Page 117 of Deliria

“Soft?” I echo, and the laugh that escapes me is bitter, broken. “It seems you’ve mistaken restraint for softness. Well tonight, I’m done restraining myself.”

The knife plunges in with delightful ease. The blade cuts through fabric and flesh as though the universe itself wills this moment into being. His gasp is sharp, a sound I’ll carry with me, not as guilt, but as a reminder of what it took to end this nightmare.

“That one,” I say, my voice trembling but steadying with each word, “is for me. For every time you made me feel small. For every part of me I lost trying to live up to the impossible idea of a son you wanted.”

God, it feels good to do it. To finally have my vengeance.

He stumbles, his hand clutching at his side where the blood spreads dark and fast through his jacket. But I don’t let him fall. Not yet. My grip on his collar tightens as I hold him upright, forcing him to meet my gaze.

“And this one,” I say, raising the blade again, my voice harder now, colder, “this one is for Scarlett. For everything you’ve done to her, everything you were going to do.”

The second stab is more deliberate, punctuated by the finality swimming in my veins. He collapses this time, slipping out of my grip and sinking to the floor, his breathing shallow and ragged. The firelight flickers across his face, lighting up his eyes with something that looks like disbelief.

He stares up at me, choking on his own arrogance and blood, finally understanding that his throne, his empire, his dominion over all of us is crumbling into ash. I stand over him, panting and unflinching, the blade still gripped tight in my hand. There’s no regret. No guilt. Only the odd taste of victory fills my mouth, mingling with the blood on my tongue.

“You’ve lost,” I whisper, the words like a sentence, heavy and irreversible. “You always thought you were untouchable. Untouchable and eternal. But in the end, you’re just a man. And once you’re gone, no one will even remember you existed.”

He gurgles something, his lips twitching as though trying to form words, but the blood pooling in his mouth ensures I’ll never hear whatever drivel he wants to say. Good. Nothing he could say matters anymore.

I take a step back, wiping the blade against his perfectly tailored jacket, watching how the blood smears into the fabric in dark, wet streaks. Let the weight of that be part of his legacy. Let the blood be his inheritance—for Alexander, for anyone stupid enough to think they can follow in his footsteps.

There’s a stillness in the air, as though the house itself has held its breath, waiting for this moment. Finally, one of the ghosts that haunt this place is gone for good.

I glance at him one last time. Tears are forming in his eyes now, and they’re not from pain. No, it’s something worse. Defeat. I recognize it instantly, because it’s the same look I’veseen in my own reflection a thousand times before. Funny. It suits him.

I’m about to turn away—about to leave his pathetic, broken form on the cold marble floor when something slams into the back of my head with a force that shatters my world into fragments. My vision darkens as I stumble, falling to my knees with the knife slipping from my hand and clattering onto the floor beside me.

An ache explodes, sharp and unrelenting, as I clutch at the back of my skull.

“What the…” My voice is cut off as I feel a pair of hands, small but strong, grab my shoulders and yank me back. I crash against the floor, gasping for breath, my vision swimming with colours that shouldn’t exist.

Through the haze, my mother’s face looms.

It’s distorted by both the angle and by the throbbing pain radiating through my skull.

Her eyes, cold and unrecognizable, glint with something far more sinister.

Her lips curl into a twisted smile, one that sends ice shooting through my veins.

She crouches beside me, her knees brushing the marble floor, and her fingers, still gripping the blunt object she used to attack me, tremble slightly. Is it exhaustion? Nervousness? Or something darker?

She leans down, murmuring something into my ear. But I don’t hear the words. I don’t hear a damned thing.

I’m gone. Lost. Fucking ruined.

Scarlett

My eyes struggle to focus.

I blink. Then blink again before I realise half the issue is that I’m in darkness. Or semi-darkness.

I try to move, but it becomes more than apparent that I’m strapped down, spread-eagled. And completely lacking clothes - again.

I take a deep breath, recollecting more thoughts, trying to stave off the panic for a moment as I make a plan. But there is no plan. At least not one for this particular moment. I have to wait. I have to endure. I have to survive whatever the fuckthis isuntiltheday, until we’re there, at the equinox. The end we’ve all been focused on. The end we all know is coming.

“Sscarscarlett?”

Rafe’s voice makes me freeze.

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