Page 4 of Claiming Pretty

Scopolamine.

My stomach twisted when I realized what I was reading.

“This…” My voice faltered. “This is a recipe.”

Those headings, those strange entries… were drug concoctions born from his experiments.

I shuddered, thinking of how much my mother must have endured at the hands of a madman.

“A recipe for the memory suppressors,” she finished, her tone brittle but steady. “The ones my therapist gave to me. And to Liath.”

Her words hit me like a blow, sharp and unforgiving.

I swallowed hard, the sharp tang of chemicals in the air suddenly unbearable.

“I began to suspect my father was involved in something… dark,” I admitted, my jaw tightening. “But this…”

This was more sickening than I could have ever imagined in my vilest nightmare.

Ava nodded, flipping the page.

“And this,” she said, her voice dropping. “This is how to distill oleander into a tasteless, odorless, but lethal tea.”

The air froze around me, her words striking a chord so deep it felt like a knife in my chest as I stared at the formula on the page.

“The tea that killed your mother,” Ava whispered, almost to herself.

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms as rage flared, hot and all-consuming.

If my father weren’t already rotting in the ground, I’d have gladly sent him there again.

Without thinking, I snatched another journal off the desk, needing to do something, anything to keep from shattering. The pages fell open to what looked like a diary filled with cryptic entries and symbols I didn’t understand.

Codewords, riddled with meaning that eluded me.

But a single word drew into frightening focus—Sochai.

Irish forSociety.

My fingers trembled as I flipped through the journal, each entry a fresh wave of frustration.

“Are you okay?” Ava’s voice was soft, her touch light as her fingers brushed my arm.

I froze, her concern cutting through the anger, but I couldn’t let it take hold. Couldn’t let it pull me from the edge I was balancing on.

I won’t be okay. Not until this is over. Not until Ava is mine.

“We have to go back to Darkmoor,” I said, meeting her eyes, the truth settling like a stone between us. “We have to end this.”

The words carried more than a plan; they carried a promise—a vow. No more running, no more hiding in the shadows.

This time, it would end, one way or another.

“But first…” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the vial I’d been carrying, holding it up between us. The liquid inside glinted faintly in the dim light. A promise and a threat.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“…time for your final session.”

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