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Panic sets in. I bolt upright and the whole world spins. I'm in the backseat of a car. My mouth tastes of copper and something sour. Every movement I make is languid, sluggish. I'm running on empty.
And Michel Moreau is at the steering wheel.
Slumping against the door, I look out the window.
In the distance, there's something that looks like...an airport?
Panic claws its way up my throat. I have no doubt my father's taking us there to drag me away to some high-security fortress and lock me away for the rest of my life.
Now that I know what he did to my mother, everything makes sense.
He always called me mon trésor.
His treasure.
His stolen treasure is more like it.
I can't let him take me on that plane.
What are my options? Jumping out of the fucking car? Even if he somehow forgot to lock the doors, I doubt I would survive that. And my father isn’t one to listen to reason.
But if he has a vulnerability, it’s me.
I’ll have to use that to my advantage, somehow.
“Do I look like her?”
My father’s eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror.
“A spitting image, Lizou.”
Lizou.
It sounds so much like my mother's name. Was that the reason he chose that nickname for me? Even now, the thought that he kept me from her and lied to me about her for so long feels surreal.
By Laurent's admission she was alive until I was around twelve. I remember crying myself to sleep some nights, thinking that I had killed her just by being born. But to know that she was out there, desperate to see me?
To know that my fucking father killed her because she finally found the courage to try and take me back?
Alexander and I have more in common than I could have ever known.
“You’re punishing me for looking like her,” I whisper. “You can still make up for everything that you’ve done if you just let me go.”
“I am not in need of salvation, mon trésor.” He’s mocking me now. “Things will go back to the way they were.”
No, no, no.
He doesn't know I'm pregnant.
I can't hide a baby. He'll know eventually.
"I don't want to go back with you." My voice cracks. "You don't know me at all. And now that I know the kind of person you are, I want nothing to do with you."
His stare grows harsh through the mirror.
Michel gives me a toothy, harrowing smile. "It's funny. Lilou said the same thing, all those years ago." There isn't even a lick of remorse in his tone. "You’re dumber than I thought if, after everything you heard today, you want to end up like her."
Is he...
