Page 62 of Deliria

“Your wife is not the pressing issue. What happens to her between now and our end point is irrelevant.”

“Without her there is no endpoint…”

“Without her, we’d be free of all this unnecessary drama,” my father interjects, his voice dripping with condescension. “Yousuddenly finding a conscience, boy? Next you’ll be saying you’ve changed your mind entirely and you don’t want to go through with this anymore, that you want to sail off into the sunset with your slut of a wife.”

The word ‘conscience’ hangs in the air like a foul odour. The idea that I might harbour some misplaced sense of morality is laughable. This isn’t about right or wrong; it’s about power and the preservation of our family.

“This has nothing to do with conscience,” I snap, my patience worn thin. “It’s about respect and honour. It’s about maintaining the delicate balance of our agreement. You’ve overstepped, and you’ve done it knowing full well what the implications were.”

My father rises from his chair, his stature imposing despite the years that have begun to stoop his shoulders. “Implications?” he bellows, his wrath filling the room like a poisonous gas. “I am the implications, Alexander. Do not presume to lecture me on respect and honour.”

I stand my ground, refusing to be cowed by his attempt to cowl me. This moment here will define our relationship moving forward. This will ensure that I am the heir, not Rafferty. He will learn now that I am not going to be disrespected anymore.

The room goes silent but for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the distant tolling of the grandfather clock in the hall.

And then my mother shifts, placing herself between us both.

“Perhaps,” She begins, her tone measured, “there is wisdom in Alexander’s words. We have walked a precarious path with Scarlett, one that requires a gentle hand as much as a firm one.”

My father tilts his head, his eyes flashing for a moment before that fury seems to soften. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” She says as she places her hands on his shoulders, “…that if this girl is truly nothing, then what does it matter when you fuck her? Your relationship with your son is worth far more than that little slut.”

“I agree.” I say quickly. “Unless it is you who is growing a conscience? Maybe you’re more attached to my wife than you want to admit?”

My father looks between us, and I can see it; we’ve caught him out, got him on the backfoot. “Why would I give a fuck about your wife?” He sneers. “Beyond…”

“You were more than content to break our agreement.” I state, twisting the knife just a little. It’s not just me he technically cheated on, how will he feel knowing our mother is right here, and more than aware of his transgressions.

He scoffs, placing his hands on his hips. “She’s a whore.” He says dismissively. “I enjoy fucking her, there’s nothing more to it.”

“Then keep it that way.” My mother says stiffly. “If you want to use the bitch then you ensure Alexander is there.”

I can’t help but smirk as I watch him. He may be the head of the house, but in so many ways it is our mother who is the real brains.

After all, it was her who came up with this great plan in the first place, her who pointed out that at their core all women are gold diggers. That it would be easy to catch my wife, to ensnare her, and she wouldn’t have a clue about any of this because she’d be so dazzled by my wealth and lifestyle.

“…she’s a conniving little slut.” My mother continues before meeting my gaze. “More than likely she sought your father out, put herself right in his path for him to fuck. She wanted this situation to occur, for us to be here, fighting over her like she’s a thing worth such attention.”

I narrow my eyes, but I can see it, the truth of her words. Scarlett is a conniving, manipulative piece of trash, just like the rest of her family. It would make sense for her to have done that, to have tried to seduce my father and then act all innocent and like the victim after the event.

My mother draws in a long breath, holding her hand out for me to take.

I reach forward, clasping it in my own, feeling the strength she still has despite her age.

“We need to stick together.” She says. “It’s more imperative than ever. Scarlett is a cunning, devious little bitch. She will try anything to get between us, and you can’t let her do that.”

She’s right. She always is. Maybe part of this jealousy is also of Scarlett’s creation.

She wants friction. She wants us divided.

We need to rise above her manipulation.

I walk out, leaving them to it. But that thought still sits in my head.Her manipulation.

Maybe it isn’t my father who deserves my wrath, but her. She’s the one who seduced him. She’s the one trying to play us against each other.

It’s time she truly learnt her place. It’s time she realised that she can’t beat us.

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