Page 110 of Hellebore

No. Calm down. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

I hear him moving. My duffel bag drops to the floor with a heavy thud right in front of me. “You came prepared.” Lawrence chuckles, low and satisfied. “And you took out three of my men. I’m a little impressed.”

He starts pulling out the things I brought and pauses when he reaches the black box. The clink of it opening echoes off the stone walls.

“Is this that serum I heard about? Hellebore?” He snarls. “You’re just like that crazy mother of yours. That fucking flower was everywhere. I knew she would’ve end up using it on me⁠—”

“So you killed her.” I finally speak, my vision sharpening as I lean back against the steel chair I am chained to. Heavy manacles bite into my wrists behind my back and around my ankles, the metal cold and unforgiving. This is the basement—no windows, just the damp smell of dew and musk hanging thick in the air. The floor is packed dirt and old wood. Rough stone walls close in. Two bare lamps cast harsh white light that makes the shadows deeper.

“Well, it was an accident, remember?” He winks. The clean, pressed suit he wears looks ridiculous down here, not a wrinkle on it, like he is still playing the part of the respectable man. He is trying to make me lose control, but he won’t, because she is not here. I can see the entire basement.

Where the hell is she?

“You were planning on using this on me?” He raises the vial, the dark liquid catching the light. My heart slams harder against my ribs.

I don’t answer.

He starts pacing in front of me while playing with the vial. My father stands six-five, still strong in build, but his once-blond hair is now streaked with gray and his eyes are a flat, dark brown. My black hair and green eyes come from my mother, and part of me knows he hates how much I look like her.

“Briar—” He says her name and my whole body tenses. I follow his every movement. My hands curl into fists against the heavy chains. “I get what you see in her—pretty girl. Innocent. I don’t like the black hair, though. She looked better with that lighter color.”

I stay silent. It makes him stop and face me directly.

“You would really die for her? A woman. One in a million.” He shakes his head, disapproval thick in his voice. “I don’t understand. You have money, power—you could have anything you’ve ever dreamed of—but you got stuck on that girl for ten years.”

He steps closer and grips my chin hard, forcing my head up. “And Hellebore mansion? When I bought it for you, I never imagined you would call it that. That you would build that fucking garden!” He releases my chin and slaps me, the force snapping my head to the side. Pain blooms across my cheek.

“You—you never understood what needed to be done, and now you come here to kill me over some pussy because you’re sick. Obsessed! You’re a psychopath!” He yells, spittle flying.

I smirk through the ache, tasting blood. “Takes one to know one.”

He starts to circle around the chair. “You think we’re the same? I do what needs to be done to survive, to keep our name where it matters. But you—” He stops behind me and grips my hair, forcing my head back hard. The chains bite deeper into my wrists as I meet his eyes. Pure hate and rage burn there, cold and ugly. “—you lose it all over nothing.”

“Over love?” I ask, already knowing he will lose it.

“Love?” He slams my head forward. I let it hang for a moment, pain throbbing through my skull and shoulder, before he continues pacing around me. “Love—you know nothing about what that is. Love is weakness. Love gets you nowhere. Power, money, connections.”

“I feel sorry for you.” I lift my head and lean back against the steel chair again, the heavy chains grinding. “That’s why you hated Mom and me. We loved each other. She loved the hellebores. You never felt love. Mom told me about your parents, how you were raised by shitty nannies and boarding schools. You hated that she was happy with so little while you had everything you wanted but were still miserable.”

His face contorts with rage. He laughs, but I hear the raw anger and pain beneath it. “I never cared about that. Your mother was a piece of shit who would’ve end up poisoning me to have it all⁠—”

“She didn’t care about any of it,” I say calmly. My voice doesn’t waver. I don’t take my eyes off him, watching the rage boil hotter in his dark gaze. “She wanted love, pure and simple. She was honest. She was happy. And you fucking hated that. Because you can’t be happy, so you destroy everyone else.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” He turns to one of the guards. “Hold him.”

I start to struggle, twisting my head, but the heavy chains keep me locked in place, the metal cold and unrelenting against my aching body. Lawrence steps closer, grips my chin hard enough to bruise, and forces my mouth open. I see the black liquid in the vial. He pours it all down my throat.

The liquid burns like fire.

The guard steps back. Lawrence smiles down at me. “Let’s see how you like to taste your own poison.”

My body starts to heat up. Fire spreads through my stomach like acid poured straight into my guts. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my temples. I lean my head down, trying to control my breathing.

Breathe in. One, two, three, four, five. Breathe out.

Repeat.

Again.