Page 68 of Taboo
After all she’s fucking done to wreck it.
My fingers tighten on the teacup, the porcelain fragile in my grip. My heart is like a furnace, burning with hatred. The heat surging through my veins feels like it is setting my skin ablaze.
I stare at her, my eyes narrowing, every muscle in my body taut with fury. She looks so innocent, so righteous, and it makes my blood boil. Should I keep pretending? I wonder. Should I keep playing the sweet, stupid but concerned wife, the doting mother, and brush this off like a misunderstanding? Or shouldI take my satisfaction now and reveal my true hand? Show her how powerful I really am.
The thought churns, sweet and tempting, but no. I will play dumb a little longer.
My mind races, weighing the mask I’ve worn for weeks against the rage clawing at my chest. I could deny it, smooth this over, keep her in the dark, but the effort feels like swallowing glass, sharp and tearing.
I force a brittle smile and lean back on the cushion of the wicker chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Amelia,” I say sweetly, my voice dripping with false calm. “Jason’s my son. You don’t need to concern yourself with him too much. Let it go. As for your painting, we’ll pay for it—replace the canvas, cover the cost of the paints, and your time, whatever you need. Does that resolve it all?” My voice is smooth like honey, but my words are designed to make her feel as small and insignificant as an insect. A little scurrying dung beetle, maybe.
I tilt my head, my eyes locked on hers, daring her to push further. I bring my cup up to my lips, intending to sip and dismiss her, to end this before it unravels me, but I note her stance—unyielding, her hands fisted at her sides. It tells me she won’t back down or budge from her high horse. Her eyes flash, her voice low and steady.
“I can’t let it go, Sara. I’m his aunt. This kind of behavior—making him lie, scaring him into it—it’s not okay. Max wouldn’t want Jason to be timid, afraid of his own mother.”
Her words strike deep, each one making me so mad that my hand trembles. She’s invoking Max, daring to speak for him. The audacity of it, the way she stands there like she owns this house, this family, makes my vision blur with rage. My temper flares, and it becomes a wildfire I can’t contain, and I’m done pretending, done wearing this mask for her.
I surge to my feet, the chair scraping against the tile, and fling the teacup at her. The porcelain curves through the air, tea spraying in a brown arc. Amelia ducks. Her reflexes are sharp. The cup shatters against the wall. The crash echoes in the conservatory’s glass enclosure. My hatred burns so hot it feels like it’ll consume me.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I snarl, stepping closer, my voice venomous, trembling with rage. “Running to Max, telling him all about his precious son and your pathetic painting, crying about how I’m the bad guy. Poisoning my husband against me. You fucking dirty whore. You’d really like that, wouldn’t you?”
Amelia’s face pales, her eyes wide with confusion, shock flickering across her features. She steps back, her hands trembling, her voice a shaky whisper. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you throw that cup at me?”
Her gaze darts to the shattered porcelain, then back to me, searching for answers, and the sight of her bewilderment gives me a twisted sense of satisfaction in my gut.
“Don’t play dumb,” I spit, my hands shaking as I pull my phone from my pocket, my fingers fumbling with the screen. “You think I didn’t see it? The way Max looks at you, like he wants to fuck you?” I tap the screen, pull up the video, and shove it toward her. The grainy footage shows Max and her in the pool, their bodies tangled, his hands gripping her, their moans faint but unmistakable.
“You recorded us?” she gasps, staring at the screen.
“Yes, I did,” I say triumphantly. I sure wiped that high mighty condescending look off her face.
She looks up from the screen. A stupid expression on her stupid face. “Why?”
“Because I knew what the mice would get up to when the cat’s away.”
She shakes her head. “But…”
“I first saw it at your father’s funeral,” I say, my voice low and deadly. “The hunger in his eyes. I couldn't understand it. It could be true, it was sick, but then, I had a hunch, and I followed my instinct. So I made you irresistible—invited you here, dolled you up, let you play the perfect aunt, then I left you alone with him. I planned it all, Amelia, just so you could expose yourself and literally screw him. And now I have the evidence I need to ruin him. To get all I want from him. I could have left a long time ago. I’ve never met a man as cold as him, and I felt doomed. But with the prenup I signed, I would have gotten almost nothing. With this video though, thanks to you he’s fucked. So… Thank you very much, sweet Aunt Amelia. Thank you for screwing your beloved brother and getting me everything he owns."
I laugh out loud. Even to my ears, I sound quite fabulously evil.
"I never thought it was going to be this easy. Now, I don’t even need to hire a lawyer or fight him in court. This video, this evidence is all I need. If he doesn’t give me what I want, then this video will be released to the world. So everyone will know what a depraved pervert he is. His fancy friends, his business partners—they’ll love knowing he loves to fuck his sister. No judge will let him near Jason after that. Fucking his own sister, how disgusting. He will lose everything in a flash, and you… well. I guess you’ve got nothing to lose, have you, you pathetic, sick whore."
I watch with utmost satisfaction as Amelia’s face drains of color, her knees buckle, and she drops to the floor.
“Sara, you—” Her voice breaks, her eyes meet mine, wide with shock. Still, though, there is an unmistakable defiance that makes my blood boil.
“You’re a monster,” she whispers, her voice trembling but gaining strength. “I felt guilty about you, about this, but you—you planned this? You used me. You even used Jason?”
If she thought her words would sting me, she is dead wrong. I laugh, a cold, bitter sound.
“Guilty? Are you really trying to play the victim here when you’re the one sleeping with my husband, Amelia? Are you really trying to act like a saint?”
She rises from the floor, her eyes blazing, and her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes.
“You missed one thing, Sara,” she says quietly. “Yes, I did sleep with your husband, but he’s not my brother. He’s not even my half-brother. Max and I aren’t related. My father lied to him to keep him away from me when we were young. This is what he told me before he died. We’re not half-siblings. I didn’t tell Max because I didn’t want to destroy your family, and I definitely did not want to hurt Jason. But now, I can see that my caution was for absolutely nothing. You don’t care about Jason and you categorically don’t give a damn about Max. At best, what you have is an infidelity argument, which I believe, is taken care of by your prenup agreement."
My heart stops, disbelief ramming into me like a boulder.
