Chapter 3 - Echoes in the Study
Dad walked over to the large media console beneath the mantlepiece and slotted the USB drive into the port. The room fell into an uneasy, suffocating quiet as the central speakers hummed to life.
A high-pitched static echoed through the living room, followed by the clear, sharp sound of an audio recording.
"Is the documentation finalized?" Delilah’s voice rang out through the room. It wasn't the sweet, soft voice she used when talking to Mom. It was cold, sharp, and calculating.
"Yes, Miss Charles," a male voice replied over the speaker. "The diagnosis for severe neuro-vascular trauma brought on by physical impact has been uploaded to our secure portal. It will cost an extra twenty thousand to clear the state registry if anyone audits it."
"Just charge the trust account," Delilah’s recorded voice replied without a second's hesitation. "Make sure the wording specifically mentions physical displacement—like being thrown. I need my parents to believe she tried to kill me."
"And the girl? The biological one?"
"She doesn't speak," Delilah snickered on the recording. "She’s too terrified of her own voice to defend herself. She’ll just stand there like an idiot while they kick her out."
The recording clicked off.
Silence slammed back down on the room, heavy and suffocating.
Mom buried her face in her hands, a jagged sob tearing from her throat. Beckett stood completely frozen, his eyes wide, looking at Delilah as if he were looking at a complete stranger. The jade pendant he had taken from my neck was still sitting on the side table near Delilah's blanket, its smooth green stone catching the light of the chandelier.
"Mom... Dad..." Delilah stammered, backing away toward the grand staircase. Her face was ghastly white now. The confidence was entirely stripped away, leaving behind the desperate villain beneath. "I... I did it for us! She was going to ruin everything! You were forgetting about me! Ever since she came back from that home, you didn't look at me the same way!"
"We gave you our name," Dad said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. He walked slowly toward her, his posture rigid. "We gave you a home, a future, our complete trust. And you framed our daughter. You let her stand outside in a freezing storm while you laughed inside."
"She’s broken!" Delilah screamed, pointing a trembling, manic finger at me. "Look at her! She won't even talk to you! She’s keeping secrets! You don't know what she is!"
She turned and fled up the stairs, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing up to the second floor before a door slammed shut in the distance.
Relatives began whispering loudly, gathering their coats, uncomfortable with the immense private tragedy unfolding before them. Within ten minutes, the grand living room emptied out, leaving only my family, Agnes, and me.
Beckett slowly walked over to the side table. He picked up the jade pendant. His hands were shaking so violently he almost dropped it. He walked toward me, his head lowered, unable to meet my eyes.
He held the pendant out to me. "Rory... I... I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I should have trusted you."
I looked at the jade pendant. Then I looked at my brother.
I didn't take it back.
Instead, I pulled out my phone, typed a single message, and held it up for him to read.
Trust isn't something you put back on like a necklace.
I walked past him, my shoes making no sound against the thick Persian rugs, and headed up the stairs to my room.
May you like
I locked the door behind me, sat down on the edge of the bed, and finally let out a long, shuddering breath. The fire in my throat was still smoldering. Delilah was right about one thing: they didn't know what I was. They didn't know the dark, volatile power locked behind my closed lips.
And as I heard the rain begin to lash against my bedroom window once more, I realized that the war in the Charles house was far from over.
