Page 110 of Scarred in Silence
She’s broken, yes. But she’s mine.
I fish my phone out of the console and call the number I haven’t used in weeks.
It rings twice.
“Lucien.” Gideon Monroe’s voice sounds exactly the same—expensive and venom-laced. “Didn’t expect a call. I assumed Astra was either overdosed or run off by now.”
“She’s not done either,” I say, eyes narrowing. “She’s clean.”
A sharp inhale. “Excuse me?”
“She’s clean. Off everything. Hasn’t used in weeks. No pills, no powder, no needles.”
A pause. “That’s hard to believe.”
“It’s not a request for belief.” I watch the gate rise as I roll up to the compound. “It’s a statement of fact. I fixed her.”
He laughs, but it’s hollow. “You fixed her? What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, I gave her what she needed. Not therapy. Not love. Not lectures. Control. Pain. A reason to stay alive.”
There’s a longer pause this time, then, “You always did understand her better than I did.”
“Exactly. And you should see her.”
“For what purpose?”
I park the car, staring through the windshield at the doors I’ve walked through a thousand times. This place never changes. But she did. Or maybe… she just became what she always was. What she always needed to be.
“I want to show you what she looks like now. What you were too afraid to bring out of her.”
Another beat of silence.
Then he asks the daunting question, “When?”
“Next week. Wednesday.”
“You’re serious.”
“Dead fucking serious. And you’ll bring her mother.”
“She hasn’t seen her in years.”
“She deserves to. They deserve to see what you left behind. And what I rebuilt.”
“Lucien—”
“I said Wednesday.”
He sighs. “Fine. We’ll be there. But if you’re lying—if this is just another chaos play—I swear to God—”
I hang up.
No need for promises; I don’t plan to keep them.
I sit there for a moment, phone still in my hand, staring at my own reflection in the glass. The man staring back doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.
I didn’t just fix her, I think. I claimed her.
