Page 116 of Deliria

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 backagainst 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.”

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