Beguile

Chapter 79

"One day, all this will be yours," My mother decalred, standing from the second floor, looking down at her people, talking about them like they're objects. And yet, they bow down to her. Worshipping her every command like God itself.

Turning to me, she gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "You won't disappoint me, will you?"

I met her gaze, locking eyes with her jet-black ones that I had inherited. They were the only part of her I could claim, the only tangible evidence of our connection.

My other features belonged to my father—a man I held in contempt. While my mother and I ruled this organization, he squandered his time pursuing his frivolous dreams.

In my eyes, he was nothing but a coward, a weakling, a disappointment, a failure.

I vowed never to become like him, and a sly grin crept onto my lips. My mother's own lips curved in response; she knew I would never let her down.

It was a blessing that my resemblance to my father was only skin-deep.

It will be his kindness that will kill him one day.

As for me, I had no intention of being kind.

"I'll keep you kind,"

The setting shifted.

Our organization had crumbled, betrayed by an anonymous traitor—a character so inconspicuous they blended into the background, hardly worth remembering.

Now, I found myself trapped in a pit, a grave dug into the earth, while my mother stood above, insisting that I must die.

My heart shattered; she could never do this to me.

But then her headaches began. At first, just a slight dizziness, but as the weeks wore on, her temper flared uncontrollably. Nonsense spilled from her lips—or perhaps it was her true nature revealing itself.

She said that I took everything from her.

Insisting that I must die.

Her accusations made no sense. I had been raised to emulate her in every way—to think like her, act like her, speak like her, be like her.

How could I have taken anything from her when she had molded me in her image?

It also wouldn't make sense that she believes everything that this boy says.

"She's dead. I'll take everything from here." He announced, even though his hands are up against my beating heart.

"I need to make sure."

"You should leave." His voice sounds so sweet and respectful, but one can sense that it was a command.

My mother. A prideful woman who never lets anyone talk down to her had followed the boy's order, and retreated back without ever looking back.

My mother who had told me to be everything, had condemned because of that everything.

As darkness seeped into my vision, tendrils of pain unfurling just above my heart along with the cold embrace of the night air.

Everything is painful, and yet I tried to bury deep within me the memory of those hazel orbs—the betraying gaze of the traitor.

Till eventually, I let my heavy eyes closed.

And yet in the void of darkness, I kept hearing voices.

Like chants in a ritual repeating over and over again.

It was words I couldn't make sense of.

Your mother hates you.

You were with your father when you mother sent out assassin's to kill both of you.