Page 120 of Cruel Deception
It’s almost amusing, really—how everyone wants to help me escape. But not because they care about me. Because I’m useful. Or because helping me helps them. Nobody sees me. They see opportunity.
I lay back on the bed, the warmth from earlier—Elodie’s cigarette smoke, the breeze on my face, the fleeting illusion of being human—dimming like dying light.
My eyes closed, but the pain didn’t leave. My mind strained to shut out yesterday—the sound of the chain dragging, the sting of his voice calling me a slave, the bruises his hands didn’t leave but still burned into my skin. Cassian didn’t strike me, but his words carved deeper than any blade, stripping me of pride, of peace, of self. I wasn’t his wife yesterday. I was his subject. And I broke beneath him.
But then I heard a voice.
“He killed our father when he was nine.”
I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the bed. Elodie stood near the door, half-shadowed, arms crossed. I clutched my chest.
“Holy Hell. You scared me.”
“Why should you be scared of anything or anyone in your husband’s house?” she asked, walking into the room like it was hers.
“Wait... Who killed their father at nine?” I asked, my mind still catching up.
She wandered to my vanity, touching the edge of a brush as if inspecting it. “Cassian.”
“What?” My chest drops, my body tensing as I sit fully upright. “He... shot your father? How does a nine-year-old even handle a gun?”
She shakes her head, her voice thick with emotion, casual yet raw. “He stabbed him to death.”
The blood drained from my face. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. A nine-year-old boy... stabbing his own father?
“Why?” My voice came out hoarse. “Why would he do that?”
“Ever seen his back?”
“I’ve seen his chest. His abs. But... not his back.”
“You need to.”
I stared at her. “Please, Elodie... I’ve been kept in the dark for too long. Just tell me. All of it.”
She exhaled slowly, then dropped into the chair by the window, the weight of memory dragging her shoulders down. “Your mother... Seraphina... was our father’s mistress.”
The world shifted beneath me.
“No,” I whispered. “She disappeared when I was ten.”
“Yeah. But before that? She lived in our house. While married to your father, she was having a full-blown affair with mine. And your father—Grayson—never did a damn thing about it. He was scared of the Morettis. Knew better than to challenge the devil who signed his checks.”
I couldn’t breathe. “So while she was still married... she was living with you?”
“Exactly. Our mother, Jade, was still married to our father at the time. But he hated her. Worshipped Seraphina instead. Your mother destroyed everything for us.”
My mouth was dry. “How?”
“She used to set our mother up. Lie about her. Manipulate her. She’d fake bruises, accuse her of stealing our father’s gold bars—got her whipped with belts in front of Cassian. Another time she poured tomato soup on her own hand, screamed like it was boiling water, and claimed Jade attacked her. My father didn’t even check. He just dragged our mother by the hair and lashed her until she bled.”
Tears gathered in Elodie’s eyes, her voice brittle. “That’s where Luca learned it—from watching Dad beat Mom senseless every time Seraphina cried wolf.”
She stood, pacing now—like the memories were too painful to carry sitting down.
“Once, Seraphina hid a dead bird in my mother’s laundry basket. Said it was her pet parrot. Accused my mother of killing it out of jealousy.” Her voice trembled with restrained rage. “My father didn’t question it. He found the bird, dragged Jade from the kitchen, and shoved her so hard she tumbled down the stairs.”
My chest tightened.
