Page 1 of Betrayed By Sin
ONE
Iam Magnolia Rusco.
The words press against my mind,heavier than I imagined they would be.
I am Magnolia Rusco.
It should mean something. Stir a churning feeling deep in my chest.Make me feel whole.Instead, it settles into my skin like an ill-fitting dress. Unfamiliar, stifling.
A name that mattered was everything I could have ever dreamed of. Not in the sense of power or wealth but in family bonds.
My heart aches with a longing I can't quite put into words. For eighteen years, I've lived in the shadows, believing I'm nothing more than an orphan with no past. But now, as I stand in the grand Rusco estate, surrounded by the echoes of a family I never knew, the emptiness inside me feels more profound than ever.
I've always dreamed of belonging somewhere, of having a family that would wrap me in warmth and love. The kind of family that would understand me, protect me, and make me feel whole. But the reality is far from my dreams. The Rusco familyis a world of power plays and dangerous alliances, a place where trust is a fragile thing, easily shattered.
My fingers curl into the duvet, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I want to believe that I can find a place here, that I can be part of this family. But the fear of betrayal, the weight of my past, and the uncertainty of my future make it hard to hold onto that hope.
The room they led me to is grand, impossibly so.Not in the way Sin’s home is, with its cold luxury and looming shadows, but in a way that feels like history.Like stories soaked into the dark wood, whispered into the rich burgundy drapes, carved into the intricate molding along the ceiling.
A chandelierdrips from the center of the bedroom, casting golden light over a four-poster bed with heavy silk sheets. The mattress is thick beneath me, untouched by time or grief, yet I feel its weight as if it’s pressing into my spine.The walls are painted a deep wine-red, warm and rich, but I feel cold.
Everything about this place is warm, but I am freezing.
It makes me think of Sin sitting in his office, a roaring fire beside him as the air conditioning cools the room. I want that fire now.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, breathing through the thick, suffocating truth. My fingers shake as I grip the fabric, trying to maintain a sense of calm.
I need to get control of myself.
If I let my mind spiral, if I allow the panic set in, I won’t be able to claw my way out of it.
Breathe in. One, two, three. Hold. Exhale.
I close my eyes andregulate my breathing.Try tosteady the trembling in my hands, the storm brewing in my chest.
My mother, my real mother, looked at me with tears in her eyes before leaving me in this room.
Maria Rusco.
Her hair is raven black like mine, a familiar structure to her face. Our eyes aren’t the same though. Where mine are blue, hers are an emerald green.
She wanted to speak. I could see it in the way her lips parted,in the way her fingers twitched at her sides.But she left me alone as I asked.
I wanted to speak too. I wanted to demand answers, to scream, to ask why she gave me up.Why she left me in an orphanage when I had a home, a family, a name.I wanted to shake her, to make her tell me why I was abandoned, why I lived eighteen years thinking I had no one.
But my throat closed up, and all I could do was watch her go.
I traced the curves of her face with my eyes, noting the similarities.
There are plenty of questions, but right now, although it feels insane to me that I’m in the Rusco house… that I am in facta part of it,I know I am safe.
At least for tonight.
The morning comes too quickly, bouts of sleep drifted me in and out of nightmares fueled by ghost eyes and tattoos.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pressure behind them to ease.There is too much to process, too much to feel, and if I let one thing in, I’ll drown in it all.
The house isquiet.It shouldn’t be, not with the number of people that must be inside these walls. But it is.As if the house itself is waiting.
