THREE: Poisoned Gazes

Whip burns and brotherly love: because one form of torture just isn’t enough. 

The room was heavy with unspoken tension as my brother gently applied the salve on the wounds on my back, his touch lingering a bit too long.

I asked for the maids, but I guess they, too, were far too afraid to go against the second-in-command in this house, my brother, Caesar Bennington. You could say my father was unimpressed with how I turned out—a girl. 

He thought someone like me would never be fit to inherit the dirty money the Bennington Legacy has. 

As if I’d want my hands on it.

So he took in a kid who survived the streets through thick and thin; pick-pocketing, breaking houses, and even killing. 

A kid like Caesar with no background and parents to hold him back, was the perfect heir. 

“Father overdid it . . .” he blows on one of the wounds and I swallow the bile in my throat.

So you could say, all this wouldn’t be familial love considering we don’t have the same blood running through our veins.

But still, when you know your brother is a disgusting freak, that still doesn’t do the trick of calming me.

“Does that hurt, My Eva?” He whispered against my cheeks and goosebumps rose in my skin, the feel of his hot breath making whatever flesh still left in my body after all the fasting I was doing, crawl.

“I-it’s fine, Caesar.” I mutter, trying to shuffle my body away from his filthy mouth. No one knows about his behavior, certainly not father. 

And it only takes for Caesar to mention my mom and the consequences she’s ought to face if I tattle, and my mouth would remain shut about all this. 

“Brother.” he corrects, “You are going to call me your fucking brother, do you understand that?” Gone were the gentle pats of the salve on my back and I groaned as he pressed the cotton on the wound hard, wrapping his other hand on my jaw forcefully. 

“Yes-yes . . . Brother.” I stammer, feeling my breathing short from his grip. Oh, what I’d give if he lets me call him a fucking perverted bastard that he is.

Although almost impossible, he tries to turn my face onto him, pushing those disgusting lips on mine. The breakfast I forcefully shoved down my throat earlier was starting to rise at the smell of his breath. It wasn’t bad, but it reeks of alcohol.

“P-please no . . .” I plead, my voice hoarse.

Wherever street my father pulled this man out of when he was a kid, he needs to put him back in. 

“Kiss me—” As if on instinct, I instantly push him away and he staggered back, landing on the ground with a thud. 

“Fuck!” he whined.

Slowly, his eyes landed on mine in disbelief before it slowly warped into anger. Boiling, I’m-gonna-kill you anger.

Oh, crap.

He grits his teeth and runs off to me, “You bitch!” before I knew it, my head flung to the side before the sting from the palm of his hand registers. 

“Ah!” a small whimper slips out of my mouth. That hurts.

He inhales a deep breath and his second personality comes in.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that!” If my research serves me well, that’s one of the 100 Common Lines From Abusers website.

He moves back to me and eyes the bleeding on my lips. The tangy taste of blood on the mouth resurfaces.

He was supposed to be tending to my scar, not add another one.

“But you can’t just do that to me, your Brother. You know I only care about you. I love you, my dearest sister. But do that again and there will be greater consequences.” He caresses my cheeks in awe before his lips arched into a smirk.

“I’ll call a maid in. Fix yourself, My Eva.” He whispers before stepping back from the floor I’m in. He loves me, that’s what he says, and yet the simple act of lulling me off the floor from his slap, he couldn’t even do.

Talk about familial love.

“Fuck, stop twitching. You should be glad the master’s favor is still on you.” The maid, Teressa, groans as she wrapped the bandage harshly on my back. She’s been in the family for a decade and surely by now, she’s made it known to man that she has deep-rooted feelings for my brother. 

How she felt something like that for him is beyond me.

And apparently, me having his favor is something she’s been jealous of for a lifetime. I could toss that man to her on a silver platter if I can.

“I-I’m sorry.” I swallow the lump in my throat as a tear slipped out from the force she’s putting on the bandage. It’s an item to stop the bleeding, not a goddamn corset.

“Hey, listen.” she grabs my hair from behind to look up at her. “Master Caesar is mine.” she tightens her hold before releasing it. I sighed in relief knowing my scalp didn’t stick to her hand when she withdraws it off of my head.

She pushes her cart of first-aid kit and leaves the room.

Given the new scars they placed on me, I already figured I’m not having any sleep tonight.

***

“I’ll let you see your bitch of a mother if you get this one right.” I turn to my father in the mirror as the dresser tightens the corset on my waist. I groan when its bone hits one of my whip burns just bandaged last night.

“A-are you serious, Father?” I mutter, eyes wide. I’m always fitted once in a month to find new dresses to seduce wealthy politicians and all the businessmen my father wants me to get information from.

This is how they knew me as the Bennington Princess, always the spoiled flower of this family—of course, little did they know.

“When have I ever lied?” he raises his brows, sitting on one of the couches in this exclusive place. 

“The Mayor, the guy you escaped from, is out of town for the weekend. Befriend his daughter and try to squeeze some information about that casino on her. If you get me something valuable, maybe you’ll earn your mother some food for another day.” He instructs and nods at the designer as he leaves the shop.

I’m going to earn my mother something to eat. She needs to be strong for when I finally get her out of that hell, away from the people I share blood with.

***

“We look forward to a charming afternoon with you.” I read the invitation.

Charming, my ass. It’s probably all about gossip in social circles or something. I just need to get something valuable from these women and it’ll all be over.

“Holy shit, is that a Bugatti?” I point at one of the cars parked in the area. Even the Bennington family wouldn’t be able to afford something like that in a drop of a hat. 

My mind strings back to the Eden Club, where I met ‘that’ guy. That strange yet hot, white-heard bastard who brutally killed the guardsmen on my tracks without so much as a blink. 

I wonder where he—

“I heard that cold-blooded Russian would be here.” The driver of the limo, one of father’s guardsmen muttered from behind me. They’re one of the people who still thinks I’m Bennington’s Princess. Only a couple knows of the woman behind that mask.

“Cold-blooded Russian? At a girl’s tea party?” I raise my brow and he shrugged before nodding his head to head back to the driver’s seat after opening the door for me.

“I’ll be back to fetch you, Miss.” He mutters from the inside before driving off. I handed the invitation to one of the guards in the mansion. I don’t even remember the women’s names, I hope they don’t suddenly pick a fight. 

“I’m here for the tea party.” I mumble. The guards opened and a beautiful mansion engulfed me. My father has branches and branches of connections and me being in one of houses like these isn’t something new.

It was a much smaller place than the Bennington Palace, but it’s filled with flowers to the nines. It’s a mayor’s place, after all.

“Hi!” I smiled, waving at the girls at the table. A couple of side eyes with only one girl waving back, and I already knew this would not be an easy feat. They hate me already.

“Hi, sit down.” One of the women invited me to the table. The Mayor’s daughter is the only blonde in here so it was easy to distinguish her. I just need to get closer to her and—

“You know, even with Dad not around, he was still able to invite the head of the Morozovs!” She suddenly squealed. Okay, wow. This is out of my paygrade. I wasn’t told I’ll be dealing with 20-year-old women who act like they’re thirteen in highschool.

“Wow! You’ve got privilege!” 

“He’s so hot!” 

“Who’s the Morozovs?” 

With the last question, everyone instantly turned to me with a curious look.

I know, I should know who’s who, knowing I’m the notorious villain who ruins everyone’s lives. The Bennington Princess who’s a vile, seducing witch to married men and a snake to women.

“Are you serious?” The Mayor’s daughter raised her brow. “Yeah.” I shrug and her brows instantly shot up. A couple of commentaries of how I was living under a rock for not knowing was mutually shared around the table.

“Konstantin Morozov. Him.” The Mayor’s Daughter pointed and, as if time stopped, my eyes met with blood. 

Probably blood that’s about to come out of me after I’m killed here.

I caught onto his gaze before anything else. Bloody red eyes staring straight back at me with familiarity and perhaps murderous intent as well. It was the hot stranger who killed the guardsmen in Eden.

I catch his Achilles-sharp jaw clench, brows furrowed. A silent threat.

Shit, I’m not coming out of this mansion alive.