023

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023
The Dark Secret

Charlotte hesitated at the door, her heart hammering in her chest. The strange noises she’d heard earlier were louder now, muted thuds, followed by what sounded like heavy, uneven breaths. She pushed the door open cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

The sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks.

Astor sat on the floor, his back against the bed frame, one hand gripping his wrist tightly while the other clutched a broken piece of glass. Blood seeped from a fresh cut on his arm, dripping onto the floor in rhythmic patterns. His face was pale.

Charlotte’s first instinct was to step back, to leave the room and pretend she hadn’t seen this. But something in Astor’s eyes as he glanced up at her stopped her from moving.

“What are you doing here?” he growled, his voice rough.

Charlotte swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay calm. “Astor,” she said softly, taking a step forward. “What’s going on?”

“Leave,” he snapped, turning his gaze away from her.

She ignored his command, moving closer. “I’m not leaving,” she said firmly. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Astor let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Why do you care?” he muttered. “You were ready to walk out that door a minute ago.”

Charlotte knelt a few feet away from him, her eyes fixed on the blood dripping from his arm. “Because this isn’t right,” she said. “Whatever’s happening, this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

He looked at her then, his grey-brown eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name—pain, anger, maybe even shame. “You don’t know anything about me,” he said coldly.

“Then tell me,” she urged, her voice steady.

Astor stared at her, his grip on the glass shard tightening. “You think you can fix this?” he said bitterly. “You think you can fix me?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “But I know this won’t fix anything either.” She gestured to his arm, her gaze softening. “Let me help you, Astor.”

He hesitated, his shoulders tensing as if he were bracing himself for something. “Why aren’t you afraid?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“Everyone else who’s seen me like this ran away,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t you running?”

Charlotte met his gaze, her expression unwavering. “Because I don’t see a monster,” she said. “I see someone who’s hurting.”

Astor’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked completely vulnerable.

\---

Charlotte stood and moved to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it under the sink. When she returned, Astor was watching her warily, the shard of glass still in his hand.

“Give me that,” she said gently, holding out her hand.

He didn’t move.

“Please, Astor,” she said, her tone soft but firm.

After a long moment, he relented, dropping the shard into her palm. She placed it on the nightstand and crouched beside him, pressing the damp towel to his arm. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away.

The room was silent except for their breathing and the faint rustle of the towel against his skin.

“Why do you do this?” Charlotte asked quietly, not looking at him.

Astor didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched tightly. “Because sometimes the pain inside is worse than this,” he said finally, his voice so low she almost didn’t hear him.

Charlotte’s chest tightened at his words. She wanted to say something, to tell him he didn’t have to suffer like this, but she knew it wasn’t that simple.

\---

Once she’d cleaned the wound and wrapped it in a makeshift bandage, she sat down on the floor beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

Astor let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said.

“I don’t believe that,” Charlotte said.

He shot her a sideways glance, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“It’s a habit,” she said, offering a faint smile.

Astor looked away, his expression hardening again. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

“Try me,” Charlotte said simply.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them.

Finally, he exhaled deeply, as if surrendering.

“There was an incident,” he began, his voice flat. “Years ago. Before any of this.” He gestured vaguely to the room around them.

Charlotte stayed quiet, letting him speak at his own pace.

“I trusted someone,” he continued, his gaze distant. “Someone I thought cared about me. But they didn’t. They used me, manipulated me, and when they were done, they left. And they didn’t just leave, they made sure to destroy everything I had in the process.”

Charlotte’s heart ached at the pain in his voice, though he tried to mask it. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Astor shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said. “It was my fault for being weak. For thinking I could rely on anyone.”

“You’re not weak,” Charlotte said firmly.

He laughed bitterly. “You don’t know half of it,” he said.

“Then tell me,” she said. “Let me understand.”

Astor hesitated, his fingers drumming against his knee. “It wasn’t just about losing everything,” he said finally. “It was about what it made me realize. That no one can be trusted. Not even family.”

Charlotte frowned. “What happened?”

“My mother,” he said, his tone darkening. “She’s the one who orchestrated it all. She wanted to teach me a lesson about loyalty, or, more accurately, about loyalty to her.”

Charlotte’s breath caught. “Your mother did that to you?”

Astor nodded, his jaw tightening. “She’s always been like that. Controlling. She sees people as pawns in her game. And if you don’t play by her rules…” he shook his head.

Charlotte’s mind raced as she tried to process his words. She’d known the Harrington family was complicated, but this was more than she’d expected.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove her wrong,” Astor said, his voice quieter now.

“But that’s not true,” Charlotte said gently.