Page 4 of Revelation (Love Isn't What It Seems 3)

I didn’t know my blackmailer. The only thing I knew was that it was somehow connected to the accident. It started the year I turned eighteen. The payment to keep the secret. Not only my secret but also my grandparents’. No, they haven’t been kind to me, but I owed them at least this much. To protect them for saving me that night of the fatal car crash. Yes, they did it to protect the family's good name only. But it saved me.

Despite his cruelty, my grandfather paid off the doctor to get rid of the toxicology report that would have condemned me to a life behind bars. I owed him to keep the blackmailer off our back and to preserve the family name.

I refused the blackmailer only once; the first year. I got a copy of the toxicology report the next day. Damning evidence that would make the newspaper blow up and put me behind bars forever. I couldn’t even fathom how the blackmailer knew about those results or that my grandfather bribed the doctor. I was sure it was the doctor himself. But I was wrong. That man died in the Middle East, serving as a military surgeon.

At my wits end, the only thing left to do was to pay the money. Every damn year, I paid.

The worst part wasn’t that I had to pay. I felt I owed whoever it was because I caused this accident. I caused Brian and Mother’s death. The worst part was having to go to my grandparents every year and ask for money. They thought it was for me, that I was the greedy, spoiled bastard daughter their son didn’t want. They were right. My father didn’t want my mother nor me. I’d heard it all my life from Mom.

My grandparents labeled me a bastard child, since my father was married when he got my mother pregnant. I was four when I first heard them call me that. I never understood why they requested my presence and visitations if they detested me so much. But my mother obliged them. She’d tell me it was so we could ensure I’d get what I was entitled to - good schooling, social standing, the inheritance.

I scoffed in my head. They’d rather burn it all to the ground than leave it all to me. I didn’t give a crap. The only thing I had to ensure was that I could pay my blackmailer... for the rest of my life.

God, I hope it is a short life.Otherwise, I had no idea how I could afford it without my grandparents' money.

* * *

I sat stifflyin my grandmother’s parlor. To this day, I had no damn idea what the fuck this room was supposed to be. The whole room was painted blue, and all accented decorations were blue. There was so much blue, it was hurting my damn head. But I kept it all in. I knew better than to start talking, although on the inside I was fidgeting. You’d never know it though looking at me.

I sat upright, seemingly comfortable with my relaxed hands placed on my lap. In reality, I could snap at any moment like a rubber band. I swore my grandparents enjoyed making me miserable.

Instead of my grandmother’s form, I focused on the room and all things blue. Fuck, maybe one day I’d suggest she call this the damn Blue Room. There was a sewing machine in the right corner of the room. It was the best spot to capture lighting all day long since it had sunlight peering through the windows on the right and left side.

And guess what? The sewing machine was blue. For as long as I could remember, I never saw my grandmother sew a damn thing. I was fairly positive she didn’t even know how to turn it on. It was just decoration. Just like everything else in this castle.

On the bookshelf, there were rows of leather-bound books. I knew from the time I lived here that some of them were first editions of Shakespeare and Lord Byron. Not that either one of my grandparents cared to read them. My grandfather only read newspapers and my grandmother only read gossip papers.

Because it is so much better to learn people’s weaknesses,she used to tell me.

“What do you need money for?” My grandmother’s voice startled me. I forgot we were both sitting here, so consumed with my thoughts of everything blue.

“New clothes and shoes. Stuff like that.”

God, I hope I didn’t use that excuse last month. I needed at least a few months in between before I supposedly needed the entire wardrobe redone with my blackmailer’s money. I had a monthly allowance, and I worked. I put money away every single month for the blackmailer that sent me a note each year, but I never made enough. I’d always have to beg my grandparents for more money.

“Didn’t you buy a new wardrobe last month?”

Damn it!

“I think that was three months ago,” I murmured, meeting her eyes. I remembered the time when I couldn’t lie to her while we locked eyes. Now, I didn’t blink or think twice. Did it mean I was getting better or worse?

I hated this. I wanted to be normal, a nice girl. Instead, I felt dirty, like a person nobody wanted. When I was a little girl, I used to dream about a big family that would have gatherings, and we’d all hug and kiss each other, happy to see them, and they’d be happy to see us. Instead, it was just me and my mother. Most days, she was more drunk than sober. Nobody wanted me, that didn’t change when I grew up. But at the same time, they didn’t want to let me go.

“No, that was last month.”

My grandfather’s cold voice came from behind me. I felt my shoulders stiffen, but I was careful to keep my expression blank.

I turned my head to greet the man that hated my guts. My grandmother didn’t really care for me one way or the other. But my grandfather. He fucking hated me. Couldn’t stand me. Each look he gave me was full of loathing.

“Hello, Grandfather. I thought you were hunting.”

God, I wish you were hunting. Go fucking hunt, and I hope you kill nothing. Bloodthirsty old man.

He strolled over to the chair next to my grandmother and sat himself down. Despite being in his late seventies, the old man was still kicking it like he was in his fifties. He was strong, his bones didn’t bother him, his mind was still sharp, he didn’t need to take a break when strolling along the woods for hours. In summary, the old man was in better shape than I was.

His blue gaze, so much like mine and my father’s, from what I heard, pierced through me. Just his gaze sent chills straight to my heart. I swore, sometimes it felt like he could see everything. Like he knew everything. I didn’t want him to know anything about me; he was a danger I had to keep at bay. Because he was the type of man that wouldn’t mind exploiting every weakness he discovered.

And God knew I had many.

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