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Isabella Leonardo :

The devil doesn’t wear horns or rise from hellfire. She wore pearls, smiled sweetly, and tucked me in at night. She gave me life—and took everything else with it. For me, the devil isn’t a myth. She has a name. I call her Mother.

“Ella, your stepfather is dead,” Mom said over the phone—flat, emotionless. Like she was commenting on the weather.

I just stood there, stunned. How could she sound so empty? Thirteen years of marriage—gone, and she didn’t flinch. This was the man who gave us shelter when we had nothing. When the world turned its back on us, he opened the door.

“What? How… what happened?” I asked, my fingers tightening around the phone as if it could somehow make this nightmare go away.

“Why are you asking me? He’s dead, okay?! Get a grip. It’s not like I’m the damn Grim Reaper who took his life!” Her voice hissed, and in the background, I heard a faint chuckle from someone else.

“You don’t feel sorry, do you?” I bit back the words, my jaw locking, my pulse spiking with anger.

Every breath I took, I hated the fact that she—the woman who never seemed to care about anything—was the one who gave me life.

“Why should I feel sorry? Huh? Did I kill him?” she snapped, the venom still thick in her voice. “Steven was 78. That’s old enough. Your father died in his late 30s, so... get over it.”

My pupils dilated at her words.

How could someone be this cold, this heartless?

“You’re evil, Mom. So evil and pathetic… a gold digger, nothing but an evil serpent!” I couldn’t hold back anymore. My anger spilled out in a rush.

She chuckled lightly, almost as if my words amused her.

“Oh, I’m pathetic, Isabella? Fine. But guess what? You went to college, had a good life, while I risked everything—married whoever I had to so I could put food on the damn table. That’s what’s pathetic, huh?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air. “If you really knew what I’ve been through, you wouldn’t be standing there calling me evil. You’d be licking my feet, begging for forgiveness.”

I clenched my fists, every word she said cutting deeper than the last.

“Licking your feet? Is that what you think I owe you? For surviving? For making me grow up in this hell?” The words were venomous as they slipped past my lips, shaking with fury. “You ruined everything. You used people, destroyed lives, and now you’re telling me I should thank you for it?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, she exhaled sharply, like I was the one causing the inconvenience. “You think I wanted to do all that? You think I enjoyed it? Life doesn’t give you the luxury of choices, Isabella. I had to do what I had to do. You think Steven would’ve stuck around if I wasn’t ‘useful’ to him? Please.”

“You think he only stayed because of you? You think you’re the reason he loved me? Loved us?” My voice was growing tighter, the bitterness threatening to choke me. “He stayed because he saw something in me that you couldn’t—he loved me more than you ever did, Mom.”

“Yeah, yeah… if you miss him that bad, go meet him. Friday’s his burial. You have to be back. That’s the last time you’re seeing him!” Her voice was cold, distant. It made the tears start to well up even more.

I sniffed back, trying to hold myself together, but reality hit me all at once. Steven was really gone. He wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t be there to give me advice or simply sit with me in silence when I needed someone.

And in that moment, I broke down completely. The tears I’d been holding back for so long finally spilled over, and I couldn’t stop them.

“Are you really crying?” Her voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through my raw emotion. “Have you forgotten he’s not your real father?”

I let the tears flow, unable to stop them even if I tried. “I know… and I hate it so much. I hate the fact he’s not my real father. I hate that I’m never going to see him again.”

“Jesus Christ… you’re pathetic!” she hissed, and then the line went dead. My phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the ground as I sank to my knees, my sobs uncontrollable now.

“God… why?!” I screamed, my voice raw, my chest tight with grief.

But as the tears blurred my vision, my mind wandered to one person. One person I never thought I’d think about again—Christopher D’evone.

The only child of Steven D’evone. My stepbrother.

It had been over six years since I’d last seen him, six years since we spoke. And honestly, I hadn’t been looking forward to facing him then, and I wasn’t now.

He was a narcissist, arrogant, and always had an air of superiority about him. He was nothing like his father—nothing like the man who’d shown me love and care. But still... he was family.

I had sworn to myself I would never step foot in that house again. I’d made my peace with never going back, but now... now I was about to break that promise.

“I have to go back,” I whispered to myself, the words heavy on my heart. “I’m breaking my promise… for Dad.”

---

The flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles felt like a lifetime. Eleven hours in a cramped seat, staring at the back of the seat in front of me, fighting to keep my eyes open. My body ached. My mind felt numb.

I could barely keep my eyes open as I flagged down a cab. The ride home felt like a blur. The cab driver chattered on, but I barely heard him. All I could think about was the mess I was walking back into.

The home.

The house that once felt like a haven, now a prison. Christopher D’evone’s house. The house that had watched me grow up, watched me endure my mother’s madness, my stepfather’s love. And now, it was a place that felt like a ghost of my past, an aching reminder of what I’d lost.

I stepped out of the cab and walked up the familiar driveway, the sounds of music and shouting growing louder as I neared the front door.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The sight that greeted me when I pushed the door open was a shock to my senses.

Cans of beer and soda littered the floor. People screamed and laughed, running around like it was some kind of party. The house was loud, chaotic—a far cry from the place I had once called home.

I frowned and stepped inside, my boots clicking sharply against the floor as I walked toward the living room.

And then I froze.

There, on the couch, my mother and some younger boy were locked in a kiss. They didn’t even notice me at first, too caught up in their own world.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. "What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled, my voice trembling with a mixture of shock and anger.

She hissed, then straightened her dress, looking at me like I was the inconvenience. “Welcome back. You can go to your room…” she said, as if nothing was wrong, about to go back to whatever it was she was doing.

“No, ma, I can't believe this. Kissing some random guy while your husband’s barely been dead a week?” My voice shook with disbelief, and anger simmered beneath my skin. “Does Christopher know about this? Does he know you’ve turned his house into a damn playground?”

Her face hardened, her eyes narrowing with annoyance. “Don’t you dare mention it to him... Just go upstairs and leave me alone. I need some peace and quiet!”

“No!!” My voice cracked with frustration. “It’s almost like you killed him! And now I’m starting to think—if you’re not just a gold-digger, you’re a damn murderer! You killed him!”

Before I could even process what was happening, a slap landed across my face.

The sound was so loud that it made my ears ring, my cheek burning from the impact.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of killing him!” Her voice was full of fury, like she wanted to tear me apart. “You miserable little thing, you hate it whenever I’m happy. I wish I’d never had you! You’re nothing but a stupid mistake!”