Page 134 of Deliria

In a way it’s hard not to laugh, not to rub my hands together with glee. Because on a certain level, all of this is going exactly to plan.

“Sydney, Fraser,” Alexander says in greeting, and they both grin back like this is judgement day, like they’re about to be given the keys to heaven. As if I’d let it end that way.

I’ve already endured hours of Sydney’s leering. Hours of witnessing him abuse Rafe, forced to watch while Alexander inflicts his own torture upon my flesh.

But Fraser is late to the party. I wonder what new horrors he will decide to unleash.

He’s taller than his friend, ganglier, his neck is hunched over just a little and his beady eyes go straight to me, they linger on me, hungrily laying claim to parts of me he has no right to look at.

Behind them stand their bodyguards. I know both of them arrived with more personal protection than an actual king. And we all know why that is, don’t we? The three of them have not been in the same room together in years. Technically, it was Vincent and not Alexander who was in partnership with them and my father, but then, Rafe put paid to that, didn’t he?

I wonder how they reacted, how they received the news that Vincent was gone. Did they mourn him? Did they feel his loss? Did it make them hesitate for a second, make them question whether coming here today was worth the risk?

But then, we all know it was worth it. Two hundred million is worth a great deal. And besides, it wasn’t just the money on the table. No, my death doesn’t just grant that. It gives them back their reputation, it saves them from ruin because their businesses, their houses, cars, all of it is a pretence. There’s nothing behind it. They’re mortgaged up to their eyeballs. They’re swimming in debt.

And my death, my inheritance, it’ll clear all of that. It’ll spare them all the humiliation.

They’ll be able to continue on, to act like they weren’t on the very brink of destruction. All while I lay cold in my grave.

At least, that’s their great plan, isn’t it?

“My beautiful wife has just turned twenty-five.” Alexander continues, putting emphasis on my age. “So how about we give her a birthday she’ll never forget?”

A laugh echoes around me. It twists, it grows as the men all grin from ear to ear.

“Christ, she looks just like her.” Fraser says, still staring at me. “The spitting image of her.”

I know he’s talking about my mother, I know that’s who he sees when he looks at me.

And I also know what he did to her, what all of them did when my father found out what they were up to.

I try to step away, to run, but not before Alexander drags me back and grabs me by my throat, moving quicker than I can even fathom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. “You’re meant to be the star of the show.”

Star of the show. Belle of the ball. The sacrificial lamb to their greedy little altar, that’s what I am.

He pushes me forward and my ankles give way beneath me, causing me to crash down, landing in a heap with all my weight sending a punishing blow to my knees.

I cry out, but even that sound is off. Has he stolen my voice too? Has he taken that on top of every other indignity he’s inflicted on me? No, I know I still have that. I know it’s just the drugs fucking with my headspace, making me think things that aren’t real, making me believe things that aren’t happening.

I force myself to straighten, to glare back, to fight whatever the fuck it is that’s pumping through my veins.

If I am to die here, if this does go wrong, then I will die the way I have lived. I will die with fortitude and with bravery. I will die looking my cursed husband in the eyes, proving even now that I am better than him, better than his family, his bloodline, all of it.

“What the fuck are you grinning at?” Alexander asks before backhanding me.

I didn’t realise Iwassmiling; I didn’t realise my face had shown any expression.

The blow splits my lip and blood spurts out, covering my tongue, but I know it won’t be all that is spilt tonight.

As I meet his gaze again, I can see it; his confusion. So he’s nervous too. Under that cocky, arrogant façade, he’s as on edge as I am.

Aww, did my poor husband believe that the sedatives would be enough? That I’d just lay here like a good girl and let him and his mates do whatever they wanted, as if I had no mind of my own anymore?

I let out a cackle, sounding and no doubt seeming more possessed with every passing moment.

I like the fact that I’m unnerving him, stealing the very joy from his victory.

---