Chapter 69
Lirael
"I can do whatever I want. Because I hold all the power now. Your debts, your house, your daughter's safety—all mine. Just like I belonged to you once."
Silence, broken only by Victoria's sobbing. Mrs. Hartfield looked at her husband. He looked away, jaw clenched.
Her knees hit the pavement with an audible crack. She bent forward, pressed her forehead to concrete. Once. Twice. Three times. Each bow accompanied by a choked sound.
I watched without expression, feeling only cold satisfaction that was almost disappointing. I'd imagined this for three years, but now I just felt tired.
"How many times did you burn me?" I asked softly. "How many times with that iron, heating it until it glowed red, pressing just long enough to blister but not scar permanently? You were so careful—couldn't damage the merchandise too badly. Had to keep me pretty enough that Genesis wouldn't reject the shipment."
"Stop," she whispered. "Please."
"How many days did you starve me? Three? Four? Five? Until I was too weak to stand, until I cried from emptiness, until those tears crystallized into Moon Dew you sold for millions?" I crouched to her level.
"We gave you food after. We made sure you recovered—"
"So you could do it again." I stood, turned to Viktor. "The money."
He took the check, made a show of examining it, verified the funds. "Twenty-five million confirmed. Pleasure doing business, Miss Elena."
His men filed toward their vehicles, job complete. I'd pay them later—generously, because they'd played their roles perfectly and asked no questions.
I pulled out the house keys, studied the three Hartfields—broken woman on her knees, man who'd forgotten the difference between money and morals, daughter who'd inherited the worst of both.
"This house is mine now. You have ten minutes to grab what you can carry. Then I want you gone. If I ever see any of you again—if you speak my name, try to contact me or anyone connected to me—I'll make today look like mercy. Understand?"
"You can't just throw us out!" Victoria shrieked. "We have nowhere to go!"
"You have exactly what you gave me. Nothing but the clothes on your back and the knowledge that the world's cruel to those without power." I met her eyes. "Consider it a learning experience."
I turned toward the house, but a car engine stopped me—smooth, expensive.
A black limousine pulled into the driveway. My heart sank before I saw it clearly.
The driver's door opened. A middle-aged woman stepped out, impeccably dressed, sharp cheekbones, calculating eyes. Her smile at the Hartfields didn't reach those eyes.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hartfield," she said, voice cultured. "And Victoria. How fortuitous."
Hartfield straightened, hope flickering. "Mrs. Alicia? We weren't told—"
"Last-minute decision. I heard about your difficulties, thought the Blackwood family might assist. We help our connections."
Blackwood. The name hit like a physical blow. This woman was connected to Sebastian's family—part of the Triad's power structure.
He knew. He knew I was here.
Victoria's face lit up. "Mrs. Alicia! We've been trying to reach Sebastian—"
"Sebastian is very busy. But I'm offering you accommodations at one of the family's properties. A lovely estate. No charge. We take care of our own."
I watched with growing unease. The timing too perfect, her knowledge too complete.
"That's incredibly generous," Hartfield said, relief thick. "We accept—"
"Excellent." Her gaze shifted to me, assessment predatory. "And who might you be?"
"A former resident," I said carefully. "Just leaving."
"How interesting. You know, Sebastian's been looking for someone—silver hair, unusual eyes, about your height." She tilted her head. "You wouldn't know anything about that?"
My heart hammered. "I don't know anyone named Sebastian."
"No? That's a shame. He's quite eager to find this woman. Very valuable, very rare. The kind one doesn't simply let walk away."
She was baiting me.
---
Sebastian
The drive to Damian's estate took twenty minutes, every second stoking my rage higher. She'd drugged me. Actually drugged me, played innocent with the steak and hand-feeding, slipped something into my food that should have knocked me out for hours.
Should have. Would have, if I were anyone else.
But I'd spent years building immunity to every toxin, every sedative. The herbs she'd chosen were clever—natural, hard to detect, the kind that would drop even an Alpha. But they'd only made me drowsy enough to play along, to see exactly what she'd do with her supposed freedom.
And what had she done? Not run for the wilderness. Not disappeared into underground networks.
The tracking chip in her phone made following her almost too easy. I'd watched her movements all morning—warehouse roof for the encrypted call, secondhand store for new clothes, surveillance point across from the Hartfield estate. Then the call logs showed her contacting Damian, and I knew exactly what to do.
Damian met me at his study door, expression wary. "Sebastian. I wasn't expecting you."
"No? Odd, because I heard you have plans this afternoon. Meeting with a very special lady."
His jaw tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't insult me." I showed him the tracking data. "Moonstone Café. Four o'clock. She wants to celebrate her victory with you." I looked up. "You didn't really think I'd let her have coffee with another man?"
"She's not your property," Damian said quietly, resignation in his voice.
"Yes," I replied softly. "She is. And you're going to help me prove it."
The sedative worked quickly—Damian was too much of a gentleman to fight Marcus effectively. I caught him as he slumped. "He'll be fine. Post guards. Get the tech team."
The holo-skin they produced was perfect, mapping every detail until I could wear his face like a mask. The voice modulator completed it.
"Prepare tracking equipment," I told Marcus. "And have Aunt Alicia standing by at the Hartfield estate. If my little moon's settling scores, she might need some assistance."
Then Damian's phone rang. Her voice.
"Damian? Are you almost here?"
"Almost there. Should be about ten minutes."
"And Damian? Can you do me a favor?"
"Of course."
"Stop calling me 'little elf' or 'little Lirael.' It sounds too intimate. Like something a boyfriend would say. I don't like men using that kind of familiar tone with me."
My hand tightened on the wheel, leather creaking. She didn't like intimate nicknames? Didn't want anyone thinking she belonged to someone?
"What should I call you then?"
"Elena. But not those other names. I don't like men using that kind of familiar tone with me."
The words echoed, stoking rage. She didn't like familiar tones? Too damn bad. I was going to call her every possessive, intimate thing I could think of until she learned to answer without question.
"Understood. Elena it is. See you in ten."
I ended the call and sat there, fury coiling in my chest.