Page 140 of Ruthless God

Blanc says, “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”

Beatrice exhales slowly, moving past me like I’m a piece of furniture. Her perfume—vanilla and tangy fruit—floods my senses, taking me back to a time when that scent would terrify me. Should I be scared now?

And then, just like Blanc, she lowers herself into a chair, like she has all the time in the world.

“We should talk.”

Blanc lifts a brow, like he was waiting for this. “About?”

Her gaze flickers to me. And finally, she acknowledges me.

“About our daughter and what she’s done.”

29

Cecely

My chest tightens. WhatI’vedone?

Blanc leans back, smirking like this is entertainment for him.

“Oh?” His fingers tap against his glass. “This should be good.”

I force my shoulders straight, my expression blank. Because if I’ve learned anything from Beatrice Blight, it’s that showing emotion is the quickest way to lose.

Her gaze sweeps over me, assessing, weighing. Like I’m something that needs correcting.

“Tell me, Cecely.” Her tone is light. Too light. “Is it true?”

I narrow my eyes. “Is what true?”

Beatrice tsks. “Oh, don’t be coy, darling. You were never very good at it.”

Blanc watches, amused as hell.

“You’ve been busy,” Beatrice continues, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Flaunting about town. Associating with people you shouldn’t at that club in Dallas.”

“What are you talking about?”

She eyes me. “You know, for someone who claimed they never wanted to be like me, you sure took a page right out of my book.”

The meaning beneath her words is clear.

Sheknows.

She knows I’m pregnant. But how?

I lift my chin. “And?”

A small, sharp smile. “And now you’ve made yourself a target.”

Blanc hums, swirling his drink. “She’s not wrong, Cecely.”

I ignore him. My attention is locked on the woman who gave birth to me but never wanted me.

“You don’t get to waltz in here and act like you suddenly care about what happens to me.”

Beatrice tilts her head. “Don’t I?”

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