Page 28 of Blood Heir

Emilia glares daggers at me. “Shut up, Fioretta.”

I grin wider. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

The moment we slide into the back of the car, Emilia snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. The door hasn’t even shut properly when she whirls toward me, eyes glassy, voice trembling but loud.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she spits, her voice cracking under the pressure of whatever scraps of dignity she’s still clinging to.

I don’t even blink. My hand glides up in one smooth motion, and I tap gently on the tinted partition. The driver glances back through the mirror.

“Give us a moment, please,” I say, calm, almost cheerful.

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver replies softly. The door clicks open. He steps out, closing it behind him, leaving us cocooned in suffocating silence.

I turn slowly, like I’ve got all the time in the world, and meet Emilia’s wide, tear-glossed eyes. Her breath stutters in short, sharp gasps, hands clenched in her lap like she’s physically holding herself together.

I lean in, just enough for her to feel the shift in air between us. She tries to shrink back, pressing her back flat against the door, as if the leather might swallow her up.

“I don’t know who I was,” I say, voice low, precise. “Or what I used to put up with.” My gaze locks on hers, sharp as a blade. “But don’t you think for one second that who I am now will tolerate your nonsense.”

Her chest trembles. I watch her throat work as she swallows.

I lean in closer, my voice like a whisper curling around her ears. “The next time you play with me, I’ll auction off your internal organs. Do you understand?”

Her whole body jerks slightly like she’s flinching from an invisible slap. She doesn’t answer. Her jaw works, but no words come out.

My hand shoots forward—just a tiny movement—but enough that she gasps and recoils tighter into the corner of the seat. “Do you understand!” I snap, voice slicing through the tight air like a whip.

“I—I do!” she sobs, voice cracking into pieces, her shoulders shaking.

I inhale, long and steady, and sit back into my seat, smoothing my skirt with care. My smile stretches wide, cool and satisfied. “Good.”

With a light tap on the glass again, I call, “Driver.”

The door opens. The driver returns to his seat wordlessly, and the car pulls off. Outside, the city glides by, but inside, the tension simmers thick and hot.

I lean my head back, humming softly, fingers playing with the edge of my sunglasses. “Isn’t this a lovely day?” I ask with exaggerated cheer.

“Yes, ma’am. It is,” the driver answers politely.

Beside me, Emilia’s muffled sobs fill the air like background music.

Chapter 8 - Severin

Cassian sits across from me, tapping the edge of the ledger with two fingers, his tone steady. “The debt on Pier Twelve is long overdue. If they stall again tonight, I’ll send a message.”

I nod, rubbing my thumb along the iron signet ring on my finger. My attention sharpens—until the office door slams open.

Emilia barrels inside, a wreck. The first thing I see is her dress—a plain, shapeless black thing that hangs on her like a punishment. Barefoot. Her hair’s a tangled mess, flattened in some places, sticking out wildly in others. The polished, perfectly composed Emilia is gone. This version is raw and furious.

I sit up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

Cassian stiffens beside me, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the grin from breaking out.

Emilia doesn’t bother with composure. “Ask your crazy wife!” she shrieks, voice cracking under the strain. Tears stream down her cheeks as she gestures wildly at herself. “She did this! She humiliated me in front of everyone! Sold my things—my clothes—without my permission!”

I blink, processing. “Wait…what?”

Before she can say more, Cassian’s phone buzzes. He answers, lifting one finger in my direction as I watch Emilia crumble into full sobs, her chest heaving.

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