Page 127 of Deliria

I let out a weary breath, taking small comfort in the normalcy of the world around me.

I start down the hall, my mind already racing with half-formed plans and fading regrets. Should I have been more firm? Should I have insisted on pulling Scarlett out of this dark trajectory before it was too late? But even as I ask myself those questions, I know the answer. Scarlett isn’t someone you control, guide, or lead, at least not anymore. If anything, she’s the one orchestrating this insanity now, and I’m caught in the undertow along with the rest of our sorry, twisted lives.

The clink of the hospital’s outdated ventilation system echoes through the halls as I tread lightly, willing myself to melt into the shadows. It’s better to disappear right now, to keep out of sight entirely.

I’ve almost reached the elevator when rough fingers wrap around my arm, yanking me violently into the dim recess of an intersecting corridor.

For a split second, my brain screams that it’s my brother and I brace myself for the incoming shitstorm. But it’s not Alexander’s hand on my arm.

Piercing blue eyes, cold and endless like a frozen sea lock onto mine.

He looms over me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“How is my daughter?” His voice is smooth, quiet, almost too even for the question, but the words cut through me like ice. There’s an edge of command in his tone, not of a father caring for his child, but rather of someone who controls outcomes, who measures lives in terms of worth and utility.

The world tilts on its axis as my brain struggles to catch up with what the icy realization implies. His daughter?

But of course. Of fucking course. Scarlett.

My eyes dart behind him as if I expect her to materialise right here before us both.

I’m too stunned to answer him right away. I see bleak recognition in his expression as he watches my face carefully, as though he’s already dissecting every muscle movement, every changing flicker in my eyes, probing me for something I’m not even sure I can hide.

“My daughter,” he repeats with a calmness that terrifies me more than any random outburst ever could. There’s something lethal about his precision, the way his eyes drill into me, hollow in their stillness. It’s the calm before an avalanche, a moment ofquiet before an entire world collapses beneath its own weight. He doesn’t move, not yet, but his hand tightens ever so slightly on my arm, his grip cold and unyielding.

“She’s recovering,” I finally manage to say, my throat tight and dry. It’s such a weak response, and I know it. He knows it, too. He makes no effort to conceal the small twist of amusement on his lips, a sharp, humourless thing.

“Recovering.” He muses, as if there’s a hidden meaning to that. “In that case, I’d say it’s time you and I had a little talk, Rafferty,” he says softly, but there’s nothing soft about the steely command. “Now.”

They drag us out.I don’t know what time it is. What day it is.

Alexander has his goons do all the heavy lifting while he’s no doubt waiting for us like a little emperor.

They made sure to drug me, to incapacitate me enough that I couldn’t fight them. My limbs are as good as useless, my body is a deadweight but my mind is there, it’s all fucking there.

The whimpers from Scarlett tell me that she’s in pain, that she’s still feeling the effects of what that machine, what Alexander too, has inflicted on her body.

I try to reassure her, to tell her that everything is going to be okay, but we’re so far from that.

Internally I curse myself, curse my stupidity. I should have taken her away. Should have scooped her up that day in the woods, should have taken her far from this place.

I should have saved her.

And it’s too late now. Far too fucking late.

We’re dumped in a room. Both of us dropped to the polished marble floor. With my arms tied around my back there’s nothing I can do to stop my face from slamming into it.

“One of our guests arrived early,” Alexander says, watching us from where he’s sat in that chesterfield like it’s a throne. “So we thought we’d have a little pre-party to get the celebrations going.”

“What celebrations?” Scarlett mutters.

Alexander’s lips pull into a smirk. “Why, your birthday celebrations, wife. It’s not every day you turn twenty five.”

She curses enough for us all to hear but the sound of approaching footsteps steals my attention.

I look over, seeing that familiar swagger as my father’s old friend walks towards us.

“No,” Scarlett whispers beside me.

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