“Ma’am,” the guard said softly, “he’s alive. Just fainted. Mr. Carrington set up safety cushions under the crane beforehand. He landed on them.”
My legs gave out. I crumpled to the ground, choking on sobs so violent I couldn’t see anything.
Darian walked toward me with the calm confidence of someone who believed he’d done nothing wrong.
“This is what happens when you go against me,” he murmured, almost bored. “Let’s not repeat this, sweetheart.”
Then he walked away as if I were nothing.
Rain started to pour—heavy, cold, merciless.
And I just stayed there. With my unconscious brother in my arms.
Soaked. Frozen. Hollow.
I reached inside the hidden seam of my bag and pulled out the old burner phone he didn’t know existed.
I dialed a number I’d memorized years ago.
“It’s me,” I said, my voice nothing but ice. “I’m leaving everything behind. I need a full wipe. One month. Make me disappear.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
---
After Darian abandoned me on that cursed construction site, I carried Enzo on my back through the storm. No car. No escort. No umbrella. Only rain slamming down on us like punishment.
His skin was burning with fever. I wasn’t much better. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
I held him the entire walk home—barefoot, stumbling across gravel, mud clinging to my legs—until the Carrington estate finally came into view.
I collapsed right in front of the gate.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed shivering uncontrollably, IV tubes snaking from my arms.
They said I’d been unconscious for three days. My fever had been too high. My body almost shut down.
Enzo was in a room next to mine.
Weak. Terrified. Alive.
Darian didn’t visit me. Not even once.
He was too busy playing house with Vivienne.
On the fourth day, they discharged us.
When we returned to the mansion, Vivienne was curled up on Darian’s lap like she owned the place. She didn’t even pretend to look surprised.
Darian didn’t look away from her—just continued stroking her hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Vivienne hates storms,” he said. “She’ll be taking the master bedroom until she’s feeling better. You’ll stay in the guest room.”
I didn't shout. Didn’t break anything. Didn’t beg.
I simply stood there.
“Alright,” I replied. My voice was flat. Empty. “Whatever you prefer.”
He didn’t know what I endured during those missing days—my body burning, my tears soaking the hospital pillow, the nightmares replaying Enzo’s scream.
Whatever love I had for him didn’t fade.
It died.
And I didn’t want it resurrected.
---
Later that night, while unpacking in the guest room, he appeared at the doorway like he had every right.
“Oh, Lyra,” he said casually, “Vivienne has a therapy pet. You’ll be taking care of it.”
I froze. “What are you talking about?”
The front door opened again, and a man in a raincoat carried in a large plastic crate with air holes.
Inside was a massive python, coiled tightly, its tongue flicking at the light.
I stumbled backward, slamming into the cabinet hard enough that pain shot through my shoulder.
Darian knew about my fear.
He knew how snakes hunted my nightmares.
After my father died, Mom, Enzo, and I lived in a tiny shack behind a scrap yard. One night, a python slithered in through the floorboards. It wrapped around my ankle before I could scream.
I still have the scar. Still remember the cold scales, the way it hissed in the dark.
But Darian just shrugged.
“I know you’re terrified,” he said lazily, “but her therapist says this helps her anxiety. That snake is her medicine. So do your part. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
There was a threat buried beneath each syllable—silent, sharp, unmistakable.
I swallowed every ounce of pride I had left.
“O‑okay,” I whispered. “I’ll handle it.”
Vivienne smiled like she was crowning herself queen.
“Thank you, Lyra. Oh—and isn’t he cute? His name’s Armie. Same as you.”
My vision blurred for a second, but I kept a polite smile.
“So sweet.”
From then on, I fed it, cleaned the enclosure, did everything required—while staying as far from it as possible. Using tongs. Thick gloves. Long sleeves.
Every time I approached, the snake lifted its head and hissed.
One night, it struck at the glass so hard I nearly dropped the entire tank.
I didn’t sleep until morning.
---
A week later, I returned from the market with Enzo quietly sipping from a juice box beside me.
The moment I entered the house, I heard frantic crying.
I rushed into the living room.
Vivienne was on the floor, shaking, gasping.
The snake’s tank was overturned, shards everywhere.
Darian was pacing like a man possessed.
“Where the hell is the doctor?!”
Vivienne looked up, tears smeared across her cheeks.
Then her arm extended—pointing at Enzo.
“Him,” she whispered shakily. “He did it. He killed Armie.”
I blinked. Shocked. “What are you talking about?”
Darian turned toward me, voice low and dangerous.
“What did she just say?”
Vivienne held a broken ceramic dish from the tank, her hands trembling theatrically.
“I saw him,” she cried. “He reached inside when I stepped out… he smashed things… I tried to stop him, but it was too late.”
“That’s not true!” I shouted, stepping in front of them. “Enzo wouldn’t hurt anyone. He steps over insects. He cries when someone raises their voice. He wouldn’t kill anything. You’re lying.”
Vivienne stared at me like she was condemning me in court.
“He has episodes, doesn’t he? You told me yourself. He didn’t understand. He just… broke.”
She clung to Darian’s arm, sobbing harder.
“That snake was the only thing keeping me steady, Darian. And she let him destroy it.”
He looked at me—not angry.
Just disappointed, which somehow felt worse.
“Your brother destroyed her therapy animal.”
“No, Darian, he didn’t! How can a child—”
“You’ve crossed a line again, darling.”
He nodded toward his guards.
“Discipline the boy.”
Enzo’s face went white. He backed against the wall, trembling.
“I didn’t… I didn’t… I didn’t touch it…”
I jumped in front of him.
“NO!” I screamed. “Hit me instead! Please! Don’t touch him—he can’t understand what’s happening!”
“Move,” one guard ordered.
I spread my arms, shielding Enzo with my body.
“Whip me,” I begged. “I’m the one you hate. I’m the one who ruined everything. Punish me instead.”
Darian didn’t answer.
The whip sang through the air.
The first strike tore into my back like a knife.
I screamed but clung to Enzo.
He was shaking violently, crying into my shoulder.
The second lash ripped skin. I felt warmth—blood.
By the fifth, my legs trembled under me. The room swam.
By the seventh, I collapsed over Enzo, using my body as a shield, whispering, “It’s okay… you’re okay… don’t be scared…”
They kept going.
Until I could no longer lift my arms.
Until my screams faded into shallow gasps.
Until the world dimmed around me.
Until all I heard was Enzo’s desperate sobbing in my hair—
And then everything went dark.
