Page 139 of Ruthless God

I swallow hard. “Why would Gabriel come for my mother?”

Blanc leans back, eyes dark. “Because he knows she’s the thing I love most in this world.”

I exhale, shaking my head. “Thing. Not person. Thing.”

I let the words hang there, let him feel the weight of them. Because that’s what she is to him, isn’t she? Not a woman. Not a mother. Not even a lover.

Just a thing to possess.

“You are so fucked up that you can’t even see it, can you?”

His eyes flash. “Cecely, do not speak to?—”

“I’ll speak to you however I want.” The words snap like a whip, sharp and absolute. “You’re not my father, Blanc. You never will be.”

I see it. The way his jaw tics. The way his breathing changes. He doesn’t like that. Good. Because I don’t owe him respect. I don’t owe him anything.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.

“I feel sorry for my half-sisters who have to live with you.”

His nostrils flare, but I don’t stop.

“I even feel bad for your wife.” My lips curl in something sharp, cutting. “It must be terrible trying to live up to whatever pedestal you’ve put my mother on.”

The words land like a blow. Blanc’s face darkens. For the first time, I see true anger flash behind his eyes. But I don’t care. Because I’m done. Done playing his game. Done letting him act like he’s some kind of victim.

If Gabriel is coming for him, maybe it’s because he deserves it.

The anger in his eyes sharpens, but he doesn’t explode. Instead, he goes cold. Like a man who’s done with the theatrics, done with pretending to be something he’s not.

Blanc leans forward, placing his glass down so softly, so deliberately, that it makes my skin crawl more than if he had shattered it.

“You think you know me, Cecely?”

I don’t answer. Because something in me knows this is the moment I need to be careful.

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a chess piece he’s deciding whether to sacrifice.

“You don’t. But let me tell you something.” A long, unbearable pause. “I have no problem ruining you, daughter or not. In fact, the only reason I’ve tolerated you this long is because of your mother. Really, you should thank her when she arrives.”

Ice slides down my spine. I don’t blink, don’t flinch. But I feel the shift in the air. The understanding that I just made an enemy out of a very dangerous man.

Blanc leans back, taking another slow sip of his drink like he didn’t just threaten me. Like I’m not worth the effort of being angry.

“Go on, then,” he murmurs, waving me away like a nuisance. “Run back to Irons. Tell him all about how cruel I am.”

His eyes gleam, amused, as if he already knows Claudius won’t do a damn thing about it. Blanc’s eyes stay locked on mine, that smug, icy calm settling over him like armor.

But then someone calls out, “Charles.”

Sharp and familiar. My spine goes rigid. Blanc’s lips press together, his entire demeanor shifting. Not with surprise, but with… happiness?

I turn just as Beatrice Blight steps into the room. My mother. She looks exactly as I remember. Perfectly put together until youlook closer. Her clothes are wrinkled. Thick make-up hides the lines on her face. And her eyes? Cold as always.

Her gaze flicks to me for half a second. Then, her focus returns to Blanc.

“I see the two of you met.”

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