Chapter 91 Our burden

Chapter 91 Our burden
COLE

I was experiencing a kind of humiliation I had never known in my entire life.

Two weeks ago, I was the varsity captain, a future Alpha heir. Tall, handsome, strong… Untouchable, admired and feared. Now, I walked down the academy hallways and found my locker vandalized with red markers:

WELCOME BACK FROM THE HOSPICE!

The same coward Beta jocks I had shoved around and beaten now stood by the water fountains, openly smirking and throwing sneering comments as I passed. They knew I was on meds that dulled my reflexes and made my limbs feel like wet cement. They knew Ernest had placed me under strict surveillance, and any strong reaction from me would send me “back” to the “mental hospital”.

A few girls tried to approach me—girls I had rejected, ghosted, or ignored in the past. They offered soft, pitying smiles and sugary words, sensing a cracked armor, hoping I was starved enough for affection to fall into their laps.

I was, but I couldn’t care less about any of them right now.

Damon and Nate kept up the "traitor" act in the hallways, walking past me with stone-cold glares just in case Ernest had his doubts and asked around. Aside from our quick, hushed meetings beneath the rusted bleachers to plan our father's murder, they treated me like I didn’t exist. We were a trio, we were born together and we were inseparable our whole lives. I knew it was all an act and part of a bigger plan, but still... It was a strange, hollow feeling.

In the end, they still had each other but I… I had no one.

Walking those corridors alone, surrounded by whispers, mocking laughs, and sneers... I finally understood what Iris had endured for twelve fucking years.

During lunch, I sat outside on the concrete patio behind the cafeteria, my back pressed against the brick wall. The meds they forced down my throat every morning had destroyed my stomach, leaving a bitter, acidic nausea rolling through my gut. My sandwich sat untouched in its wrapper.

Footsteps approached softly from the side. A pair of black mary janes and white woolen socks appeared before my eyes.

"Hey."

A faint, involuntary smile had touched my lips before I even heard anything. That unmistakable scent of sweet vanilla washed over my senses… I just knew it was her.

I looked up. Iris was standing there, holding her lunch bag, the pale autumn sunlight framing her dark hair.

"Hey..." I murmured, shifting over to clear a spot on the concrete. "How are you?"

Iris gave a tiny, tired smile as she sank down onto the pavement beside me, pulling her knees up. "Don't ask me that..."

A sudden, breathless laugh broke out of my chest. It was completely involuntary, but there was something about the dry, deadpan way she said it that practically screamed: What kind of fucking question is that, you idiot?

"Sorry," I rubbed the back of my neck. "I shouldn't laugh."

"No, please..." Iris murmured softly, looking at me with dark, gentle eyes. "I like hearing you laugh. It feels rare."

We went quiet for a moment. I could feel the suffocating heaviness clinging to her like a second skin, weighing down her slender shoulders. It made me feel utterly useless—knowing that even if Nate, Damon, and I tore Ernest limb from limb, nothing we did would ever erase what he had already done to her.

I studied her profile. She was wearing significantly more makeup than usual—thick foundation layered over her pale cheekbones and heavy powder around her jaw. I found it a little odd… Just as the turtleneck under her school uniform.

Iris took a slow, trembling breath, keeping her eyes fixed on the empty football field. "Look... I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything you're going through. For the cell, the pills, the way people are treating you... You don't deserve this, Cole."

"I kinda do," I said. A dry chuckle escaped my throat. "You know, for twelve years of putting you through hell."

"You never had me chained to a wall and tortured," she pointed out quietly.

"Well, what can I say? I'm just paying the interest on the debt, that's all."

A small, genuine smile curved her lips, a quiet chuckle escaping her chest. At least I could still do that. At least I could still make her smile.

Iris's expression quickly sobered, her fingers knotting into the hem of her skirt. "Look... I wanted you to hear it from me first. Before the announcement..."

My chest tightened. "Hear what?"

"Ernest is arranging my marriage to Christian Harlow," she whispered, her voice dropping into a flat, numb monotone. "The deal is practically done between the families. They're announcing it privately by the end of the week. Ernest still wants me to participate in the Debutante Gala—he spent too much money on it to cancel—but after that... I'm getting married."

The world tilted violently on its axis.

A blinding wave of vertigo slammed into my skull, the bitter acid from my stomach surging straight up into my throat.

Christian Harlow.

A feral, murderous fury exploded behind my ribs, so intense my vision flashed red. My kill list had just gained a brand-new name, right behind Ernest Crawford. I had wanted to break Harlow's jaw the second I saw him smoking on the terrace with her, but now I wanted to rip his throat out with my bare teeth.

And then the true horror settled in.

Iris had told me back when I was chained in that cell… She said the only reason Ernest haven’t raped her yet was because he wanted her to be married to someone else so he could cover it up properly.

The pieces snapped together. Ernest would use Christian as a decoy so he could continue violating her in secret while keeping his own reputation spotless.

The urge to scream, to punch the concrete wall until my knuckles shattered, nearly tore me in half. But I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't say, ‘Don't worry, Iris, my brothers and I are going to kill our father before he can rape you or force you to marry some random asshole.’ She would panic. She would beg us to stop out of terror for our lives.

The burden of saving her should be ours and ours alone. That was our deal.

She looked so fragile sitting beside me—scared, exhausted, and completely resigned to a fate she thought she couldn't escape.

Without a word, I reached out and took her small, freezing hand in mine.

The second my skin touched hers, her bottom lip trembled violently. The fragile mask shattered, and hot, silent tears flooded over her lashes, spilling down her painted cheeks.
"Come here," I whispered, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her firmly against my chest.

She collapsed into me, burying her face in the crook of my neck, letting out soft, muffled sobs against my shirt. I held her tight, resting my chin on top of her head, my fingers gently stroking through her waves, trying to pour every ounce of warmth I had left into her trembling body.

As I caressed her hair, a few strands shifted aside, catching the harsh glare of the midday sun.

My eyes drifted down to the heavy wool turtleneck she was wearing—a sweater that was far too thick and stifling for an early autumn afternoon.

Gently, slowly, I reached up and pulled the folded collar down an inch.

Encircling her pale throat was a constellation of dark, mottled purple bruises. Finger-shaped marks.