CHAPTER 4.

Jace’s POV

Smack!

My head snaps to the side.

The sting doesn’t register right away. It’s the betrayal that hits first. The kind that starts in your chest, slow and suffocating, before it floods every vein like fire.

“What the hell was that for?” I growl, straightening my spine, jaw clenching as I meet his eyes. “Lost your damn mind?”

My father’s face is twisted in rage. His perfect, composed mask has slipped.

“You arrogant little bastard,” he spits, pointing a trembling finger at me. “What kind of disgusting game were you trying to play in that restaurant?”

I blink. “Game?” He calls it a game? Who the fuck is playing a game here if not him?

“You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? The way she ran off crying?” he continues, each word louder than the last. “You’ve always been a poison who destroys everything good. Just like you killed your mother!”

I freeze.

Here it comes. That fucking sentence. He knows it’s the blade that tears me from inside out, and he twists it every damn time.

My fists curl, nails digging into my palms until I feel my skin breaking.

His eyes narrowed, “Whatever it is you're planning, you better don't let it manifest—”

“Or what?” I cut in, my voice low and dangerous.

The room stills.

His eyes flare, like he didn’t expect me to bite back. Like I’m still sixteen and apologizing for bleeding when he beat the guilt into me.

I take a step closer. “You’ll hit me again? Disown me? Lock me up? You’ve done it all, Dad. What else is left?”

His jaw tightens. The tension in his fists is almost comical – he’s barely holding it together.

“Don’t test me, Jace,” he warns, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You think I haven’t buried bigger threats than you?”

A hollow, bitter laugh vibrates in my chest. “Then bury me.”

His expression flickers.

And then, his eyes glowed with fury as a fist slammed into my face, “You little piece of shit!”

Bang!

The blow comes so hard on my nose that I see stars. And before I can steady myself, another punch slams into my gut, folding me like paper.

Air whooshes out of my lungs. I stumble back, clutching my stomach, my vision blurring red around the edges as blood trails down my lips.

I may be younger but my dad packs more punches.

He snarls, towering over me like a rabid beast.

Bang!

His boot hits my ribs before I can move. Pain tears through my side. I crash to the ground, coughing, laughing, choking all at once.

“You’re just like your whore of a sister,” he seethes. “Always needing to be punished before you learn.”

Something in me snaps.

I don’t care that I’m bleeding. I don’t care that he’s twice my size and built like a goddamn wall.

I lunge at him with a furious cry.

He doesn't have the right to talk about my sister!

We crash into the antique shelf behind him, sending crystal glasses shattering to the floor. My fists fly before I can think but just as I bring it down, I remember who he is and I slam my fist on the shelf, beside his ear, avoiding him by mere inches.

He roars and throws me off, and I slam into the edge of his desk, head cracking against polished wood. White flashes dance in my vision, but I don't let go of the fury roaring inside me.

“You should’ve killed me when I was a kid,” I rasp, staggering to my feet.

“Don’t tempt me,” he spits.

A new voice pierces the chaos.

“Jace!”

Nanny Rosa.

She’s in the doorway again, tears streaking her face, hands trembling.

“Stop! Please, stop!”

She rushes forward and shoves herself between us, shielding me with her old, tired body.

“Move,” my father growls. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does!” she screams, voice cracking. “You can't hit him anymore, Mr. Alistair. Please, he’s not a boy anymore. Madam will not be happy in her grave,” she wails.

He doesn’t move. Neither do I. The air in the room is thick. He glares at me, and I return the favor.

Then, with a huff, he turns and leaves. My nanny spins and hugs me, trembling as she cries so hard I don't know if I should comfort her or push her away.

“I thought—” she gasps, pulling back just enough to cup my face. “I thought he was going to kill you this time.”

I swallow hard, tasting blood on my tongue. “He didn’t,” I mutter. “Not yet.”

She flinches, her weathered fingers brushing the blood from my chin. “You can’t keep provoking him, Jace. He's your father. He's the only one you've got.”

I pull away from her, “Nanny, it's late, go have some rest.” With that, I grab my jacket and leave the house with my keys. I hear her calling after me but I don't stop.

…

I yank my helmet off the seat of my bike and jam it on, fingers shaking from fury and pain.

The engine roars to life with a twist of the key. Loud and angry just like me.

I grip the handlebars tighter than necessary, then kick off the ground and throttle down the driveway like hell itself is behind me.

The tires screech as I fly down the road, past the gates, past the shadows of the estate, past everything I hate.

I ride like I want to forget everything my father has become after my mother's death, what he did to my sister, what he does to me…everything, but I can't.

Not the look in his eyes when he calls me a murderer and my sister a whore.

I don’t know how long I ride. Minutes? Hours?

Streetlights blur. Trees vanish. Buildings pass like ghosts.

The wind claws at my jacket, and my ribs scream with every jolt, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Because if I stop, I’ll remember what it felt like to be under his boot again.

I veer off the highway and speed down a street and veer off the road, stopping in front of a bungalow. That's when it strikes me;

I've stopped at Jeena's house.