Page 102 of Ruined By Blood
Normal people. Free people.
People who can walk down streets holding hands. People who don't have fathers who sell them or scars that map their skin like constellations of pain.
I lay on the bed, letting the music fill the bedroom that's in silence.
Enzo
The mansion looms ahead, a monument to wealth built on suffering. I park the car at the bottom of Sterling's sweeping driveway, just outside the gates. Charlotte sits beside me, her delicate hands folded in her lap, trembling slightly despite her determined expression.
"Are you ready?" I ask, studying her face.
"I've been ready for six years," she says, her voice soft but steady.
"Remember what we discussed. No matter what Henry says or does, stay calm. Don't let him provoke you."
Charlotte nods, squeezing my hand briefly before releasing it. "I understand. The plan is simple."
I study her face again, impressed by her composure. Despite everything Sterling has done to her, despite the years of drugged captivity, she's focused entirely on saving her daughter.
"When we're inside, let me do the talking unless he addresses you directly." I check my watch. Seven fifty-eight. "Henry will try to manipulate the situation. He'll lie. He'll threaten."
Charlotte's lips curve into a bitter smile. "The great irony. All these years, he could have just divorced me and found someone else. But my family's trust was too valuable to let go."
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Damiano:Arriving now.
The response comes immediately:Got it.
The gates open as we approach, swinging inward with silent precision. We drive through, feeling the weight of surveillance cameras tracking our movement up the longdriveway. Charlotte's breathing quickens beside me, but her face remains composed.
Two armed guards flank the massive front doors as we approach. I exit first, then walk around to help Charlotte. Her hand trembles in mine, but her chin lifts with quiet dignity.
The door opens before we reach it. A middle-aged woman in a plain black uniform stands in the doorway, her eyes widening when they land on Charlotte.
"Mr. Feretti, Mrs. Sterling," she says, her voice professionally neutral until it catches on Charlotte's name. "Please follow me. Mr. Sterling is waiting in his office."
As we step into the marble foyer, the maid's composure slips. Her eyes fill with tears as she looks at Charlotte.
"Mrs. Charl—" she begins, then stops abruptly, glancing toward the hallway where two security guards stand at attention outside what must be Sterling's office.
Charlotte touches the woman's arm gently. "It's good to see you again, Marie."
The maid nods once, blinking back tears as she straightens her shoulders and resumes her professional demeanor. "This way, please."
We follow her, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The guards straighten as we approach, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.
"Mr. Sterling requested a security check," one of them says, stepping forward.
I raise my arms without being asked. "Of course."
His hands move efficiently over my body, checking for weapons. He pays special attention to my ankles, waistband, and under my arms.
"Clean," he announces, stepping back.
The second guard eyes Charlotte but doesn't move to search her. Even Sterling's thugs have some limits, it seems.
"Mrs. Sterling," the first guard acknowledges with a nod, then steps aside.
Marie's hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the door handle. "Mr. Sterling, your guests have arrived," she announces, then steps back to let us enter.
