Page 56 of Blood Heir

“I—I panicked.” Her voice grows smaller. “They said they were going to give her pills—memory pills—to wipe her mind. Monte had them ready.”

I watch her closely. My breathing is calm, too calm, because if I let it rise, I will lose control.

She continues, her voice trembling. “I—I switched the bottles. I—I put vitamins instead.” Her lip quivers. “I saved her. I did.”

Tears fall again, and she gasps for air between each sentence, as though she’s suffocating under her own guilt.

“When it was done, I got her dressed. I found some thrift clothes at a small shop nearby. She was—half-naked. I couldn’t bring her back like that.”

I close my eyes briefly, jaw twitching as I try to contain the fury clawing its way up.

“The doctor says she’s fine. She—she’s fine,” Emilia whispers, like saying it aloud will lessen the weight of what she allowed to happen.

Silence stretches thick between us. She stands there, heaving, wiping her face, waiting for me to speak.

When I finally do, my voice is low, cold. “You will leave this house.”

Her head jerks up. “What?”

“You will pack your things. I will provide you with a residence. You will not stay under this roof again.”

Her lip trembles, and her knees buckle slightly. “No—Serevin—please. Please, I—I protected her. I saved her—”

I cut her off with a sharp glance. She freezes.

“You allowed her to be taken.” My voice never rises, but each word strikes like steel. “You stood by while they humiliated her.”

She takes a step closer, pleading. “I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” I growl.

She lets out a broken sob. “Please. I love you.”

The words fall from her lips, desperate and pathetic. I don't even blink.

“Leave, Emilia.”

Her body shakes. A fresh wave of tears streams down her face as she turns, stumbling toward the door, shoulders quivering. She pulls the door open, pausing briefly, as if hoping I’ll stop her.

I don’t.

She slips out, her sobs fading down the hallway.

The office falls silent, the only sound is my shallow, controlled breathing.

Cassian shifts near the door behind me. “Don…you were a bit too harsh.”

I don’t even turn to him. “Get out, Cassian.”

I sit alone in the heavy silence of my study. The air tastes bitter.

I rise from my chair, moving toward the wall behind my desk, where a narrow door blends into the paneling—unseen by most who enter here. My fingers brush against the hidden latch. The door creaks open.

The room beyond is dim, lit only by the flickering flame of a single candle I left burning from the night before. I step inside. This room is my sanctuary. Or my graveyard.

The air here always feels heavier—dense with memory. Paintings of her hang on every wall. Dozens of them. My mother. The woman no one but me remembers. She stares back at me from every canvas—soft brown eyes, pale skin, dark hair always pulled behind her ears the way she liked. She always said herhair got in the way while cleaning. She was beautiful even in simplicity.

At the far end of the room sits the small altar. A single glass box rests in the center. Her ashes. I stare at them, feeling the familiar sting creep into my chest.

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