Page 102 of The Secrets of a Sin

Would she hate me?

But I couldn’t let those thoughts get to me. Even if I had barely known her, I knew she would be happy for her brother. Happy for us.

“If it's a girl, I want to name her Phoebe.” I pull back and meet his start, and his eyes immediately soften.

“Angel…”

“I want our child to know who their aunt was and just how important and loved she was. I want them to always have a piece of her with them, even if she’s not here.” Tears blur my vision as I manage to get the words out.

Arsen uses a lone finger to brush away my tears, and he smiles sadly. “Even without her name, they’d still know about Phoebe. I’d make sure of it.” He places a kiss down on my nose, and I drop my head back down and hold onto him tightly.

“We're gonna be parents, Arsen.” I say, still in complete shock, and he chuckles.

“We’re gonna be the best fucking parents ever.” He adds, and I melt because he is right.

St. Catherine’s may not have cured me, but they managed to give me something better. They gave me Arsen and a chance at a new life. But that was the only good that came from going there.

Everything else about that school can fuck right off because I’ve managed without the help of God.

Because God wasn't the savior in this story.

Arsen was.

BONUS EPILOGUE

Verity

What the fuck did I get myself into?

I went from being the alluring daughter of a famous female actress to a brainwashed member of a cult. Where the hell had I gone wrong? I can already see the newspaper headlines. Vivian Bells’ daughter, now a resident freak at Hawethorne’s Institute.

How humiliating. Even more so than my overdose that had been plastered all over TMZ before I even woke up from my coma.

I was stuck in the loony bin, the madhouse, the funny farm, and it was all my fault. I had suddenly grown a conscience after seeing Charlotte and her little boyfriend tied up to a chair and about to be murdered because of a faith I had blindly followed. I had been sucked into their glamor. Every order they bestowed on me, I willingly followed and always delivered. But it was as if something clicked that night. Like I was hit by a current of electricity, and my whole body went into shock. I had to get away from their insanity. I had to get help.

So, I called the only person that I knew could help.

I called him.

The minute he arrived, I knew I was going to be in for it. His lingering stare would be no more, and he’d now only see me as a maniac. A young and beyond damaged girl who would never live a life beyond the surroundings of a pale white room.

And here I am now, dressed in a god-awful grey outfit that did nothing for my curves, standing in my new prison. Here, I was treated like a headcase instead of a recovering drug addict. Hawthorne’s was the home to various kinds of freaks, ranging from delusional to murderous, and I, of course, was labeled as deadly. Apparently when you're minimally involved in a plan to exterminate all men, you’re considered the worst of the worst. But they didn’t realize that I thought the belief was ridiculous and far-fetched. I loved men. I was attracted to men. I never thought Sister Mary's scheme would go as far as it did. After Annalise and Priscilla murdered Phoebe Hale, I began to question everything. Unfortunately, the influence they had on me was strong enough for me to completely dismiss what they did and continue to bring their plan into motion.

But the only thing they succeeded in was getting themselves killed. Both Annalise and Sister Mary had been shot while Priscilla watched. She was alive, but I had no idea where she was sent to. Perhaps another institute away from here, but I already knew she was planning her revenge. Despite her and Annalise denying being in a relationship, I knew that they loved each other. They were both fucking crazy and had the same feelings towards men. They were made for one another.

And now that Annalise was dead, Priscilla wasn’t going to abide by any rules. She would cause a ruckus wherever she was, and sadly, I knew it wasn’t going to be the last I heard of her. She was most likely mapping a way to get out so she could get her hands on me and make me suffer, just as Annalise did. Fortunately, it was only my fear getting the best of me with ideas like that.

Priscilla was locked up, just as I was. Where I was already one year into a four-year sentence here, Priscilla got fifty for Phoebe’s murder. It would have been more if she had been over eighteen, but she had only been seventeen.

Then, suddenly, as I was sitting on my bed and staring at a crack in the wall, a knock rang out on my door. “Start packing up your shit, Bell.” Jerry, the security guard who worked here, demanded as the color dropped from my face.

What did he mean, pack my shit? Was I going somewhere else?

“What’s going on?” I asked, worried and he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“You’re getting out of here. Now hurry up, I ain’t got all day to wait.” Throwing some trash bags in my direction, he stalks away from my door, leaving me sitting there in bewilderment.

I’m getting out?

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