Chapter 66

Chapter 66
Sofia's POV

The door creaked open and the smell of smoke and iron hit her nose before she even stepped inside. She didn't flinch. Darkness had never frightened her—not when it lived in her son.

Adrik stood in the middle of the room, his suit jacket tossed carelessly over a chair, his tie undone, the veins in his neck still pulsing with violence. His eyes flicked up when he saw her.

"What are you doing here, mother?" His voice was low, sharp, the kind of tone meant to send people trembling.

But Sofia only smiled, slow and knowing, the kind of smile that had always unsettled him because it mirrored his own.

"Don't play games with me, Adrik," she said, stepping closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome of doom. "You know why I'm here. Bring the girl back."

Adrik's brow arched, suspicion tightening his jaw. "Joy?"

"Yes." Her voice was firm, carrying no plea, only command. "Enough of this dragging, hiding, breaking. I want grandchildren, Adrik. I want to see her belly heavy with your child. You've wasted enough time with your little theatrics."

Adrik's lips twitched—half amusement, half fury. "You speak as though she's a toy to be wound up and used."

Sofia tilted her head, her eyes glinting in the dim light. "Isn't she? You think I don't see what she does to you? You're restless, distracted. And for what? Because she fights? Because she bleeds when you touch her too hard?"

Her hand reached out, brushing against his jaw the way she used to when he was small. But now it was different. Now it was a mother caressing the monster she had raised, the monster she claimed as her own.

"She was made for you, Adrik. Whether she knows it or not. And if she dies..." Sofia's smile sharpened. "...then you'll give me another. I don't care how many bodies pile up before it happens."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then Adrik laughed—a dark, hollow sound that echoed off the walls.

"You're worse than me," he whispered.

Sofia leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "No, my son. I am you."

Adrik's laugh lingered, curling in the corners of the room like smoke. He leaned back against the edge of the desk, arms folding over his chest, but his eyes—those cold, piercing eyes—never left her.

"You think you can command me?" he asked softly, dangerously. "Even you, Mother, should know better."

Sofia stepped closer, her perfume mingling with the coppery scent of dried blood on the floor. "Command you? No. Remind you." Her voice was velvet, but beneath it was steel. "Remind you of who you are, of what you carry in your veins. You're not some boy chasing lust, Adrik. You are power. And that girl—Joy—she's not an escape. She's a legacy."

Adrik's jaw flexed. His mind flashed with images: Joy's tear-streaked face, her trembling hands, the way she dared to resist him even when bound. The way her eyes sparked hatred and fear—and something else he couldn't name.

"She is mine," he hissed, pushing off the desk so suddenly the chair behind him toppled. "Mine. Not yours, not anyone's. If I want her blood, I'll take it. If I want her womb, I'll fill it. And if I want her screams, I'll carve them out of her throat. Do you understand, Mother?"

Sofia didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled again, calm and unsettling. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear. Possess her. Break her. Love her in the way only we know how. But keep her, Adrik. Don't throw her away like all the others. She has the fire you need... the fire to burn the world beside you."

Adrik's chest rose and fell heavily, as though he was fighting a war inside himself. Then, slowly, he reached out, gripping Sofia's chin with the same hand he had once used to silence men twice his size. He tilted her head back slightly, searching her eyes.

"You always know how to twist the knife," he muttered, almost fondly. "And you're right. She is not like the others. She belongs to me."

Sofia's eyes gleamed, satisfaction curling in her expression. "Then bring her back. No more hiding her in shadows, no more games. I want to see her at this table. I want to see her carrying my son's name and my son's children."

Adrik released her, his fingers leaving pale marks on her skin. For a moment he said nothing, only stared at the dark window as though his reflection mocked him.

Finally, his lips curved into a cruel smile. "Then she'll be here, Mother. But when she comes, it won't be as Joy. It will be as mine. And she'll learn... even her screams will have my name in them."

Adrik tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Does Father know you're here?" His voice was low, but edged with something between suspicion and amusement.

Sofia's smile didn't falter. She ran a hand over the silk of her dress, utterly unbothered. "He'll probably be mad when he finds out," she said with a glimmer in her eyes, "which I'm sure he already knows."

The words had barely settled in the air when the heavy door burst open.

A sharp gust of cold air swept through as his father stepped inside, rage carved deep into his features. His eyes didn't linger on Adrik for even a second—no greeting, no acknowledgment. Instead, they locked on Sofia. Without a word, he strode forward, seized her wrist like steel snapping shut, and dragged her toward the door.

Her heels scraped across the marble floor, but Sofia didn't resist. She only looked back once, her gaze colliding with Adrik's—calm, almost proud—before she vanished into the hallway, swallowed by her husband's fury.

Silence weighed heavy in the room for a moment. Then Adrik's lips curved into a grin. A hollow laugh broke from his chest, low at first, then rising until it echoed around the chamber like a cruel symphony.

"Ah," he exhaled between laughter, "they'll never change." He shook his head, still laughing, his eyes alight with something feral. "And they wonder why I am the way I am."

Adrik ran a hand over his mouth, trying—and failing—to suppress another chuckle. His laughter wasn't joy, not even amusement. It was sharper, darker, born of mockery and truth.

The room felt emptier without them, but Adrik relished the silence. His parents could play their games, fight their battles. In the end, he knew he stood apart. Alone. Untouchable.

And Joy would be the one to pay the price for it.