His eyes, dark and merciless, pinned me in place. “I don’t forgive. I don’t forget. And you... you will learn just how sharp my wrath can be, how complete my control is. Every moment. Every breath. You are mine, and I will make sure you never forget it.”
My knees trembled.
Fear, pain, and something darker crashed over me.
His jaw tightened—just slightly.
The only sign of something deeper beneath that cold exterior.
I wanted to speak.
To tell him none of this was my fault.
But my voice faltered—caught somewhere between my lungs and the fear choking my throat.
He stood too close.
Close enough that the air I breathed felt stolen from him.
When I finally forced the words out, they came unsteady.
“I... I am not my father.”
My knees threatened to give, but I held my ground.
Barely.
His gaze sharpened. “But you carry his blood.”
His hand lifted slowly, and came down above my shoulder, caging me in without effort.
“Day after day,” he continued, voice almost quiet—“Year after year...”
His fingers tightened. “You will carry your father’s sins like iron chained to your spine.”
A pause.
Long enough to suffocate.
“It won’t leave you.”
His head dipped closer.
“Not until the weight crushes everything else out of you and pain becomes the only thing you remember how to feel.”
“Vin, I understand your pain,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I didn’t survive this long just to become a tool for your revenge. I’m not paying for my father’s sins. Never.”
The word snapped out of me before I could stop it.
“I’m not your whipping girl.”
The defiance surprised even me.
I tried to twist away from his grip, but his other hand shot out, bracing against the wall on my other side—caging me in completely.
He stepped closer.
His chest loomed over me, forcing my head back just to breathe.
