Chapter 15
The Mother's Game
The penthouse felt cold after Enzo’s death. His blood was still on my hands both figuratively and literally. I just couldn’t sleep.
Even hours after the failed traps and Enzo’s passing, the house was too quiet, the silence deafening. I found myself in one of the drawing rooms, surrounded by Damian’s version of luxury.
There were leather chairs, a fireplace that hadn’t seen a flame in years, and crystal decanters that I didn’t dare touch.
My mind was racing with Lucien’s words and the look on Damian’s face when I insisted I wanted justice, not rescue. But there was one name haunting me more than any other: my mother’s. Lucien said I belonged to the ghosts, just like her. What did that even mean?
As a kid, I asked so many questions. Why did my mother seem scared in that last year? Why did she speak in code over the phone? Why did she always tell me to hide when the doorbell rang late at night?
I never got answers. But now? I needed them.
And there was only one person who might still have them.
Marina was waiting for me in the greenhouse, of course. She always moved like she knew the future, like she was playing five moves ahead.
I walked up to her slowly. The moonlight streamed through the glass, casting ghostly streaks across her silver hair.
“You knew,” I said quietly.
She didn’t seem surprised. “What did he tell you?”
“Lucien said I belonged to the ghosts. Like my mother.”
She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “Your mother wasn’t just a wife. She was power in a silk dress. She came from old bloodlines, women who knew how to navigate criminal courts like any man with a gun.”
I blinked. That couldn’t be true.
“No,” she said, her tone calm. “It’s inconvenient. There’s a difference.”
She stood up and walked to a locked drawer beneath the marble potting table, pulling out an envelope.
Inside were documents, photographs, and a contract.
My heart sank as I read the first page. It was a marriage agreement my name, Damian’s name. But it wasn’t signed by my father; it was my mother’s signature.
“No, my mother would never do…that.”
“She did, Claire,” Marina said softly. “Because Lucien wanted you. After your father got in too deep, Lucien threatened your mother to take you as collateral. Elena made a different deal.”
My hands trembled. She sold me to Damian?
“No, she offered you protection. She knew Damian would rise in power. She chose the devil she thought could protect her daughter, not destroy her.”
“But she didn’t ask me,” I said, my voice shaking.
“She didn’t have time.”
I sank into a chair, the contract clutched in my hands like a dying thing.
“Why didn’t Damian ever tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t about control. Not to him. You were already his by the time he found out.”
I stared at her. I remembered how Damian looked at me that first night, like I was both a weapon and a weakness. Now, I realized he wasn’t playing games.
I found Damian in his private office, his back to me, hands gripping the window frame like the skyline held answers he couldn’t reach.
I stood in the doorway. “When were you going to tell me?”
He didn’t turn around. “You already know.”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie; I withheld for your sake.”
“My sake?” I snapped. “You kept me in the dark about the most important decision of my life! You let me believe I was sold when really I was offered.”
He turned slowly, and his expression wasn’t angry; it was hollow.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hate her.”
I froze.
“She was trying to save you, even if she went about it like the cold strategist she was. I thought if I gave you time, you’d remember her warmth, not the war.”
A long silence stretched between us.
“She was pregnant when she died.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
I nodded. “Marina told me she was carrying another child.”
Damian swore under his breath. “That’s why Lucien accelerated everything. He wanted control before that child was born.”
He didn’t get it, but he understood everything else.
“Not everything. He didn’t get you.”
I’m not sure you did either.
His jaw tightened. “What else do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, maybe the truth. Maybe that I’m not just a pawn in this anymore.”
“You never were.”
Well then, stop acting like I am.
Damian moved in a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Then show me, Claire. Step into the fire, not just dance around it.”
Later that night, I found myself staring at my mother’s contract again.
I went through every clause, every term, every name, trying to make sense of it all.
And on the back, I spotted her beautiful handwriting, a note just for me:
“Claire, if you ever read this, know I chose this path,
Not because I trusted Damian Cross, but because I trusted you.
You’ll survive where I couldn’t. And one day, you’ll do more than survive. You’ll rule.”
I let the paper drift down onto the desk.
Now, it wasn’t just about revenge or playing it safe anymore.
It was about legacy.
Mine.