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Seraphina: I have some responsibilities I just can’t abandon, plus, I need to finish the schedule for the center.
Brahms: (glares at the screen skeptically) You sound too casual. What changed?
Seraphina: The center needs the money.
Brahms: Try again.
I glare at my phone, annoyed that he can still see through me, even when we’re not in the same room. He’s always been able to read me too well.
Seraphina: Excuse me?
Brahms: Something tells me that you found a loophole, and that’s why you agreed without a fight. I want to know what you’re getting in return. Why the sudden yes?
Seraphina: This isn’t sudden.
Brahms: You don’t lie, Seraphina, don’t start now.
A flare of anger rises in me. It’s true. I’m usually painfully honest, which has often been a disadvantage. But that was then when I didn’t have to hide my own truth.
Seraphina: I do lie. I’ve been lying to protect your sorry ass for years. Not because I care for you, but because I’m afraid of what your family can do to mine. But be aware that I’ll use our time together to find a way to expose your lies.
Brahms: My lies? I don’t have lies—only guard the ones that keep you and your fucking family safe.
I glare at my phone. The nerve to say that he’s trying to save me. Save me from what? I want to yell, demand answers but instead I take a deep breath knowing Blythe is here.
Seraphina: You killed Zane and Iris. You also condemned my father to life in a wheelchair. Your family might’ve covered that up, but I’ll figure out a way to expose it and have you thrown in jail.
The few seconds before his reply feels like hours.
Brahms: Don’t do that, Seraphina.
I can sense the plea, the urgency, in his message. But there’s no turning back now. I will finish him.
Seraphina: Scared of facing the consequences? You’ll finally pay for your sins.
Brahms: No, I’m afraid for you. Let things be.
A bitter laugh escapes me as if he cares about my well-being. He destroyed my family and me. I doubt he can do anything worse.
Seraphina: Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl. If I were you, I would be shaking.
I smirk, tapping my fingers on the back of the phone.
Brahms: Whatever you think you’re doing won’t bring them back. You might even regret it.
Seraphina: Famous last words, Brahms. You should know better than to underestimate me.
Brahms: I always remember the famous last words of others—even yours. What happened to: I’ll always love you no matter what, Brahms?
Chapter Eight
Brahms
Talon rolls the wheelchair into the expansive foyer of the old St. Clairmont’s house. The place looks worn and slightly run-down.
“Thank you, Talon, I’ll take it from here,” Ellington says.
And I hate that this time I can’t even move on my own. Hopefully once my hand heals I’ll have the strength to wheel myself. Who knows, I could be well enough to be back on my feet, right?
