Family Secret: Claiming My Father's Toy

The Aftermath

I didn't leave my room for the rest of the day.

Couldn't. Every time I thought about going downstairs, about facing what I'd done, my chest got tight and my hands started shaking.

I'd just exiled my own mother.

Fuck.

What kind of person does that?

Around six PM, someone knocked. Soft. Hesitant.

"Elena?" My mother's voice. "Can I come in? Please?"

I sat up, stared at the door. Part of me wanted to throw it open, take it all back, tell her I was sorry. But the other part, the part that was learning to survive in this world, stayed quiet.

"You have five minutes," I said.

She opened the door slowly. Her eyes were red, makeup smudged. She looked smaller somehow. Broken.

"I'm leaving tonight," she said. "Silas is sending me to Portland. To my sister's. He's given me enough money to start over."

"Good for you."

"Elena, please don't do this. Don't shut me out. I'm still your mother."

"Are you?" I looked at her. Really looked. "Because mothers don't sell their daughters. They don't set traps. They don't work with criminals to destroy the people who took us in."

"I was trying to protect us!"

"By putting me in more danger? By making me a pawn in Dante's game?" I stood up. "You want to know the truth, Mom? I'm safer here with Silas than I ever was with you."

She flinched like I'd hit her.

"I never wanted this for you," she whispered. "I wanted you to have a normal life. College. A good job. Maybe meet someone nice, settle down."

"Well, I met two someones. And they're not nice. And I'm not settling down. So I guess your plan really worked out."

"Don't be cruel."

"Why not? You were." I crossed my arms. "Your five minutes are up. You should go pack."

"Elena--"

"Go. Please just go."

She stood there for another moment, tears streaming down her face. Then she turned and left.

I heard her footsteps down the hall. Heard her bedroom door close. Heard the sounds of her packing, drawers opening and closing, the scrape of a suitcase across the floor.

An hour later, a car pulled up outside. I watched from my window as Thomas loaded her bags into the trunk. As she got in the backseat. As the car pulled away.

She didn't look back.

And I didn't cry.

Couldn't. The tears wouldn't come. Just this hollow ache where feelings should be.

Another knock. This time I knew it was Silas before he even spoke.

"Come in."

He entered, closed the door behind him. Stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me.

"You did the right thing," he said.

"Did I?"

"She betrayed us. Betrayed you. There's no coming back from that."

"She's still my mother."

"No. She was your mother. Past tense. Now she's just someone who used to know you." He walked over, sat on the edge of my bed. "I know this hurts. But pain is how we learn. How we grow stronger."

"I don't want to be stronger. I want to stop feeling like I'm losing pieces of myself every day."

"You're not losing pieces. You're shedding dead weight." His hand found mine. "Elena, look at me."

I did.

"You belong here now. With me. With Julian. This is your family. We're the ones who actually want you. Who value you. Your mother saw you as a meal ticket. We see you as essential."

"Essential," I repeated. "Like a business asset."

"Like the center of everything." He pulled me closer. "Do you understand what you've become to us? To me? I'd burn this entire city down before I'd let anyone take you away."

"That's not love. That's obsession."

"Maybe they're the same thing." His mouth found my neck. "Maybe that's all anyone gets in this life. People who are obsessed with keeping them."

I should have pushed him away. Should have told him I needed space, time to process what I'd done.

But I let him pull me onto his lap. Let his hands slide under my shirt. Let him distract me from the guilt eating me alive.

"That's it," he murmured against my skin. "Stop thinking. Just feel."

And I did. I let myself feel his hands, his mouth, the way he claimed every inch of me like he owned it. Which, according to those contracts, he did.

We ended up on my bed, clothes discarded, bodies tangled. He took his time, slow and deliberate, like he was proving a point.

You're mine. You chose this. You chose me over her.

When it was over, when we were both breathing hard and covered in sweat, he didn't leave. Just pulled me against his chest and held me.

"You're going to be okay," he said quietly. "It doesn't feel like it now, but you will be."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've lost people too. Family who betrayed me. People I thought I could trust." His hand stroked my hair. "And I survived. You will too."

"What if I don't want to be the kind of person who survives by cutting people out?"

"Then you won't survive at all. This world doesn't reward softness, Elena. It rewards strength. Ruthlessness. The ability to make hard choices and live with the consequences."

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Julian.

Julian: Dad with you?

Me: Yeah.

Julian: Can I come see you after? I want to make sure you're okay.

Me: Maybe tomorrow. I'm tired.

Julian: Okay. I love you.

I stared at those three words.

Set the phone down without responding.

"Julian?" Silas asked.

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"That he loves me."

"And what did you say?"

"Nothing." I looked up at him. "Is that wrong? That I can't say it back?"

"No. Love is complicated. Especially in situations like ours." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. "Do you love him?"

"I don't know. I care about him. I want him. But love?" I shook my head. "I'm not sure I know what that is anymore."

"What about me?"

The question caught me off guard.

"What about you?"

"Do you love me?"

I studied his face. The man who'd orchestrated my entire life for the past two weeks. Who'd controlled, dominated, claimed me. Who'd just helped me exile my own mother.

"No," I said honestly. "I don't love you."

He smiled. "Good. Love makes people weak. What we have is better."

"What do we have?"

"Understanding. Mutual benefit. Desire. And most importantly, honesty." He kissed my forehead. "You don't love me. I don't love you. But we choose each other anyway. That's more valuable than any romantic fantasy."

Maybe he was right.

Maybe love was overrated.

Maybe all that mattered was finding people who wanted you enough to fight for you. Even if their reasons were selfish. Even if it was all built on darkness and bad choices.

"Stay with me tonight," I said. "I don't want to be alone."

"I'm not going anywhere."

We fell asleep like that, tangled together, my head on his chest, his arm around me.

And for the first time since seeing that video of my mother, I felt something other than pain.

Not peace, exactly.

But something close enough.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee.

Pulled on clothes and went downstairs.

Julian was in the kitchen, making breakfast. He looked up when I walked in, his expression careful.

"Morning."

"Morning." I poured myself coffee. "You stayed over?"

"Got here early. Wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay." He slid a plate of eggs and toast across the counter. "Eat something."

I sat down, picked at the food. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You sent your mother away. That's not nothing."

"She betrayed us. There wasn't a choice."

"There's always a choice. You just made the hard one." He sat beside me. "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing. But I also think you're allowed to be f****d up about it."

"I'm not f****d up. I'm just--" I stopped. "Okay, yeah. I'm f****d up about it."

"Good. That means you're still human." He took my hand. "Elena, I meant what I said last night. I love you. And I know you can't say it back right now. That's okay. But I need you to know that I'm here. No matter what."

"Even when I do terrible things?"

"Especially then." He kissed my knuckles. "We're all doing terrible things. At least we're doing them together."

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

I opened it.

A photo. My mother, at the airport. A message below.

Unknown: She made it to Portland safely. This is the last update you'll receive. She's gone. Move on. - T (Thomas)

I showed Julian.

"Well," he said. "That's that."

"Yeah. That's that."

I deleted the message. Finished my coffee. Looked at Julian.

"I have class at ten. Want to drive me?"

His face lit up. "Yeah. Definitely."

We finished breakfast, got in his car, drove to campus like a normal couple. Except we weren't normal. Would never be normal.

But maybe that was okay.

Maybe normal was overrated anyway.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I saw Mason from my Art History class. He waved.

Julian's hand tightened on the steering wheel.

"Who's that?"

"Just a guy from class."

"Just a guy who's looking at you like he wants to f**k you."

I looked at Julian. Saw the jealousy there. The possessiveness.

And instead of being annoyed, I felt a thrill run through me.

"Maybe he does," I said. "So what?"

"So I don't share well with people who aren't my father."

"Good thing you don't get a say in who talks to me on campus."

His jaw clenched. "Elena--"

"Relax. I'm not interested in Mason. But I like that it bothers you. Reminds me that you actually want me."

"I always want you. Even when you're being difficult." He pulled me in for a kiss. Hard. Claiming. "Now go to class. And if Mason tries anything, tell him your boyfriend will break his f*****g hands."

I laughed. "You're insane."

"You like it."

Damn it, I did.

I got out of the car, walked toward class, feeling Julian's eyes on me the whole way.

Mason fell into step beside me. "Hey. Haven't seen you around much lately."

"Been busy."

"With the Kingstons, right? I saw the press conference. Pretty wild."

"Yeah. Wild." I kept walking.

"So are you actually dating both of them or was that just PR?"

I stopped. Looked at him. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious. It's not every day someone pulls off a relationship like that." He smiled. "Must be interesting."

"It has its moments."

"Ever get tired of it? Want to just hang out with someone normal?"

Oh. He was actually asking me out. After everything he knew.

Bold. Stupid, but bold.

"I'm good," I said. "But thanks."

"If you change your mind--"

"I won't."

I walked into class, leaving him standing there.

Professor Mills started her lecture. I took notes. Tried to focus on art history instead of the fact that I'd exiled my mother, slept with Silas, and was apparently becoming the kind of person who found jealousy hot.

My phone buzzed under the table.

Silas: Dinner tonight. You, me, Julian. We need to discuss next steps with the Dante situation.

Me: Thought that was handled?

Silas: Dante's in custody but his organization isn't. We have cleanup to do. You're part of that conversation now.

Me: Why?

Silas: Because you earned a seat at the table. Whether you wanted it or not.

I stared at the message.

A seat at the table.

Not just a possession anymore. An actual player.

Was that what I wanted?

My phone buzzed again. Julian this time.

Julian: Dad wants a family dinner tonight. Fair warning, he's in business mode. It's going to be intense.

Me: I can handle intense.

Julian: I know you can. That's what scares me.

I smiled despite myself.

Put my phone away.

Paid attention to the lecture.

And tried not to think about how much I'd changed in just two weeks.

How much more I'd probably change in the weeks to come.

Or whether, at the end of all this, there'd be anything left of the girl who'd walked into that mansion.

Probably not.

But maybe that was the point.