Page 10 of Turmoil's Target

After all the work I’ve put in, the risks I’ve taken, how can she keep me in the dark? “I’m the one pulling most of the weight here, Mother. I deserve to know.”

She arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “You forget yourself, Seraphina. I am still the head of this family. What I choose to share is at my discretion.”

I clench my jaw, biting back the retort that dances on the tip of my tongue.

As much as it galls me, I know arguing will get me nowhere.

Mother’s iron will is legendary.

“Fine,” I say, the word clipped and sharp. “Keep your secrets. But don’t forget that we’re in this together. Our success depends on trust and transparency.”

Mother’s expression softens, a conciliatory smile gracing her lips. “Of course, my love. We are a team, you and I. Never doubt that.” She reaches across the table, patting my hand. “When the time is right, all will be revealed. Until then, have faith in your mother’s judgment.”

I force a tight smile, swallowing the bitterness that threatens to choke me.

Faith.

Trust.

Easy words to speak, harder to embody. But what choice do I have?

Internally, frustration simmers beneath my skin, a restless itch I can’t scratch.

Being kept in the dark, even by my own mother, is a bitter pill to swallow.

I know I have to bide my time, play the dutiful daughter.

At least I do for now.

“Okay,” I say, the word heavy on my tongue. “I trust you, Mother. Just don’t forget that we’re partners in this. Equal partners.”

She inclines her head, a regal nod of acknowledgment. “Of course, darling. Never doubt your importance in all of this.”

I drain the last of my wine, the rich liquid doing little to soothe the unease in my gut.

Secrets and lies, even in the name of vengeance, leave a sour taste in my mouth.

But I will endure.

For the sake of our mission, for the memory of my father, I will play my part.

Even if it means swallowing my pride and following my mother’s lead.

I rise from the plush armchair, smoothing the wrinkles from my fitted black dress. “I should get going,” I announce, my voice carefully neutral. “Lots to do, people to see.”

Mother leans back, her calculating gaze assessing me. “Of course, darling. Keep me updated on your progress.”

I nod curtly, the click of my heels echoing through the opulent suite as I make my way to the door.

The weight of her expectations, the burden of our shared vendetta, presses down on my shoulders.

But I will not falter.

I am Seraphina Bernard, daughter of Lunatic, and I will see this through to the bitter end.

As I step into the hallway, the door closing with a soft snick behind me, I allow myself a moment to breathe.

The anger, the frustration, the resentment—it all bubbles just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

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