Page 78 of Twisted Kings

Milo reversed out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Once I was sure he’d gone, I picked up the pill bottle. The label said nothing about pregnancy, but I knew he was correct - folic acid was important in early pregnancy.

The fact I’d done nothing to protect my may-not-even-exist fetus told me I was utterly unsuited to motherhood. But I cracked open the bottle and dry-swallowed a pill anyway. Just in case. Then I shoved the bottle right at the back of the vanity unit drawer, inside a box of tissues, where nobody would bother looking.

35

Cassian

Because my father was - and always had been - a cunt, not all of our household staff were loyal to him. Most of them stuck it out for the money. He might have been a raging asshole, but he paid well. Then there was the issue of iron-clad contracts, which prevented them from leaving until their allotted term was up.

The upside of treating his staff appallingly (for me at least) was that some of them were more than happy to feed me information on his movements, and also the general well-being of my mother.

Mom’s nurse, Miranda, was loyal to Dad. She made sure Mom took her medication and didn’t leave the house without permission.

I couldn’t remember the last time Mom took a shopping trip to London or met with friends. Most of them had long since drifted away, driven off by my father or too embarrassed to visit her because they’d fucked him at some party or other.

She had no-one except me on her side.

And I wasn’t there for her.

Abandoning her to an uncertain fate hadn’t been easy. Unlike when I left for college, I couldn’t visit her on a whim. If I returned home now, Dad would prevent me from leaving again. From what Leonie, the kitchen maid, had told me, Dad hit the roof when he returned home to find me gone.

Hardly a massive surprise to hear he’d trashed my room, but I was more concerned about Mom. If he figured out she had helped me, he’d make her life hell.

I picked up my phone and re-read the last message from Leonie.

Leonie: Your mom left this morning in a private ambulance. No clue where to.

That wasn’t good. I’d checked the press, but there was nothing. Either none of the red tops had picked up on the story, or, more likely, Dad had buried it.

I scrolled through the day’s headlines. Dad had been busy - there were several articles mentioning his appearance at a celebrity restaurant, and some puff piece written by a journalist he liked. Mostly because she was attractive and had a massive crush on him.

Nothing negative, however. The sex tape story seemed to have died down, too, thank god. There was still plenty of chatter online, mostly on X, but the red tops had moved on to new targets.

The fact Landon and I had disappeared from public view helped. With no oxygen, the fire had burned itself out.

I stretched my legs out and stared at the flames in the grate. Everyone was in bed. I should have been in bed too, but my mind refused to shut down. Thoughts of Mom, the future, and my father refused to go away.

At least I had an independent source of money unconnected to my father. It gave me some security, and would make it easierfor when we needed to leave this place. I’d begun looking for a property in the US, as Mom had a distant cousin living in Maine. Dad would find it harder to meddle in my life if I moved to the states.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs disturbed my churning thoughts. Had Kyril decided to come down for a nightcap?

I looked up. But instead of Kyril, Thea appeared in the doorway, her svelte figure framed by the faint glow from the kitchen.

“You’re still up,” she commented, sounding perturbed about it.

“I am,” I replied, putting my phone down. “And why are you awake at the Witching Hour?”

She shrugged. I watched as she pulled the edges of her long tee down and wondered if she was naked beneath the cotton before dragging my mind out of the gutter.

“I had a bad dream, so I thought I’d make a drink and then read for a bit. It’s noisy in my room tonight, with the wind.” Another Atlantic storm had hit the west coast a few hours ago. When I’d gone out to fetch some logs earlier, the wind had taken my breath away.

“Sit down by the fire. I’ll make you a drink. Hot chocolate?”

She murmured her thanks and stepped into the living room, brushing past me. Her familiar vanilla scent hit me like a shot of pure cocaine. Maybe I needed to head to bed after making her a drink. If I stayed, I’d have a hard job not touching her, which was not why she’d ventured downstairs.

When I returned from the kitchen, she had tucked her legs up and covered them with a fluffy blanket. The room was warm and cozy, the fire blazing away. I’d made sure there were enough logs stacked up to keep the fire going all night.

“Here. I added extra marshmallows.”

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