Chapter 142

My voice was raw, but I bit down on the urge to fully explode. I heard Kenzie shift on the sofa, a warning.

"We talked about this, Elara," I ground out, my voice tight. "You want normal? Fine. You want to rebel? That's fine too. But you don't do it with something that can put a target on your back and make your mother worry herself sick!" I said.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to maintain control. I looked at Cyrus and Zeke. "You two did the right thing. You called your mother, and you brought her home. Thank you. Now go outside. I need a word with your sister. You too, Caleb."

The boys practically ran out, relieved to escape the atmosphere. I waited until the door closed, then turned back to Kenzie.

"I need you to handle the fallout," I said, my eyes still burning with fury. "I need to go outside for ten minutes before I say something I can't take back. I'm going to ruin that little prick's life, and then I'm going to ruin hers for making me do it," I said.

McKenzie

After Darius left, I looked at Elara and was at a loss. I sent her to the kitchen, knowing she'd slump onto a stool and brood.

When I finally felt like I wouldn't snap at my own reflection, I walked into the kitchen. Darius was leaning against the counter, nursing a mug of coffee, watching her with that coiled, dangerous frustration.

"Darius, go wait outside," I ordered gently. He looked like he was going to argue, but he saw the look in my eye, the one that says, "I’m the doctor who just finished a triple bypass; don't test me." He gave a stiff nod and walked out.

I pulled up a stool next to Elara. She still wouldn't look at me, staring at her phone like it held all the answers.

"So," I said, my voice calm, "you want normal."

"Yes!" she exploded, slamming her phone down. "I just want to be like everyone else, Mom! I hate that everything is a crisis! I hate that Cyrus acts like my warden! I hate that you and Dad look at every boy I talk to like he's going to start World War III!" she said.

"I get it," I said, nodding slowly. "You think we’re being dramatic. You think your life is normal, and we're just clinging to some old, stupid paranoia."

"We are normal!" she insisted, her voice full of genuine conviction. "Dad runs a big company, and you're a doctor. We live in a nice house. But you guys act like someone is always coming through the door!" she said, and I heard the frustration in her voice.

I took a deep breath. This was it. The conversation we had shielded them from for too long. We had given them the security, the what, but not the messy, painful why.

"Okay, Elara. You want normal? I'm going to let you have it. But first, you need to know what normal looks like when you're a Cirano. You need to know why your dad is always standing guard and why I can't let you smoke cigarettes with a reckless boy behind a gym."

I reached out and gently took her hand. "Your dad and Cyrus aren't obsessed with control just for fun. They're terrified because they know the worst thing that can happen did happen to me. It happened for years. And it was done by family," I said.

She stopped fussing with her phone. Her eyes, finally meeting mine, were wide and confused.

"I didn't get this scar from playing, sweetie," I said, pointing to the faint line on my wrist from the shrapnel wound during the Thorne attack, the one she knew about but which now felt trivial. "I got permanent marks on my ankles because I was chained up from the time I was thirteen until I was eighteen. Your grandmother, Cynthia, saved me from killing myself." The color drained from her face. "Grandma... saved you?"

"It was the one-year anniversary of her husband's death. She was taking a detour and saw me running across the road, heading for a cliff. I was already over the rail when she ran and grabbed me. I was begging her to let me go, to let me end it, because I had nothing left."

I squeezed her hand. "The reason I was running, Elara, is because my family my mother, my stepfather, and my stepbrother had kept me in a room for years. No light, no bed. They beat me, they burned me with a fireplace poker, and they starved me. My stepbrother and stepfather raped me repeatedly from the time I was twelve." i said shakily.

I watched her face crumble. The reality was a physical shock.

"They conditioned me, Elara. When Cynthia finally got me back to her apartment, she tried to feed me. I couldn't touch the food. I told her I couldn't eat without permission. If I made a mistake, like accidentally, I would drop to the floor, apologizing and begging not to be hit. That's the reality I came from. That's what your father knows about me."

"Mom," she whispered, her voice a terrified thread. "Oh God, Mom, I'm sorry."

"Cynthia looked at me and realized I was done. I had no hope. She told me, 'If you have hope, you can survive anything. But without hope, what do you live for?' When the people who were chasing me got closer, she told me she would help me. And if she couldn't help me, she promised she would bring me back to that cliff and let me jump."

I looked at my daughter, searching for the understanding that finally had to be there. "She gave me hope. She brought me here, got me therapy, and taught me how to live again. Your Aunt Zara saw me broken and swore she’d never leave me; that’s why they’re family, because they chose me when her parents disowned Zara for standing up for me."

"And your father, Elara? The man who can't stand it when you or Cyrus breathe too loud? He knows what I ran from. He knows what happens when you have no control over your life, no safety, and no protection. Every single boundary he sets, every security guard, every piece of technology—it's because he is terrified that if he relaxes, even for one second, someone is going to take away the person Cynthia saved."

She buried her face in her hands and started to sob, her shoulders shaking with genuine, deep remorse and horror.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she choked out, her voice barely audible. "I didn't know it was that. I thought it was just the company stuff. I'm so sorry. I won't do it again. I won't be reckless," she said.

"I know you won't," I said, standing up and pulling her into a tight hug. "You're strong, sweetie. But you have to trust the structure we built for you. We need to know that you trust us to handle the threats."