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“Boys,” she singsongs. “So lovely to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances, but alas, here we are nonetheless.”
Samantha’s mother is a glimpse into the future of what Samantha might look like if she weren’t going to suffer a timely end. Decades of plastic surgery, lip fillers, and Botox have made it impossible to see some of their genetic similarities. Aside from their piercing crystal-blue eyes, both mother and daughter have had so many procedures one could make the argument Samantha was adopted.
“Let’s cut the small talk. Time is limited, and you have the information we want,” Owen snaps.
Wait, I lied. They both make the same expression when they feel passed over or slighted in some way—the flare of their nostrils and curling of their lips as their faces attempt to scrunch. Definitely not adopted.
Blair schools her features, a smile returning to her face as if she remembers she needs our help. “Right. Well then, ask away,” she mutters.
“What role has your daughter played in the Filiae Bellonae’s efforts to overthrow the Fraternitas?” I demand.
She sighs. “Samantha was an integral part of the plan. She was our way into your lives without being overt. She was being used long before she agreed to be a co-conspirator.”
My eyes widen at that information as I think back to when we were younger. There was a time when we’d all been thick as thieves—inseparable before the day she betrayed us.
“Her locket,” Blair answers my unspoken question. “It was a recording device.”
Owen gasps. “I remember that fucking thing. She’d never take it off.”
“She couldn’t even if she wanted to. The clasp could only be opened with the key fashioned solely for the necklace, and I had the only copy.”
“So, you, what? Listened to us while we played?” I growl.
Blair smirks. “No one ever suspects young children. So many conversations were overheard. Your fathers spoke so freely, and none of you paid attention or understood what was transpiring. You were too young.”
“But I wasn’t,” Sebastian chimes, and she rolls her eyes.
“Your father was in our pockets long before you were even born. He was so bitter about being passed over that it took nothing to get him to agree,” she gloats, and Sebastian’s lips thin.
Theodore Grant was a whiny dick. It shouldn’t have been as shocking when it was discovered he was a turncoat.
Lifting her hand, Samantha’s mother held up a finger at a time, ticking off what they discovered. “We knew the plan for Ariah to come back once she was near eighteen. We knew the Council had plans to rig the Selection so she’d become the Chosen, and we knew they planned to use your union to birth five sons—Heirs connected through the original bloodline.”
If the Council hadn’t already informed us of their ultimate plan over the summer, Blair’s news would’ve left me speechless.
It was satisfying to watch the smugness melt from her face with our lack of surprise.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you think you revealed some bombshell?” Owen mocks. “If you want our help, you’ll need to deliver more than shit we already know.”
Needing to move things along before we run out of time, I jump to a time we believe Samantha agreed to help willingly. I ask the question we suspected we already knew the answer to, “Did your daughter purposely lure Owen and me out of school that day?”
Before she can answer, a woman in a maid’s uniform brings her a blue cocktail, and Blair thanks her before she exits.
Owen leans forward, his eyes narrowing to slits. “We don’t have all day. Answer the fucking question!”
Blair smirks, bringing the drink to her mouth and downing nearly half of the glass’s contents before placing it off to the side.
“I’d tread carefully if I were you, Blair. We’re your only chance to get out from under your daughter’s thumb,” Sebastian warns.
Unfazed, her shoulders push back, and she sits taller, pride evident in whatever she’s about to reveal. “Of course she did. The minute she heard she wouldn’t be your chosen and that some girl she’d never heard of was, her hackles rose. Jealousy is a powerful motivator. Sometimes too powerful.” She pauses, and then a faraway look settles in her eyes before she continues. “From that day forward, she did any- and everything necessary to ensure she was your end game.”
“What exactly does ‘everything necessary’ mean?” I seethe.
Blair clenches her teeth. “I don’t know when we lost control of her. I had her on such a tight leash. She shouldn’t have had the time or the resources to orchestrate what she has.”
If her daughter wasn’t a grade-A cunt, I might feel sorry for her. Having a mother who manipulates you for their own personal gain does something to your trust. But every member of the Council is guilty of this. The more I think about it, Ariah and Samantha have similar situations. Both their moms used them instead of loving them. Only Ariah doesn’t think the world owes her everything and should bow at her feet in worship.
“We’re almost out of time, and you still haven’t given us anything we don’t already know,” I state.
