Page 36 of Sinful Embers

“My perfect trio.”

“Together, we will own this world.”

“Fucking insane.”

Jesus. The things they did to people. The things they did together.

I gag, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat. I force myself to keep reading, skimming past the more grotesque details. She never saw people as humans, only as opportunities—tools or toys.

And me?

I was just another tool in her arsenal.

She even wrote about me. Not as her daughter. Not as someone to love or protect. But as an object. A means to an end. Apparently, my tears, rosy cheeks from the slaps she doled out, and split lips were aphrodisiacs to her. It’s no wonder I never cried. I was scared she was going to collect my tears and drink them.

I flip the page and pause, my breath catching.

“That little parasite that nearly ruined my body as she leeched off me for nine months owes me. When she’s older she’ll be of use to me. We’ve just got to ensure that her fucking father dies, and that SS wipes out the entire family including that bitch trying to steal IN from me. Once they are gone and the false heir takes over as the parasite’s father, I can get him to ensure I’m the executor of the will—then I can get rid of him. Granted he is the apex monster and the best fuck in the world.The things he does. But he too is competition for In and people like him are hard to control.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Did I just read Vivienne planning to kill my family?

I slam the journal shut, chest heaving.

My fingers dig into my temples. The pressure isn’t enough. Nothing could be enough to push away the sickness crawling under my skin.

Maybe I’m lucky my memories are Swiss cheese.

Because if I had to remember this woman—really remember her—no therapy in the world would fix me.

I stare blankly at the candle silver table. I’ve been at this for hours, sitting in this dungeon, pouring over her words. I must have skimmed half the pages, but the worst part? My mind is desperately trying to piece together the things I don’t remember.

I reach for Journal Two.

My fingers hesitate over the cracked leather cover before I force myself to pick it up. The first entry dates back to the year we moved to Vegas—the March before I turned four.

I begin to read.

“I’ve finally gained the interest of my target, and oh my God, is he a monster. More than I could ever have hoped for. And his body is magnificent—Jesus, I’ve never had such a perfect cock—Oh yes, I think one day RN will be my next husband. Together, we’ll create a legendary empire, and that little parasite bitch will finally be of some use. My little HS is the NY to everything I’m about to get and everything that will ensure I keep it. I will never have to bow down to anyone ever again. I will be the apex monster.”

My body goes cold.

RN.

RN. RN. RN.

Who the fuck was RN?

I flip through the journal with shaking hands, searching for another clue. A confirmation. And then I find it.

“What a fuck! Tonight I got pleasured by two brutes after they let me help them interrogate a traitor. Oh my God. Tonight, I found mine and RN’s third—RV. And if he wasn’t married, he’d be my next husband. Maybe he still could be if I could get rid of the bitch he’s married to.”

RN. RV.

My breath comes in shallow gasps as I grab a notepad and scribble the letters down.

Gunther Mirochin – RN – That’s it. Vivienne uses the last letter of each name to abbreviate.

Vladimir Molchanov – RV.

---