37

Morticia’s POV

The tension between Brianna and me was as sharp as the edge of a blade. Every word exchanged between us seemed to carry an unspoken weight, like a string stretched too tight and ready to snap. The cutting implication was that when she cornered me in one of the less crowded rooms of the pack house, her arms crossed tightly before her and she stared at me with a tightly pressed angry look, I knew it was going to be yet another of those discussions.

“I need to talk to you, Brianna said, her voice clipped.

I raised an eyebrow, folding my arms. “About what?”

Her eyes darted around, ensuring no one else was nearby, before leaning in slightly. “About you and Jake.”

For a second my heart jumped, but I did not betray it. I kept my expression calm, even disinterested. “What about Jake?”

Don't act stupid in front of me", she snapped, her voice gravely but spiked with fury. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. The way you sneak off during events. And I sure didn't miss you vanishing last night.

I clenched my jaw, willing myself to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I said evenly.

Brianna scoffed, her lips curling into a sneer. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Morticia. If there's anything between you and Jake, it's a shocker.

That word made my blood boil. “Abomination?” I repeated, my voice hard.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Jake is Jacob’s Alpha. And Jacob is your fiancé! Besides, imagine what a conspiracy theorist would do if she found it. This would be such a disgrace to the family,".

I laughed bitterly, the sound cold and hollow. “The family?” I echoed. “A family where the father is a rogue leader, right? That family?”

Brianna’s face twisted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

I kicked one knot back, my voice dropping but not in intensity. “Jerome is not just an amateur trespasser that got caught on our property. He’s the leader of the rogues. The one who orchestrated the attack.”

She shook her head denying as well as incredulously. “That’s not true. He’s our father. He—”

He's not our dad; I snapped her short, the words as sharp as an icy shard slicing through the air. “We’re not even his real children. We’re adopted, Brianna. Both of us. He took us in to play house, to pretend he had a normal life while he plotted and schemed in the shadows.”

Brianna fixed her gaze upon me, her lips forming and dashing about like a fish on land. “You’re lying,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.

“Go see for yourself,” I replied, moving out of the way and crossing my arms. “He’s in the dungeon. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She stood still for a moment, her face pale, and her hands quivered at her sides. And without a sound, she swiveled on her heel and strode out of the room in the silence of the hall.

\---

The rest of the day passed in a haze. My chat with Brianna put me on edge, feelings all over the map, anger and distress mixed in. Unfortunately, I did not get much time at all to learn it, as soon as I was summoned to go and see Mother.

When I reached her room, the silence felt heavy. She was slumped by the windodespiteof her usual stiff frame, which only barely sagged. It was such a contrast to her that I stopped a moment at the door before stepping into the room.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked cautiously.

She turned to look at me, and I was shocked to see the tears in her eyes. Mother had always been a mainstay of stability and serenity for as long as I had ever been aware of her. I had never seen her cry.

“Sit,” she whispered, beckoning to the armchair in front of her.

I cooperated, getting off the chair and crossing my arms in my lap. “What’s going on?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking. “I heard about Jerome,” she said, her voice trembling. “About what he’s done. About who he really is.”

I stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“I knew he had secrets, she continued, her gaze distant as if she were speaking more to herself than to me. “I knew he wasn’t a perfect man. But I never thought." Her voice trailed off and a single tear splashed onto her cheek.

“Mother… I began, but she held up a hand to stop me.

“Let me finish,” she said, her voice steadying slightly. “I spent so many years trying to build a life for us, to protect you and Brianna. And now. it all seems like a phantasm.”

When I heard her words, that struck a chord in my being. I saw her not as that cold, distant woman, whom I had known my whole life, but as someone who had tried—and, maybe failed, but, had tried.

“I'm sorry," I mumbled, but words seemed small and inadequate but somehow necessary.

She looked at me then, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. “You have nothing to apologize for, Morticia,” she said. “This isn’t your fault.”

For a brief while, we just sat in dead silence, the full weight of it all pressing between us. Subsequently, tentatively, I brought her hand to my palm.

She looked down at our intertwined fingers and her countenance softened. “I never wanted you to see me like this, she admitted.

“It’s okay,” I said softly. “Sometimes… sometimes it’s okay to let others see you when you’re not strong.

Her grip on my hand tightened slightly, and for the first time, I felt a connection between us that hadn’t been there before.

Thank you," she said, her voice almost inaudible.

We remained that way for a while, two women, encased in misery and grief, but comforted by each other's presence. For the first time, I experienced a small spark of hope, maybe just maybe, we, our broken unit, could start to heal.

Later that evening.

Air in the pack house corridors was airless and soundless, but only the silhouette of a footstep kept rippling through the air. I wandered aimlessly, thoughts still muffled after my chat with Mother this morning. I had only just turned a corner, and there it was, but one of the maids with a food tray.

She moved quietly, her face pale, and her steps uncertain.

“Where are you going with that? I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

The girl stopped short in her tracks, her wide eyes fixed nervously on me. “I-it’s for the prisoner, Miss Morticia. Jerome,” she stammered, bowing her head.

I leaned to one side, a kind of strange equipoise ensued in me. “I’ll come with you, I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

The maid hesitated but gave a small nod, turning back toward the direction of the dungeons. I chased her, and the cold stone of the floor beneath my own feet added to the impact of each stride.

When we arrived at the dungeon, the maid came to a halt at the cell door and stood there. Inwardly Jerome lay on the floor, slouched, his proud posture broken down to a mournful simulacrum of what it once was.

The maid put the tray on a little table beside the bars, without making direct eye contact with him. She dipped in a bow to me and vanished, leaving me with the other human being who once pretended to be my dad.

I didn’t say anything right away. I just stood there, observing him, waiting for him to see me.

It didn’t take long. His head lifted, and his bloodshot eyes met mine. “Morticia,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “You’ve come to see me.”

I stepped closer, my arms crossed over my chest. “I came to see if you were still alive, I said coldly.

He flinched at my words, his face crumpling with something that looked like regret. “I know you must hate me,” he said quietly. However, I want you to understand, Morticia—I did all of this for my family.

A resentful laugh vibrated out of my throat, and away from the wall's damp plaster surfaces, it spread to the other sides. “For the family?” I repeated. An act of betrayal to us and the unleashing of robbers on unsuspecting ones, is it something you did for the family?

Jerome reached out, his hands gripping the bars weakly. “I made mistakes, but I cared for you, Morticia. I raised you, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t raise me,” I said sharply. “You used me. Just like you used Brianna. We were simply characters in a grotesque game, and you were trying to win.

He winced, both hands falling from the bars as if my words had burned him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. I understand it may sound trivial, but I mean it, honestly.

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart as cold as the stone around us. “Save your apologies,” I said flatly. “The higher-ups won’t take it easy on you, and neither will the elders. Your fate is already sealed.”

Jerome’s face crumpled further, but I didn’t care. I refused to let his pitiful display affect me.

I took a step back, my gaze unwavering. “I just came to check if you’re still breathing,” I said, my voice void of emotion. “Nothing more.”

I did not force a reply, I turned on my heels, and walked out, leaving him in his cell. I could still feel the shut iron door ringing in my ears as I trek up the stairs to the pack house.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t feel pity. Whatever bond had existed between us was gone, shattered by his betrayal. As far as I'm concerned, it was impossible to fix.