Chapter 5

Leah’s POV

Regret is a funny thing. It never screams—it whispers, like a ghost breathing down your neck.

For eight years, I carried it. Buried it. Pretended it didn’t exist.

And yet, standing here, staring at the girl I swore I’d never see again, I realized something.

You can’t bury the past.

It always comes back.

And now, my past was looking at me with wide, terrified eyes, whispering one silent question.

"Mama?"

I could still remember when she called me that—a simple, two-syllable word that had never sounded so perfect before. So full of love. So innocent.

Now, it felt like a curse.

"Can I still turn back now?"

Suddenly, the air was heavy. Stifling. And only one man made her feel that way.

Victor Sinclair.

"You’ve done well, Leah," he murmured, adjusting his cuffs. "Reuben is pleased."

My fingers tightened around the armrest of my chair.

"But you know the rules," he continued smoothly. "You are only valuable as long as the girl is alive. And you know what happens if she becomes… useless."

A flicker of pain sliced through me. Sameera was just a child.

"She’s not ready for this," I whispered.

Victor’s lips curled, his eyes dark with amusement. "You said the same thing about Isla."

The room spun. My heart clenched.

No.

"You see, Leah," he continued, stepping closer, "you made a mistake thinking Reuben would never find out. He knows what you did to his daughter. He just hasn’t decided what to do with you yet."

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Victor leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let’s hope he doesn’t make the girl pay for your sins."

Then, he was gone.

I turned to the mirror in front of me.

The woman staring back was not a mother.

Not a savior.

Just a monster wearing my face.

-----

Somewhere in New York

Vaughn’s POV

Pain was an old friend in this house.

It lived in the walls, in the broken glass on the floor, in the silence between screams.

"Get up," my father’s voice was cold. Emotionless.

I clenched my fists, staring at the blood pooling beneath me.

Not mine.

Not this time.

Mother lay on the ground, her breath shallow, her lip split open. The bruise on her cheekbone darkened by the second. I wanted to move. To help her.

But I knew better.

Helping her only made it worse.

"You think you can just stand there?" Father’s voice slithered through the room, low and dangerous. "Like you're better than me?"

His footsteps were slow, deliberate. A predator circling its prey.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t flinch.

That pissed him off.

"Say something, boy," he snarled. "Or have you finally learned to keep that mouth shut?"

I ground my teeth, forcing my expression to stay blank. Because if I spoke now—if I said the wrong thing—Mother would pay for it.

And I had already made her pay too much.

Father clicked his tongue. "Useless," he muttered, gripping a half-empty glass of whiskey from the table. He swirled the liquid lazily, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to throw it at me.

Then, without warning, he turned and smashed it against the wall.

Shards rained down, glinting in the dim chandelier light.

Mother flinched.

I didn’t.

Because this? This was routine.

He was drunk. Angry at something that had nothing to do with us. Maybe a bad deal. Maybe just the fact that he existed.

It didn’t matter.

We were just the outlet.

"Do you know what your problem is, Vaughn?" His voice was slurred now, his anger settling into something slower. Meaner. "You're weak. Just like your mother."

Mother stirred, her breath hitching. But she didn’t speak.

She never spoke when he was like this.

Weak.

The word sat in my chest like lead.

I wasn’t weak.

I couldn’t afford to be.

Father knelt beside Mother, gripping her chin roughly. "Look at me when I speak to you," he ordered.

She turned away.

His grip tightened.

"I said—"

"Let her go."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Silence.

Cold. Suffocating silence.

Father slowly looked up at me, his lips curling.

"Or what?"

I didn’t have an answer.

Not yet.

But one day, I would.

And when that day came...

He would be the one who never got up.