Chapter 34

Reagan's POV

The last time I've seen my mother was a few months ago, when Bryson, Ciara and I went to have dinner at that expensive restaurant.

She wasn't alone at that time, and my chest tightened as if someone had a steely grip on it, seeing at the sight of her new-found happiness. She was with her new husband (whatever his name is, and I wouldn't care less if he was now my step-dad) and - swallowing a huge lump that lodge up my throat - cradling a baby boy in her arms.

My half blood kin.

That thought alone had me fuming, that pent up rage of remembering the abandonment, the lies, for turning the blind eye of the abuse and that bitter taste of resentment slowly edging at the tip of my tongue as I watched her walk towards my bed.

As I fixed her a cold gaze, I had to admit that she looked better. Her once dull caramel colored hair was now shiny and vibrant, her soft facial features were beaming with sickening joy. Today she had on jeans, a ruffle collared blouse and had put on minimal