Page 51 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

The ache behind my eyes has become a familiar companion, pulsing in rhythm with every blink and every breath. It’s been days since Alec stepped into my office, Reyes lingering behind him like a shadow, their faces pale and solemn.

They spoke in hushed voices, laying bare truths I’d give anything to dismiss as lies. But they had proof—files, recordings, and videos too horrific to be fabrications.

I’ve spent days unraveling in silence, threading memories through logic like beads on a wire.

I haven’t slept properly. I just drifted through uneasy fragments of rest, chased awake by echoes of a child’s screams—my own.

The apartment feels smaller, the walls pressing closer each hour, as if the memories I’m uncovering have started to fill every empty space.

Tonight, the silence is deafening. I sit cross-legged in front of the terminal, its blue glow painting my fingers in eerie shades.

I keep replaying the footage, as though repetition might force the broken puzzle pieces of my past into something coherent.

But each viewing only deepens the fissures and adds another layer of doubt.

I shut the screen off, my eyes stinging with strain, and push myself to stand. My knees protest, but I ignore them. The room sways slightly, disorienting, before settling back into grim reality. I need clarity, a fresh perspective. Someone who was there, someone who knows more than they’ve let on.

I need Irene, my estranged aunt, the woman who once raised me after my mother’s death. She vanished from my life years ago, leaving behind silence and unanswered questions. She had always been elusive, hiding truths behind carefully constructed walls. Now, those walls must come down.

It takes effort to steady my hands as I type her number into the device. It’s late, but I don’t care. She forfeited the right to peaceful nights the moment she decided secrets were more valuable than blood.

She answers on the third ring, her voice thick with sleep and irritation. “Celeste? It’s nearly midnight.”

“We need to talk,” I say plainly, my voice flat, all emotion carefully stripped away.

There’s a brief hesitation, and then, with audible resignation, she replies, “You finally remember.”

“Enough to know you’ve lied to me my whole life.”

Irene exhales wearily. “Come over. It’s not safe to discuss this over the phone.”

“Safety stopped mattering when I found out my past was a manufactured lie,” I say, bitterness cutting my tongue like glass. “I’ll be there.”

I waste no time, grabbing only my coat and keys and leaving immediately despite the late hour. Irene lives on the outskirts of town, nearly an hour’s drive through winding roads that feel like endless threads of uncertainty.

Missing work tomorrow isn’t even a consideration. I need answers now, as well as clarity, before my sanity fractures completely.

The roads blur beneath my headlights, winding like dark ribbons of uncertainty.

Rain slicks the pavement, distorting streetlights into watery ghosts.

My mind races faster than the engine, each question more terrifying than the last. How deep does the manipulation go? And how much does Irene truly know?

Finally arriving, I park outside Irene’s modest house, which is now dimly lit like a subtle invitation to confront my nightmares. My heartbeat quickens as I approach her doorstep, my hand hovering briefly before knocking firmly.

The door opens swiftly, Irene’s tired eyes meeting mine with sorrowful understanding. She steps aside silently, the air heavy with tension as I enter. Her home is unchanged—lavender scented, filled with antique furniture and fragile memories.

We settle across from each other in her familiar study, the silence stretching thin until she finally speaks. “I never wanted you to find out like this, Celeste.”

“Why not tell me earlier?” My voice trembles, betraying the anger beneath.

“Because you wouldn’t have believed me,” she says calmly. “You never trusted my warnings and advice. They made sure of it.”

“Who are ‘they’?” My hands clench tightly. “What do they want from me?”

She takes a shuddering breath. “This started with your father, Nathan. He worked closely with Felix Rourke before you were born. They were researching neural conditioning—experiments Nathan believed would revolutionize mental health treatments. But he discovered something darker beneath the surface. Something monstrous.”

My chest tightens painfully. “What did he find?”

“That Rourke and his associates were performing cruel experiments on people, breaking and reshaping minds to achieve perfect behavioral control. Nathan confronted Rourke and threatened to expose him if they didn’t shut it down. Shortly after, he died in a car accident.”

“They killed him?”

“We suspected,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But there was no proof. Nathan had warned your mother about some of it, but he never had time to reveal everything.”

My heart sinks, realizing my life has always been shadowed by unseen hands. “And Langdon? My stepfather?”

“Langdon was their plant,” Irene admits bitterly. “He came into your mother’s life at her most vulnerable. He befriended her, comforted her, and eventually married her. But it was always about control—finding out what your mother knew and locating Nathan’s hidden research.

When your mother discovered Langdon’s true intentions and refused to hand over Nathan’s work, they killed her, staging it to look like an overdose-induced suicide, but the blood on the floor hinted at a violent struggle, something the authorities chose to overlook.

Langdon disappeared soon after. Maybe they silenced him too. I honestly don’t know.”

I stare at Irene, betrayal hot in my veins. “You knew this all along and didn’t say a thing?”

Her eyes shimmer with tears. “I only discovered the full truth after your mother died. She had hidden a box carefully concealed beneath the floorboards in her bedroom. It took me months to discover it as it was buried beneath years of dust and sorrow.

When I finally opened it, I realized she’d intended it as a last message, a desperate attempt to leave behind clues to the horrors she had endured.

I kept it safe, hoping someday you’d remember and come looking.

But you never did, Celeste. You stubbornly refused to believe me, even back then, because they programmed you that way. ”

“Until I joined Miramont,” I whisper bitterly.

She nods sadly. “Exactly.”

Irene rises stiffly, moving to a worn cabinet in the corner. She returns carrying a dusty box and places it gently between us. “Everything your mother preserved is here. I hoped that one day it would be enough to convince you.”

My breath catches as I open the lid, memories spilling out like a flood. Photos, handwritten letters, and my father’s faded notebook filled with frantic scribbles and equations. There’s a photograph of my parents smiling, unaware of the darkness closing in.

“They loved you fiercely,” Irene whispers, breaking the heavy silence. “Your mother endured everything, hoping to protect you from the monsters she couldn’t fight alone.”

I touch an aged locket, silver tarnished from neglect. Inside are faded photographs of my parents, frozen in happier times. “How can I reclaim what’s been stolen from me?”

“I don’t know if justice is possible,” she says bitterly. “They’ve covered their tracks thoroughly.”

“Then what’s left?” I ask, my voice cracking, desperation bleeding through.

She meets my gaze, resolve firming in her expression. “Expose the truth, even without justice. They rely on secrecy, so shatter that, and they lose everything.”

My fingers tighten around the locket. “No more hiding.”

“Then it’s time,” Irene whispers softly. “Burn every lie to the ground and make them pay in any way you can.”

I close the box, determination sparking inside me. My life may have been built on manipulation, but I won’t be their victim anymore.

I’ll become their reckoning.

I glance at the clock on Irene’s wall, suddenly aware of how late it is. It’s nearly two in the morning. The night has stripped away every illusion I once clung to, leaving me raw and aching. Yet despite the exhaustion, my mind feels clearer than it has in years.

Irene walks me to the door, her expression softer and tinged with sorrow and cautious hope. “Be careful, Celeste. They’re always watching, even when you think you’re alone.”

I nod solemnly, stepping out into the chill of the night. The rain has stopped, leaving the air thick with the scent of damp earth. The drive back to my apartment feels surreal, the world around me muted and distant, as though I’m observing my life from outside my own body.

Inside my apartment, silence greets me with an eerie stillness.

My phone buzzes softly. It’s a message from Alec, checking in, concerned.

I don’t reply immediately as words feel inadequate now.

Instead, I move to my desk and carefully set down the box Irene entrusted me with.

I sit, my heart pounding, and open it again, spreading its contents carefully across the desk’s surface.

The photographs seem to come alive beneath my fingertips, their smiles frozen in time, unaware of the tragedy awaiting them. My father’s notebook is filled with hurried notes and sketches of neural pathways—evidence of his brilliance and the perilous secrets he’d discovered.

I find a sealed envelope tucked beneath the notebook, marked simply: “For Celeste.” My fingers shake as I tear it open, recognizing my mother’s handwriting instantly. The words on the page blur through my tears, a final message written in desperation and love:

“My darling Celeste, if you’re reading this, I fear I’m already gone. Trust no one and question everything. Your strength is in your truth. Forgive me for leaving you unprotected. I tried. Remember, you are stronger than their lies.”

I clutch the letter close, my mother’s final words becoming a lifeline, anchoring me to a purpose clearer than ever before.

Morning sunlight creeps into my apartment, highlighting the scattered remnants of my parents’ past spread across my desk. I haven’t moved in hours, afraid to break the fragile connection I’ve forged with their lost truths. My mother’s letter lies open, her words etched permanently into my mind.

A gentle knock at my door pulls me reluctantly back to the present. Standing on stiff legs, I carefully conceal the contents back into the box and tuck it securely beneath my bed. At the door, I find Alec, concern shadowing his features.

“Celeste,” he says gently, his eyes scanning my exhausted face, “I’ve been worried.”

“Come in,” I say softly, stepping aside. Alec enters, glancing cautiously around my disheveled apartment.

“Did you speak to Irene yet?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, swallowing the heavy lump in my throat. “I did. Everything you and Reyes found, Alec, it’s real. All of it.”

He sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping with a mix of relief and dread. “I wish it weren’t, but knowing gives us a chance to fight back.”

“How?” I ask, my voice strained. “There’s no proof strong enough to hold them accountable.”

Alec reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small USB drive. “Maybe not yet. But Reyes and I found something else—a hidden data cluster deep within Miramont’s servers. We think it contains the identities of others involved. People who might help us, hidden allies or potential whistleblowers.”

My heart skips painfully in my chest. “Can you access it?”

“Not without you,” Alec replies, holding my gaze steadily. “We need your clearance, your codes. And your courage.”

I stare at the drive, hope starting to ignite alongside the fear within me. “Then let’s uncover the rest of the truth. Together.”

The short walk back to Miramont feels like stepping willingly into a trap, every step tightening the knot in my chest. The clinic is barely five minutes from my apartment on foot, yet the path feels longer tonight, weighed down by everything I now carry.

Alec keeps pace silently beside me, his presence a steadying force against the storm within.

The clinic stands ominous and silent in the early morning mist, its halls eerily deserted at this hour.

Alec guides me discreetly to the lower levels, through corridors I’ve walked countless times, now foreign under the weight of hidden agendas.

Reyes waits patiently outside a secured server room, anxiety etched across his normally composed features.

“Glad you’re here,” Reyes says, visibly relieved as he sees us approach.

“Let’s get this over with,” I reply, inserting my clearance key with practiced efficiency.

The heavy doors open, revealing banks of servers humming quietly in the cool, sterile room. Reyes moves swiftly, plugging the drive into a terminal. His fingers dance over the keys, his eyes fixed intently on the screen as lines of code flash rapidly.

Minutes feel like hours until, finally, a list emerges, names and titles scrolling rapidly. My heart races with each entry, the realization of just how widespread the corruption extends hitting me like a physical blow.

“This is bigger than we imagined,” Reyes whispers, stunned.

“But now we know who to target,” Alec says resolutely, determination replacing dread in his voice.

I scan the names, committing them to memory, knowing these revelations will shatter more than just my life. This knowledge will destroy the very foundations upon which Miramont was built.

Alec places a supportive hand on my shoulder. “Ready to fight back, Celeste?”

I take a deep breath, gathering every shred of courage left within me. “I’m ready to end this. No more shadows. No more lies.”

Together, we step out of the darkness, prepared to face whatever awaits, driven by the resolve that truth, no matter how painful, will always lead us forward.