Page 161 of Fractured Devotion
She takes a shuddering breath. “This started with your father, Nathan. He worked closely with Felix Rourke before you were born. They were researching neural conditioning—experiments Nathan believed would revolutionize mental health treatments. But he discovered something darker beneath the surface. Something monstrous.”
My chest tightens painfully. “What did he find?”
“That Rourke and his associates were performing cruel experiments on people, breaking and reshaping minds to achieve perfect behavioral control. Nathan confronted Rourke and threatened to expose him if they didn’t shut it down. Shortly after, he died in a car accident.”
“They killed him?”
“We suspected,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But there was no proof. Nathan had warned your mother about some of it, but he never had time to reveal everything.”
My heart sinks, realizing my life has always been shadowed by unseen hands. “And Langdon? My stepfather?”
“Langdon was their plant,” Irene admits bitterly. “He came into your mother’s life at her most vulnerable. He befriended her, comforted her, and eventually married her. But it was always about control—finding out what your mother knew and locating Nathan’s hidden research.
When your mother discovered Langdon’s true intentions and refused to hand over Nathan’s work, they killed her, staging it to look like an overdose-induced suicide, but the blood on the floor hinted at a violent struggle, something the authorities chose to overlook. Langdon disappeared soon after. Maybe they silenced him too. I honestly don’t know.”
I stare at Irene, betrayal hot in my veins. “You knew this all along and didn’t say a thing?”
Her eyes shimmer with tears. “I only discovered the full truth after your mother died. She had hidden a box carefully concealed beneath the floorboards in her bedroom. It took me months to discover it as it was buried beneath years of dust and sorrow.
When I finally opened it, I realized she’d intended it as a last message, a desperate attempt to leave behind clues to the horrors she had endured. I kept it safe, hoping someday you’d remember and come looking. But you never did, Celeste. You stubbornly refused to believe me, even back then, because they programmed you that way.”
“Until I joined Miramont,” I whisper bitterly.
She nods sadly. “Exactly.”
Irene rises stiffly, moving to a worn cabinet in the corner. She returns carrying a dusty box and places it gently between us. “Everything your mother preserved is here. I hoped that one day it would be enough to convince you.”
My breath catches as I open the lid, memories spilling out like a flood. Photos, handwritten letters, and my father’s faded notebook filled with frantic scribbles and equations. There’s aphotograph of my parents smiling, unaware of the darkness closing in.
“They loved you fiercely,” Irene whispers, breaking the heavy silence. “Your mother endured everything, hoping to protect you from the monsters she couldn’t fight alone.”
I touch an aged locket, silver tarnished from neglect. Inside are faded photographs of my parents, frozen in happier times. “How can I reclaim what’s been stolen from me?”
“I don’t know if justice is possible,” she says bitterly. “They’ve covered their tracks thoroughly.”
“Then what’s left?” I ask, my voice cracking, desperation bleeding through.
She meets my gaze, resolve firming in her expression. “Expose the truth, even without justice. They rely on secrecy, so shatter that, and they lose everything.”
My fingers tighten around the locket. “No more hiding.”
“Then it’s time,” Irene whispers softly. “Burn every lie to the ground and make them pay in any way you can.”
I close the box, determination sparking inside me. My life may have been built on manipulation, but I won’t be their victim anymore.
I’ll become their reckoning.
I glance at the clock on Irene’s wall, suddenly aware of how late it is. It’s nearly two in the morning. The night has stripped away every illusion I once clung to, leaving me raw and aching. Yet despite the exhaustion, my mind feels clearer than it has in years.
Irene walks me to the door, her expression softer and tinged with sorrow and cautious hope. “Be careful, Celeste. They’re always watching, even when you think you’re alone.”
I nod solemnly, stepping out into the chill of the night. The rain has stopped, leaving the air thick with the scent of damp earth. The drive back to my apartment feels surreal, the worldaround me muted and distant, as though I’m observing my life from outside my own body.
Inside my apartment, silence greets me with an eerie stillness. My phone buzzes softly. It’s a message from Alec, checking in, concerned. I don’t reply immediately as words feel inadequate now. Instead, I move to my desk and carefully set down the box Irene entrusted me with. I sit, my heart pounding, and open it again, spreading its contents carefully across the desk’s surface.
The photographs seem to come alive beneath my fingertips, their smiles frozen in time, unaware of the tragedy awaiting them. My father’s notebook is filled with hurried notes and sketches of neural pathways—evidence of his brilliance and the perilous secrets he’d discovered.
I find a sealed envelope tucked beneath the notebook, marked simply: “For Celeste.” My fingers shake as I tear it open, recognizing my mother’s handwriting instantly. The words on the page blur through my tears, a final message written in desperation and love:
