Chapter 21 Chapter 21

Chapter 21 Chapter 21
~BRIENNE VONBERG~

At some point, I was certain I would come face-to-face with death as the darkness enveloped me, my breath fading from the lack of oxygen in the coffin. The Grim Reaper himself should have appeared, his scythe gleaming like a promise of release, his hooded silhouette cutting through the void to harvest my soul.

But he never came as they said he did. Instead, when my eyelids fluttered open, I was met with the familiar contours of my room's ceiling at my father's mansion. Disorientation hit me first and I tried to piece fragments of my memory together.

I remembered Allister's masked face as he loomed over me on the clinical bed. His cold eyes unyielding as he injected me with the paralytic agent, making my limbs numb. Then my descent into the coffin, the lid sealing against me. I had fought to the very end to reach the switch, but the time elapsed against me and as the vent sealed shut, I was unable to breath and I found myself very close to death, expecting it to happen any moment but it turned out that it didn't.

The room came into focus slowly, sunlight seeping through the thick velvet curtains, casting long shadows against the bed I lay. My body still ached, but I could feel my limbs and I could move them.

Two maids hovered at the foot of my bed and relief etched on their faces when they saw me move.

"I'll inform Mr Vonberg that she's awake." One said, her voice a hushed murmur, before scurrying away. The remaining pair of eyes watched me as if I had just risen from the dead, her hands clamped tightly before her.

"I'll get you something to eat, Ms. Brienne." She finally said and scurried away too. I struggled to sit down, propping myself on my elbows that trembled under the effort. It still surprised me that I was alive and in my father's house. I wondered how it happened. Had Allister dug me out in time before I gave up? He seemed quite insistent on killing me. And thinking of it then made me feel defeated. Too defeated. I had planned for six months on how to kill him, but he was always two steps ahead of me.

The door creaked open moments later, and my father, Maximus Vonberg, strode in, his tailored suit Impeccable, his hair swept back from a face etched with lines of calculated ambition.

His eyes softened fractionally when they saw me, but I saw the calculation beneath them. The constant weighing of costs and benefits that he did to everything.

He dismissed the lingering maid that was trying to serve my food, and we became the only ones left in the room.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my voice rasping as I forced the question I was most curious about. "How did I get here?"

I watched him pause at my bedside, his expression a mask of paternal concern that felt too foreign like a stranger's touch. I wasn't used to my father showing me care.

"Gwen called me just in time and alerted me that you might have gotten into trouble with Allister regarding their traditional bridal trials." He replied, his tone even, as if recounting a business transaction rather than my near-demise. "I reached out to Allister immediately, demanding the trials be halted. He complied, and arrangements were made to bring you home without further delay." Of course, it wasn't Allister's mercy that had spared me. He was going to leave me for dead. I felt foolish for entertaining the delusion that he had intervened and rescued me regardless of me not passing the trial.

Allister was without pity, without a heart. Why had I ever imagined otherwise? The man was a monster, one sculpted by evil and hate. My survival was my father's doing, not some spark of humanity in him.

My father's gaze lingered on me, and I met it with resentment. "If you're expecting a thank you, you're not going to get it." I said, my voice gaining strength, edged with the venom he'd instilled in me through years of neglect. "I'm surprised you didn't leave me for dead too. Would have rid you of me—your worst problem, as you've said so many times before." The words lashed out, drawing from wounds long festering, the times he made me feel like a burden and not his daughter.

He didnt flinch at my words, instead he sat at the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress slightly. The proximity unnerved me. I was unaccustomed to such gestures from him. He'd always been distant, and I saw him in a more formal manner than a father to me.

I shifted away instinctively, my body still weak from the ordeal, every muscle protesting the movement. Resentment coiled tight in my chest, like a serpent ready to strike. I knew the only reason he had saved me was so he could continue his bargain with the Deandres and not because he cared for me as his daughter.

"I wonder what makes you think I hate you, Brienne," he said softly, his hand hovering as if to touch my leg before retreating, wise to my thorns. "I literally provide everything you could want. The best education from the finest tutors in Europe and maidens to tend your every need while you grew into the woman you are." His voice carried a note of defensiveness, as if tallying debts I owed him, but money was never the problem between us. He did provide and that was the only thing he ever did for Antoinette and I. The only thing he offered.

After our mother's death, he changed and grew distant from everyone including us, not caring that we shared the same pain too. He neglected us to the arms of maidens when we needed him most, and all he cared about was building his business empire. He became cruel whenever we didn't do what he wanted. Punishments came swift and harsh when we strayed, especially for me. I was the more rebellious one. And I remembered an action he made that made me resent him so much. He killed my boyfriend. The only man I had truly loved just because he felt he wasn't fitting for the family standard, that he was an embarrassment. I hated him ever since and he gave me more reasons to hate him still. Like when he did nothing about Antoinette's condition and had me betrothed into the family responsible, all because of power.

"I really don't want to go through that now, father." I interjected, my tone clipped, exhaustion warring with anger as I pulled the covers higher. Money was never a problem to him. He had lots of it at his expense, so that could never be a measure of his love.

"You're stubborn, and it has blinded you from seeing that all I want for you is the best." Je continued, his voice firming.

Laughter bubbled up, bitter and sharp, escaping before I could cage it, echoing off the walls like shattered glass. The best? A life tied to the Deandres, trials that buried me alive, a marriage chaining me to monsters like Marcello and Allister. "You mean, yourself? Because the union only benefits you, father." I retorted, pain lancing through me as I sat straighter, ignoring the protest of my weakened frame.

"I'm in so much pain already, and it worsens every second you keep me company." The words hung heavy in the air. His face tightened. A flicker of regret, or perhaps anger—I couldn’t quite tell—crossed his features before he masked it, rising fluidly from the edge of the bed. He paced to the window, gazing out over the gardens where fountains played eternally.

"Giovanni has agreed to the continuation of the marriage plans, despite the trials' results." He said finally, turning back to me, his tone brooking no argument. "Allister did push too far this time, but the alliance holds. You're expected to meet with Giovanni once you've recovered fully. There is another task you're expected to carry out. The final part of the trial. It doesnt include any discomfort or pain. He assured me that much."

"Of course, he almost kills me, and you have no problem with it." I spat, the words venomous, my hands fisting the sheets until my knuckles whitened. "The marriage goes on as usual. You are the worst father there is. Sacrificing your daughters for thrones built on our blood." The accusation landed like a slap, and I laid back down, turning my face to the wall, the pillow muffling the storm within me. He stood there a moment longer, the silence stretching taut, before his footsteps retreated, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone at last, Allister's face haunted me. I had to get back at him. He'd caused me too much pain that i felt like I'd die if i didnt get back at him. Not just with a swift dagger or a bullet's mercy, but by stripping everything away, layer by excruciating layer. His power, his family's empire he guarded like a jealous god. I'd unravel it all, cause him pain that's worse than mine before delivering the final strike.

My revenge wouldn't be quick. It would be exquisite, a masterpiece of torment tailored to break the unbreakable.