Chapter 6
1016 Words
Isabel leaned back in her chair, one elbow resting lazily on the table, chin propped in her palm. Her expression was almost bored, but I knew that look. It was the one she wore right before she struck.
“So, Magdalene,” she said sweetly, tilting her head. “I heard you’ve been divorced six times.”
The table went still.
Cutlery paused mid-air. The workers froze where they stood. Even the low hum of conversation from earlier seemed to die out.
Magdalene blinked.
“Excuse me?” she asked, her smile stiff, eyes sharp.
Isabel didn’t flinch.
“I was just curious,” she continued lightly. “Tell me—your two sons. Are they from the same father, or…?”
Magdalene spluttered.
She actually choked on her drink, coughing sharply as liquid spilled dangerously close to her dress. I stiffened in my seat, startled. Isabel didn’t move an inch. A worker rushed forward with a napkin, but Magdalene waved them away, eyes wide as she turned to Alderic.
There was something raw in that look.
Betrayal. Expectation. A silent plea for intervention.
Alderic did not lift his head.
He continued cutting his meat slowly, carefully, like the plate in front of him was a canvas and the knife was an artist’s tool. His movements were steady, controlled, almost beautiful in their precision. The muscles in his jaw flexed once, but that was all.
No defense.
No correction.
No reprimand.
Magdalene straightened abruptly, clearly furious now. She huffed softly and turned back to Isabel, lips pursed so tightly they had lost their softness. When she spoke, her words were pressed thin, anger carefully wrapped in politeness.
“Yes,” she said. “They are of the same father.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
My gaze drifted to the two boys—men, really—who had remained silent since dinner began.
They looked like they wanted to disappear.
The older one hadn’t lifted his head from his phone once, his thumb moving endlessly across the screen like it was his lifeline. His posture was relaxed, but his shoulders were tense, and coiled. The younger one sat stiffly beside him, hands folded in his lap, eyes glued to his plate. He looked younger than me. Too young to be sitting at a table like this, surrounded by unspoken hostility.
It wasn’t shyness.
It was conditioning.
“Well,” Isabel said, clapping her hands softly. “That’s good to hear.” She leaned forward, eyes glittering. “I didn’t quite catch their names. Or are they dumb?”
The word landed hard.
The older one scoffed.
He finally dropped his phone onto the table with a soft thud and adjusted his blazer, long ringed fingers catching the light. He turned slightly toward his mother, lips curving.
“Wouldn’t you love that, Mum?” he asked smoothly.
Magdalene’s eyes blazed. For a brief second, her lips curled into something ugly, something sharp—but she smoothed it away just as quickly.
The man turned his attention to Isabel then, flashing a smile so polished it looked practiced.
“I’m Luca,” he said. His gaze shifted.
Straight to me.
“And sorry for you,” he added casually. “I can speak quite well, actually.”
My body reacted before my mind could.
I shifted in my seat, discomfort crawling up my spine. His attention felt invasive, like hands where they didn’t belong. I didn’t understand why—it wasn’t desire, it wasn’t fear. Just… wrong.
I looked up without thinking.
My eyes found Alderic.
He was staring at Luca.
His gaze was cold. Hard. His jaw was clenched so tightly it made the muscle twitch beneath his beard. There was something dark there, something restrained. Anger, maybe. Or warning.
I couldn’t tell.
“So tell me, Sera,” Luca continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Are you really my stepsister’s stepsister?”
He chuckled, amused by his own words, like he had delivered the cleverest joke in the room.
Heat flooded my face.
I hated this. Hated the attention. Hated being pulled into conversations like prey. My fingers curled into my palms beneath the table, nails biting into skin.
I nodded, just once.
Luca frowned.
“Don’t you speak more than one word?” he asked. “Or do you want to be dumb too?”
My chest tightened.
I opened my mouth, every nerve in my body screaming. I hated that people kept cornering me like this, demanding sound when all I wanted was silence.
“I—”
The sharp crash of glass hitting the floor cut me off.
The sound shattered the air.
Everyone turned at once.
A gasp tore from both Isabel and Magdalene when they saw it was Alderic.
A glass lay broken near his hand. Blood pooled around his fingers, dark and spreading, staining the white tablecloth like ink.
A maid rushed forward immediately, kneeling to clean the mess, hands trembling.
“Dad!” Isabel screeched, half rising from her chair. “You’re bleeding!”
Alderic didn’t move.
He didn’t look at his hand. Didn’t react to the blood. Didn’t even blink.
My breath came uneven, shallow.
My eyes locked onto the blood.
The color dragged me backward—memories slamming into me without warning. Darkness. Cold metal. The smell of rust. Chains biting into skin. Knives. Pain. Panic rose like a wave, crushing my lungs.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t move.
My body sat frozen while my mind spiraled, the edges of my vision blurring. I was right on the edge—right there.
Then I felt it.
His eyes.
Alderic was looking at me.
Not past me. Not through me.
At me.
There was something in his gaze I couldn’t name. Recognition, maybe. Or understanding. It grounded me, pulled me back like a hand gripping my wrist and yanking me out of deep water.
The blood. The memories. The darkness.
Gone.
I sucked in a sharp breath, chest rising painfully.
The world snapped back into place.
And still, his eyes never left mine.
- Writer
