Page 43 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
“Your magic is a disgrace, Lailah. A sin . A darkness that should have been locked away—not flaunted, not exploited. If Clyde hadn’t taken you, we would all still be cleaning up the chaos you leave in your wake. ”
My magic trembles beneath my skin, begging for release, but I clench my fists to hold it back. I can’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me lose control.
Not here.
Not ever.
Lucas steps forward, his face stern.
“Mother,” he says firmly, his voice filled with quiet anger. “You’ve said enough. No, more than enough.”
Agatha’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze flicking to him.
“Don’t lecture me, Lucas. You don’t know what it was like to?—”
“Careful, Agatha,” my father interjects smoothly, almost amused. “You’re starting to bore me.”
Agatha freezes, the cracks in her composure momentarily visible before she smooths them over with a deep breath. Her gaze turns cold, but she says nothing.
My hands tremble at my sides, my magic still stirring beneath my skin. I dig my nails into my palms, trying to anchor myself.
“Shall we continue with the festivities?” my father drawls, as though this exchange is nothing more than a mild annoyance to him.
Agatha stiffens but doesn’t reply. Her features harden, her eyes darting briefly to Clyde with a trace of irritation before returning to me. I swallow hard, the ache in my chest tightening as the rejection lingers.
She’ll never see me. She never has. I take a slow, shaky breath, forcing myself to steady the storm of magic clawing at my skin. You’re better than this. Control it. Don’t let her win.
The thought gives me just enough resolve to raise my chin and meet her gaze.
“Thank you for sharing your feelings, step-mother,” I say, my words carefully measured. “I’ll be sure to cherish them as much as you cherish me.”
Agatha tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint, bitter smile.
But she doesn’t linger. Instead, her attention shifts past me, drawn to something behind my shoulder.
I follow her eyes, turning just enough to catch Casper and my stepmother locked in a silent exchange. His jaw is tight, eyes hard.
When I glance back, my stepmother’s gaze cuts to me again before sliding once more, this time to Jason. Her lips curl into a faint, bitter smile as her voice changes. It’s lighter, almost sweet, and I can hear the thinly veiled calculation in her tone.
“You must be my new son-in-law,” she says, stepping forward to meet Jason.
I instinctively lower my eyes as she passes by, trying to ground myself in anything but the deep-set ache she’s left behind.
I stand there, rooted to the floor, while my father and Lucas watch.
The spectre of abandonment looms around me, suffocating, dredging up old wounds I thought were buried.
The sting of tears burns at the corners of my eyes.
My throat tightens, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, the pungent taste of blood grounding me as I try to keep the floodgates closed.
I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to regain control. The smile I offer my father is fragile, a thin mask I can barely hold together.
"I think I could really use a drink," I say, my voice light, but the emptiness behind the words is unmistakable.
Without waiting for a response, I move quickly, stepping ahead of my father. I can feel Lucas trailing behind, and I can barely bring myself to acknowledge him.
"Lailah..." Lucas's voice is soft, filled with concern, as he matches my pace, but I don't stop.
"Not now," I snap, frustration spilling over in my tone.
I push through the doors of the throne room, needing to escape, needing to be anywhere but here . My steps quicken, every stride urgent as I race toward a quiet corner where I can breathe, where I can feel something other than the crushing weight of everything pressing down on me.
Just as I round the corner, an arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into an unexpected embrace.
“Lucas, I said not now!” I snap, ready to break free.
But then a hand covers my mouth, and I look up to find dark, haunting green eyes.
Casper’s pulse thrums beneath his palm, and instinctively, I grip his hand over my lips.
His gaze is soft but intense, as if he feels every crack in me, as if he’s trying to hold me together, even as I fall apart.
I close my eyes, a shaky breath escaping as I try to steady myself.
His arms tighten around me, and panic claws at my chest. Warmth fills the space between us, but it does nothing to ease the sting of rejection and betrayal.
My breath quickens, shallow and uneven, as the pain pulses through me—a relentless throb that refuses to fade.
Before I can stop myself, I press into him, desperate for something to hold me together.
His hand moves in slow, soothing circles across my spine, pulling me from the overwhelming darkness swirling inside.
"Breathe with me," he urges.
I look up into his eyes, searching for something steady, something real.
And I find it—not in words, but in the quiet rhythm of his breath.
I surrender to it. Each inhale draws me closer to calm, each exhale slowly untangling the knots inside me.
Gently, almost without meaning to, the armor I’ve clung to begins to fall away.
When my breathing begins to slow, the tears slip down my cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable.
“You are okay,” he says gently, resting his chin on top of my head.
I blink hard as another tear slips free, tracing the curve of my cheek. But I nod, as if accepting his words as truth—even if a part of me still aches to believe them.
Casper cups my face, his calloused fingers brushing away the tears that cling stubbornly to my skin.
His eyes search mine, as though trying to piece me back together, to find the version of me I’ve hidden beneath the ache.
His thumb traces the curve of my cheek, lingering there—and then his forehead lowers to touch mine.
“The things she said,” he starts, but I shake my head, cutting him off before the words can settle.
“I know.” I force the response past the tightness in my throat.
He sighs heavily, his shoulders dipping with the burden he seems to carry for both of us. I can see it in his eyes—this isn’t okay for him. The way he looks at me feels protective, almost desperate, as though he’s searching for a way to fix something that can’t be mended.
“What do you need?” he asks softly, as if the answer would be enough for him to rebuild the entire world for me.
A faint smile tugs at my lips, fragile but genuine.
“Wouldn’t it be nice, starting anew?" I ask, my voice soft, with a faint attempt at lightness.
His jaw tightens, and I can see the soft ripple of muscle flex beneath his skin.
Slowly, he steps even closer, the space between us dissolving as his hand tilts my chin up, firmly, yet tenderly.
Before I can think better of it, I lean in too, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
His lips hover near mine, his breath brushing my skin.
My breath matches his uneven rhythm as I tip my face up further, trying to close the distance.
His gaze flickers to my lips and the air grows thick and strained.
I can feel it thrumming in my veins, pulling me closer, daring me to cross the line.
His breath hitches, shallow and uneven, as my lips part ever so slightly.
“Lailah?”
The sound of my name doesn’t just interrupt—it cleaves through the moment like a blade to silk.
I see it before I turn. The pain that rips across Casper’s features isn’t loud or violent—it’s quiet and suffocating, the kind of pain that carves its way deep into a man’s bones.
His eyes shut for a fraction of a second, jaw locking tight, and his hand curls slowly into a fist at his side, the effort it takes to restrain himself etched across every line of his face.
When I finally turn, Jason is already there, standing just beyond us in the mouth of the corridor, disbelief carved in his features.
Fury brewing just beneath the surface of his golden composure.
The torchlight frames him in gold and fire, too perfect, too poised, as if the celebration behind him hasn’t yet reached this part of the hall.
Music floats faintly from the ballroom, laughter rising behind him like a haunting echo of a life I’m not sure I ever wanted.
Jason’s gaze cuts between me and Casper, reading what the silence still clinging to our skin refuses to say out loud .
“Lailah,” he says again, this time more pointed. “What is going on here?”
I look back at Casper, suddenly aware—terrifyingly aware—of how close we were to unraveling something we could never tie back together. And in Jason’s eyes, I already see the fraying edges of his trust, the slow unravel of whatever illusion he had convinced himself to believe.
“So,” Jason murmurs, stepping forward, the hurt in his voice transforming into something cruel. “You expect me to stand beside you tonight, pretend to be the devoted groom, while you whore yourself?—”
A blur moves past me, swift and precise.
The crack of Casper’s fist meeting Jason’s face is thunderous in the tight corridor, a brutal punctuation to a moment that was already unraveling. Jason’s head snaps to the side, blood streaking across his mouth as he stumbles backward, slamming into the stone with a dull, breathless sound.
Casper spits at Jason’s feet, the words that follow as harsh as the blow itself.
“Don’t you ever speak to her like that again.”
Jason wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with shock. Casper snarls, stepping forward, and for a second, I’m certain he’s going to hit him again.
“Cas,” I breathe, placing myself between them, one trembling hand against his chest.