Page 120 of Ruthless God

Claudius doesn’t correct me. Instead, his gaze holds mine, unreadable, like he’s gauging my reaction.

I don’t want to ask. But I need to know.

“Do they know about me?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That, I don’t know.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. Of course. A secret, buried. A shadow daughter, hidden behind the real family. A dirty little mistake. I force the thought away, but it lingers, sour in my chest.

Claudius watches me too carefully.

I ask, “What are your thoughts about it?”

His expression doesn’t change. “That he should tell them. Just as he and your mother should have told you.”

I let out a slow, unsteady breath, gripping my spoon tighter.

“And what do you think I should do?”

Claudius leans back against the counter, watching me too carefully. Like he already knows the answer, but he’s waiting to see if I’ll say it first.

“It’s your choice.” His voice is even.

“That’s not what I asked.”

His lips twitch, like he almost smirks, but stops himself.

“No, it’s not.” He takes his time answering, as if choosing his words precisely. “You don’t owe them anything, Cecely.”

His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. Like he understands the weight of what he’s saying. Like he knows what it’s like to be the one left behind.

“But that doesn’t mean you should let them shape the narrative without you.”

My pulse ticks up.

“What does that mean?”

Claudius sets his bowl down, crossing his arms, his gaze unreadable.

“It means that whether or not you face them, they’re going to talk about you. They’re going to form opinions, assumptions. Maybe they already have.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

“And you think I should confront them before that happens?”

He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t confirm it outright. But the look he gives me says everything. He thinks I should. Maybe he knows I have to.

I let out a slow breath, staring at the cereal in front of me, but suddenly, I don’t feel hungry anymore.

Because he’s right. Even if I choose to ignore them, they won’t ignore me. Not when we’re all living in the same house. And if I don’t control the story, the truth, my place in it… Someone else will.

“There’s one more thing,” he says. “Your father wants your mother brought here, too.”

“Of course he does.”

Of course he would. He’s gone and made a mess of everything, and now he expects everyone to play nice and act like a family. Like he didn’t leave me in the dust for all these years. Like he didn’t abandon me. Like he can suddenly decide he wants me and my mother.

It makes my blood boil.

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