"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" she says. "We're about to have a little family reunion."
"What?" The word is barely audible as it leaves my lips.
"Nowyou want to talk?" Her violet eyes light up with satisfaction as she sprays perfume over her pulse points.
"Mother, please leave them out of this," I say. "Chloe and Briar have their own lives now. They have families.”
She whirls to face me. With her white skeleton fingers, she pushes aside the neckline of her dress, showing me the scar in the middle of her chest. It's a thin sliver on her flawless skin, but I know it bothers her. Anything less than perfection is unacceptable in her eyes.
"This is what your sisters did to me, Grace," she says. "Did you show me mercy when you saw me bleeding out on the ground? Did you come back for me?"
I stare at the jagged scar.
It’s the only reminder that the past few months actually happened.
I did something I never thought I’d have the guts to do—I ran away from home.
Things had reached an all-time low. One of my sisters was in a drug-induced coma, and the other was put in the dungeons. I helped my eldest sister, Chloe, escape from the dungeons before I decided to run away.
I wanted a fresh start.
A new life.
I almost had it all, but it all turned to ashes when my mother found me. The dagger that Chloe buried in her chest wasn't enough to kill her.
Our mother is back, and she's more vengeful than ever.
She enlisted me in a human auction where I’ll be sold to the highest bidder. And I suspect that she’s only getting started.
"It's a trap, isn't it?" I ask, watching her closely. “You’re using me as bait to draw Chloe and Briar here.”
“Smart girl,” she says.
"What are you going to do to them?" I ask.
"Oh, you'll see," she says. There's an inhuman gleam in her eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. “But if you must know, I’ll be starting with Chloe."
My mother has never hidden her disdain for Chloe. She is her stepdaughter—and the one who stabbed her in the chest.
If she catches Chloe this time, she won't show any mercy.
My mother walks toward me. The scent of her perfume makes me flinch like it always does. She opens the bedside drawer and pulls out a mahogany box. It’s the one she carries with her everywhere she goes.
My pulse spikes at once.
I hate that thing with avengeance.
She filters through her collection of pills and vials, her long, slender fingers graceful like she's picking daisies for a bouquet.
"Mom, please," I say, hating the pathetic way my voice breaks.
She selects a vial. Her Swarovski-studded nails click against the glass as she screws it open. She uses a syringe to carefully draw out the milky content.
It's not the first time I'm seeing her with a syringe. She gives us microdoses of drugs to keep us under her control. But today, she empties the entire vial.
“I purchased this one just for Chloe,” she singsongs.
"What is it?” I whisper.
