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“You speak of Aslan as if you still love him.”
“I do. Very deeply.”
“Then how could you kill him in cold blood?”
“Oh, it wasn’t in cold blood, kizim. It was very much planned and premeditated. I told you. That man was not my son.”
“He was more your son than anyone. If you knew what he—” I cut myself off.
Don’t.
Think, Neri.
Think before you act for once in your miserable life.
Cem paused for a moment, the silence turning sharp with questions.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked quietly. “You do hold an enviable place in my son’s past, after all. Out of anyone, living or dead, you knew him the best.” He sucked in a breath. “So...tell me. Prove to me why I made a mistake killing the imposter who was my flesh and blood. Go on.”
I glowered at the happy families all around me, and my heart bled all over the pretty street for what I’d lost. I tasted the truth, rolling it on my tongue, before deciding...fuck it.
What could happen?
Aslan was dead.
He’d told my father what he’d done to Ethan.
I was merely repaying the favour by telling his.
“Aslan Avci was good and kind, sweet and hardworking. He loved math and said that numbers felt differently—”
“He did?” Cem interrupted with a gasp. “He saw in colour?”
I scowled. “He was secretive about it but only because I’m guessing whatever gift he’d been given came from you. A gift he wanted nothing to do with.”
He snorted but didn’t retaliate. “There’s a genetic trait in our family. My father had it. I have it. Seems my son had it.” He paused, then said, “It will be interesting to see if Ayla has inherited the Kara synesthesia genes. Keep an eye on her, kizim. She could be far more special than you know.”
“Hearing my daughter’s name on your tongue is repellent.”
“Why? Because you’re beginning to understand me? Because you would do the same thing I did if someone dared steal your child?”
“Enough.” Running a hand through my hair, I bent forward. “I’m nothing like you.”
“As you wish. But please...finish what you were going to say about why Aslan was more my son than any other. The boy you’ve mentioned, who loved math and avoided conflict, sounds like an Avci, not a Kara.”
“Will you let him go if I tell you?”
“He’s dead, kizim. I am sorry you cannot believe that.”
Anguish cracked through my spine; I clung to the only emotion I could.
Anger.
Hate.
Bone-deep loathing that this man still existed.
I wanted to hurt him like I hurt.
I wanted him to grieve like I grieved.
I wanted him to admit that Aslan didn’t deserve to die.
“He was your son, Cem Kara. He might have the morals of the people who raised him, but deep inside, he was yours.”
His voice turned sharp. “Tell me.”
“I was raped when I was seventeen. Aslan was the one to find me. I asked him if he’d kill for me...he agreed.” My hand tightened around my phone. “He hacked off two of my rapist’s fingers. He shot him in the left calf with a harpoon. He would’ve cut off his cock and scooped out his eyes if I hadn’t stopped him. Even in that haze of fury, he listened to me. Protected me. But...he didn’t obey me when I told him not to kill him.”
“My son killed someone?”
“Does that hurt you, knowing that? Knowing he was more like you than you realised? That you murdered your son before you even got to know him?”
Silence.
More silence.
Finally, Cem cleared his throat. “I am sorry you endured rape, and I am glad my son did his best to make it right. I bid you safe travels, Nerida. I will permit you to remain in my country for seventy-two hours. Eat our food. Explore our city. But then go home to your daughter. Or...I will escort you back myself. I look forward to your call next year, kizim.”
He hung up.
My arm fell into my lap.
I began to shake.
To quake.
God...w-what have I done?
What on earth possessed me to say such things?
Why confess what Aslan had done when it didn’t make a shred of fucking difference?
It didn’t reincarnate him.
It didn’t summon him from the grave.
I...I know why.
My trembling hands curled around my phone as my teeth clenched.
I did it to rip out Cem’s cold, dead heart.
To stab a blade of doubt that his son and heir was still his, regardless that Aslan fought against his true nature most of the time.
Violence flowed in his veins.
Ferocity and viciousness were as much a part of Aslan as protectiveness and affection.
He was a lion, after all.
And lions could love their pride all while shredding their enemies into pieces.
I hope Cem is cursing himself.
I hope he’s hurting.
I hope he gets run over by a bus and fucking dies.
Chapter Thirty-Five
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Nerida
AGE: 21 YRS OLD
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(Love in Nepali: Maya)
