Chapter 167

Ciel

"Where is he?" I ask quietly.

Jack looks at me, then at Nolan. He motions for me to come inside.

I find him in the sitting room.

Sipping tea. Acting all entitled and cozy. Like he belongs here. Like he has every right to be in my home, in my space, in my life.

It takes everything in me not to scream at him to get the fuck out.

"Ciel." He sets down his cup. Smiles.

That smile I remember from childhood—the one that meant I was being assessed, measured, found wanting or valuable depending on his mood.

"Give us some privacy," I say.

Jack and Nolan hesitate. I can feel them behind me—Nolan’s warmth, Jack’s tension. Neither wants to leave.

"Go," I say. "I’ll be fine."

Jack’s hand brushes my lower back. A promise. I’m right outside. Then they’re gone. The door clicks shut.

The Baron places his teacup down. The porcelain clinks against the saucer.

"Ciel—"

"What are you doing here?" I cut him off.

His face cracks. Just a fraction. Just enough for me to see.

"Is there a reason a father cannot see his own son?" he says.

"You stopped being my father the day you sold me at that auction."

The words come out steady. Calm. I’ve been holding them for years, and now they’re finally free.

He doesn’t flinch.

Of course he doesn’t flinch.

"You always knew what I was preparing you for," he says, not remorseful at all.

"You were always meant to be a nobleman’s consort. I invested in your education, your etiquette, your presentation—"

"You pulled me out of school."

"School was unnecessary. You were never going to have a career."

"You sold me."

"I positioned you." His voice sharpens. "There’s a difference."

I stare at him.

"But had I known you would catch the eye of nobility of this caliber," he continues, looking around the room with barely concealed greed,

"I would have prepared you better."

Talking about me like I’m a product.

He looks around the room, his eyes assessing. The furniture. The art. The ceilings.

"This certainly is the royal family," he says, taking note of the decor.

I want to scream.

"You don’t get to do this," I say. "You don’t get to walk in here, act like you’re proud of me, act like you had anything to do with—"

"I had everything to do with it." He stands.

"Your beauty? Your manners? Your ability to navigate rooms filled with people who would eat you alive? That was me. Those lessons you hated? The tutors you complained about? The etiquette you thought was pointless?"

He walks toward me. Stops just close enough to make my skin crawl.

"You are where you are because of me."

"No." My voice is quiet. "I am where I am despite you."

His eyes narrow.

A look that once used to scare me. But not anymore.

He stands and comes face to face with me. I don’t back down. I look him dead straight in the eye.

"Despite me?" he says mockingly.

I glare at him.

"What are you going to do?" He tilts his head, that cold smile playing on his lips.

"You cannot deny blood ties. What are you going to do? Cut me off? And be a commoner?" He steps closer.

"You think a commoner would be legally accepted as the partner of a prince—illegitimate or not?"

I clench my fists.

"Illegitimate." He tastes the word. "I suppose you two have something in common."

"Don’t you dare talk about him like that."

"Like it or not, the only reason you have minor opposition is because you are nobility. You come from my blood. Had you been a commoner, you would have been nothing more than a glorified mistress."

He reaches out. I flinch before I can stop myself.

He removes my head scarf.

His eyes drop to my neck. To the collar. To the skin beneath.

He walks behind me. I feel him there—too close, too familiar, too much.

He looks at the back of my neck.

"You cannot be serious." His voice is cold.

"Ciel. You gave him a child. You live in his palace. You share his bed." A pause.

"But you are not marked?"

The word hangs in the air like an accusation.

"He hasn’t claimed you."

"I’m not a thing to be claimed."

"You are an omega." He steps back in front of me. His eyes are hard.

"You are nothing without an alpha’s mark. Nothing. Do you not understand? Have you forgotten everything you were taught? There’s nothing more fickle than an alpha’s affections."

"Stop!" I yell at him.

I stop myself from going to that dark place I used to go to when he began his talks about my place, about how I should survive, how I should endure.

"I’m not a thing to be claimed."

"You are an omega." He steps back in front of me. His eyes are hard.

"You are nothing without an alpha’s mark. Nothing. Do you understand?"

"I’ve lived well enough without one."

He scoffs.

"You think I’m unaware of what happened to you?" His voice drops, quiet now, cruel.

"None of that would have happened if you had put your looks to use and secured a mark sooner."

I raise my hand.

I slap him.

The sound cracks through the room like a whip.

His head snaps to the side. His cheek reddens. He doesn’t move.

I’m crying. Angry tears. Hot and bitter and years overdue.

"You don’t get to say that to me," I say, my voice shaking.

"You don’t get to blame me for what they did. You sold me. You sold me, and then you tell me it’s my fault I wasn’t claimed?"

He turns back to face me. His expression is unreadable.

"Get out." I point at the door. "Get out of my home. Get out of my sight. Get out of my life."

He doesn’t move.

I pick up his teacup and throw it against the wall.

It shatters. Porcelain scatters across the floor.

"Out!"