gone, no one will even remember you existed.”

He gurgles something, his lips twitching as though trying to form words, but the blood pooling in his mouth ensures I’ll never hear whatever drivel he wants to say. Good. Nothing he could say matters anymore.

I take a step back, wiping the blade against his perfectly tailored jacket, watching how the blood smears into the fabric in dark, wet streaks.

Let the weight of that be part of his legacy.

Let the blood be his inheritance—for Alexander, for anyone stupid enough to think they can follow in his footsteps.

There’s a stillness in the air, as though the house itself has held its breath, waiting for this moment. Finally, one of the ghosts that haunt this place is gone for good.

I glance at him one last time. Tears are forming in his eyes now, and they’re not from pain. No, it’s something worse. Defeat. I recognize it instantly, because it’s the same look I’ve seen in my own reflection a thousand times before. Funny. It suits him.

I’m about to turn away—about to leave his pathetic, broken form on the cold marble floor when something slams into the back of my head with a force that shatters my world into fragments.

My vision darkens as I stumble, falling to my knees with the knife slipping from my hand and clattering onto the floor beside me.

An ache explodes, sharp and unrelenting, as I clutch at the back of my skull.

“What the…” My voice is cut off as I feel a pair of hands, small but strong, grab my shoulders and yank me back. I crash against the floor, gasping for breath, my vision swimming with colours that shouldn’t exist.

Through the haze, my mother’s face looms.

It’s distorted by both the angle and by the throbbing pain radiating through my skull.

Her eyes, cold and unrecognizable, glint with something far more sinister.

Her lips curl into a twisted smile, one that sends ice shooting through my veins.

She crouches beside me, her knees brushing the marble floor, and her fingers, still gripping the blunt object she used to attack me, tremble slightly. Is it exhaustion? Nervousness? Or something darker?

She leans down, murmuring something into my ear. But I don’t hear the words. I don’t hear a damned thing.

I’m gone. Lost. Fucking ruined.