by Mason, V. F.
Although I respect Harold and Ricardo the most among the personnel in this house since they’ve gone out of their way to show me how much they care about me, even they don’t get to dictate to me.
Nor do I return their sentiments, because life has taught me that everything changes in the blink of an eye, so their affection today might turn into hate tomorrow.
Why waste time on all these attachments?
After my father brought me home, they called a doctor who once again checked my injuries, prescribed new medication, and advised me to eat a high protein and fat diet.
For the first week, I slept the whole time only to wake up to eat and then fall back to sleep again, enjoying the wide-open balcony door that allowed the wind inside, giving me a sense of freedom.
In the following months, I regained my strength and took long walks outside under Harold’s strict supervision. He practically pushed all the vitamins in my mouth.
I still half expected someone to show up and say it was all a mistake or for them to kick me out due to my nightmares and moody behavior, but they never did.
Dad summoned me to his office once a week, asking standard questions about my health and then wanted to know if I needed anything.
He wasn’t rude or kind, cold or warm. He was just lifeless. I wasn’t sure what to think of the man, so I dreaded these awkward five-minute conversations.
My grandfather just flat-out ignored me.
All I did was watch these men and women working at the mansion, notice every small gesture and wrinkle to see their true moods and intentions. Life in captivity taught me that people’s habits and faces are the true mirror of their intentions, and I would not live among demons ever again.
The first year was spent teaching me how to write, read, and count in two languages. I think I’ve read so many books that I get sick just looking at the library. During that time, Harold preached etiquette to me that bored me to no end.
The second year, they started on an express school program adding two more hours to my eight-hour schedule, trying to catch me up, and even though I wasn’t that great with all subjects, they were optimistic that I’ll finish school by the time I’m eighteen.
Well, with nine fucking tutors at home, it’s hard not to.
That’s when I discovered another carefully guarded secret in this family.
My father’s drinking problem.
On the weekdays, it was bearable, several glasses here and there, enough to relax him as he rested in the chair but not enough to cloud his mind so he wasn’t able to work in the morning.
On the weekends though?
A whole other story.
Every Friday, he’d come home from work, throw his suit jacket aside, and then plop on the couch in the family room before flicking the tequila open and guzzling it down, taking breaks for his cigars only.
He’d stare at the wall and continue to drink while reading the small red journal in his hands.
He’d lovingly run his fingers over the paper, pick up a black-and-white photo, and kiss it before putting it back into the journal.
After finishing rereading the damn thing, he would cry and cry before falling asleep on the same couch, snoring loudly until Harold and Ricardo would drag his body upstairs.
Only the next day to do it all again. He would stay holed up on the second floor this time, demanding more drinks until he would vomit all over the floor and the maids had to clean it up.
Then on Monday morning, he’d be gone, presenting the proper Juan Cortez persona to the world.
Rinse.
Repeat.
Every fucking week.
Mostly, Father stayed quiet, living in his head during his drinking parties as I called it, but sometimes… sometimes he would start smashing all the vases, glasses, and bottles around him, stepping on the shattered pieces and injuring himself in the process.
Smearing the marble with blood, he would seek me out while screaming my name, and everything inside me trembled at the idea of facing him, because it took me back to that fucking cage once again.
Where dark cravings ruled the mind so much they didn’t comprehend what they were doing.
Father would hug me close, rocking me in his arms and apologizing for listening to his father all those years ago.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
And I’ve never hated him more than in those moments, not only because he sent revulsion through my system at the unwanted contact, disturbing old wounds, but also because of the weakness he displayed.
He grew up with everything, yet he failed to stay strong, and in this, he failed to help me when I needed him most, and I had to survive in the most hideous places.
Forgive?
Fuck that.
Never.
I tried being understanding, but he shut me out every time I wanted to ask about the past. In time, resentment only grew.
The only reason I played by his rules was because I needed power.
So I could punish all the fuckers still roaming the world, craving to kill them all one by one, and watch the blood pour from their bodies.
Not for myself, but so they won’t ever steal the childhood from someone else.
I wasn’t going around dreaming about killing any male who reminded me of James or anything. Although based on all the books I’ve read on psychology, it could have been the case.
No, my desires were so calculated and vivid they scared even me sometimes.
Because dreams about burning them alive or hanging them from the ceiling polluted my mind, demanding vengeance, even if it meant finding new sick bastards.
I also had ideas about how to help kids living on the streets that would come to fruition the minute I got my hand on the empire.
Turning sixteen became a magical number because that’s when father made the official announcement about him having a son.
Grandfather raged, screaming that he wouldn’t make a prince out of the tramp.
Considering his own son was a drunk with all his right upbringing, I seriously found it funny.
Since then, Dad has taken me with him on his various trips, introducing me to the people in the companies, and spoke to me about the business.
Somehow, this was the only neutral ground where we could talk for hours, discussing the future and interesting developments without it erupting into a fight.
I especially enjoyed going to the factories and watching how our products were created, craving to know it all from inside out.
Although I still have a long way to go in the study department, I do intend to rule it all one day.
Instead of just sitting on all this fortune though, I’ll do some good with it.
If only to spite my grandfather.
Which brings me to tonight, the official party where my father introduces me to all his friends and business partners alike, to make me one of their own.
“Hello, Jacob. My God, how you’ve grown!” Harold greets someone next to me, as the guy around my age reaches for the juice.
He flashes us a smile, winking at the old man. “Time ages us all, Harold.” My butler fucking laughs, finding this funny. “Good to see you too.”
Harold nods, then looks between us and slaps his forehead. “I forgot to check on the main course. Excuse me, gentlemen.” And he races to the hallway, leaving me alone with this guy.
“Subtle he is not,” he mutters, rightly guessing Harold’s intentions, and extends his hand to me. “Jacob Price.”
Right.
A jewelry heir.
I shake it, surprised at the strong grip, and reply, “Lucian Cortez.”
“The star of this evening.” He laughs as my brows furrow, detesting his comment, and I grab another can of soda. “I imagine you hate all this.”
“In a way.” I won’t be honest with a guy who can tattle on me to his father and, in this, jeopardize my position.
To survive in this luxurious world, you have to play nice and behave, create an illusion of fitting in
to their mold.
Until I have power, I cannot act out.
He lifts his glass at me. “Well, welcome to this glittering world that will swallow you whole if you let it.”
I give him a sideways glance. Aren’t these too big words for a guy his age? His greatest problem in life so far has probably consisted of Daddy not buying him what he wanted.
Connections.
I should think about that rather than the constant resentment present in my soul at the unfairness of it all. Although I do not wish my past on anyone. “Speaking from experience?”
“My father grew up into an asshole, so I guess speaking from his experience.”
I choke on my spit, coughing loudly, and he slams his fist on my back.
Clearing my throat, because who the fuck shares all this with a stranger, I mutter, “You don’t have much respect for your dad.”
“Oh no, that’s not true.” He unbuttons his jacket, tugging on his tie as he takes another sip before elaborating. “He’s on mistress number five right now while my mother cries at home, wishing he was dead. Still, she won’t divorce, him because she loves the status the family name gives her. And my grandfather will kick Dad’s ass if he dares to even broach the subject of divorce. I pity my parents, but I do respect them.”
Too fucking shocked and fascinated from all this info dump as it lifts the veil from this still undiscovered world, I ask, “Is divorce a sin among the elite?”
It would explain my father’s desire to never marry despite Grandfather still harboring hope for more grandkids.
After all these years, I still don’t understand their relationship. Why the mansion seems so cold, and why they never talk to each other unless it involves business.
Not to mention my father’s hate aimed at his. Sometimes, I wonder if the only reason he even decided to claim me was to take some kind of revenge on Alejandro Cortez.
But even that backfired as apparently Grandfather is satisfied by the result since he hosts his party, proudly parading me among his friends.
I guess some heir is better than no heir at all.
“It’s frowned upon, and besides, you won’t have a strong dynasty if you keep on divorcing.”
So it’s better to be stuck with someone you don’t love?
What a fucked-up way of thinking.
“And you plan to do the same? Marry for money?”
He shakes his head. “Worse. I will never marry. This should stick it to the old man.” Anger coats his tone, and he places the juice back on the table where it splashes onto the wood. “If I can’t be with the one I love, then fuck that shit.” He finishes, breathing heavily, and then quickly composes himself, settling indifference over his face.
His words evoke havoc in my mind, and my gaze lands on my father, who grabs a glass from the tray and drinks it, his eyes closing for a moment as he exhales a breath before grinning once again and spinning around to face whoever approaches him now.
Is this what lies beneath the surface?
My father loved someone in the past, and he couldn’t be with her, so he decided to stick it to Grandfather?
My mother?
I squeeze the can harder, the aluminum crackling under the pressure, while the unwanted thoughts pierce my mind.
The one subject I desperately crave to know more about but have never gotten any answers on is my mother.
It’s as if she never existed, a ghost that everyone is afraid to speak of or avoids the subject entirely.
Besides knowing her name, Camille, she is an evil mirage in my head who abandoned me when I needed her most and then disappeared God knows where.
But did she do it willingly?
Or someone forced her?
Fury flashes over me, and ignoring Jacob’s frown, I march toward my father, ready to demand answers here and now.
The beast inside me has sniffed the prey and intends to torture it until finally it cracks. So I will know the truth and can move the fuck on without having any regrets.
“Father,” I address him, and he pauses his conversation midsentence, swinging his head to me.
His gray eyes light up in unfamiliar joy, shining brightly at me, and he throws his arm over my shoulders, bringing me closer but not really touching me, so I can breathe freely.
Due to all the psychological help given to me, I can handle this stuff better, but still.
No one really knows how I plan to sustain the monster residing in my soul.
“Lucian, perfect timing.” I open my mouth to ask the question, everything else be damned, when he says, “Meet my old college friend, Diego Moore.”
I freeze and focus on the man in front of me as realization hits me like a ton of bricks, almost swaying me to the side, and the ringing in my ears starts, overpowering any other sound in the room.
All while the man who rescued me watches me carefully, his violet eyes glazed in warning, urging me to keep my mouth shut while his curves in a smile. “Lucian. It’s nice to meet you.” He points with his glass at my father. “Juan spoke so highly of you.”
I know I’m supposed to say something, but I’m too stunned to utter a single word, not knowing how to proceed.
This man… who came and rescued us all from James’s hell… is my father’s friend?
Scratch that.
He belongs to high society?
A man who murders and has an entire team to do his deeds…roams freely and openly?
How is that possible?
My father clears his throat, and I finally find my voice, speaking up. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Diego lives in Boston. He has a younger brother your age.” Dad chuckles. “Maybe we should plan a family vacation together so they can meet.”
“Maybe.” comes the dry reply, albeit I doubt he would want his brother to mingle with someone like me.
As he saw firsthand the things I’m capable of doing.
Not to mention I know what this man does in his spare time.
An older woman approaches us and exclaims, “Juan!” He looks at her, and for a second I see annoyance flashing in his eyes before he masks it.
“Suzanne.”
The lady taps her cane loudly, her eyes narrowing. “I came from New York. Couldn’t miss you introducing your son to us all.” She briefly glances at me, scanning me. “His manners and posture are impeccable. I see a lot of good things in the future for him. Although whether he inherited the Cortez famous knack for business remains to be seen.”
Diego smirks, while my father replies to her, “Suzanne, the way you cover your insults with compliments truly amazes me.” His tone stays even, yet I detect fury coating it. “Since you intend to live forever, I’d advise you to be careful though. One day, my son will be your business partner, and you don’t want a Cortez as your enemy.”
My chest warms at him protecting me. My father always does it whenever someone dares to send jabs my way, and he places invisible borders around me, announcing to everyone that they should watch themselves.
Although I squash this feeling quickly, not allowing it to take roots in my soul for fear of forming an undeserved attachment toward this man.
Because he just sticks to family principles.
A Cortez does not go against or harm their own.
Even my grandfather who didn’t want me officially claimed still intended to send me somewhere abroad and fully support me.
Suzanne slaps his arm. “Juan, you always find a way to surprise me. I’d like to talk to you about our contract.”
Dad’s brows furrow. “Of course.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Stay here,” he orders and then nods at Diego who salutes him with his drink. “I’ll see you around.”
The minute they walk away, I look around and since no one is close to us, I say, “Thank you for rescuing me.”
He takes a sip from his whiskey. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snaps his fingers at the server, pointing at his glass.
“You rescued me. T
hree years ago.” I tell him, exasperated that he doesn’t remember me.
Or does he do such stuff a lot, so we become interchangeable faces to him?
Who cares though as long as he saves the likes of us.
“Lucian, value the gift that I’ve given you and don’t overstep. Our meeting never happened, and if you want to succeed in this world, learn to play the game.”
What does it even mean?
He snags the whiskey glass from the server, puts his empty one on the tray, and starts to leave, probably not wanting me to push for more information on the stuff he does.
He stills though when I ask, “Could you teach me?” He blinks at my request, so clearing my throat, I elaborate. “To be like you. To do what you do.” I haven’t seen much, but by how many weapons he had, and how masterfully he inserted himself in James’s company to destroy them, it requires skills.
Skills I need to learn somewhere. Otherwise the voices muttering in my head and my sadistic tendencies will cost me my head.
He stares at me for a long time as the music continues to play and people converse around us, unaware that the star of the evening, as Jacob called me, wants his father’s friend to teach him how to murder monsters.
Finally, he speaks up. “I saved you too late.’’
These words became a stepping-stone toward me becoming a skilled monster who could use any weapon and make it work in his favor, enjoying the cries of his victims.
Diego was wrong though.
He saved me two times.
Once from endless hell.
And the second time from myself, because if it wasn’t for his teaching and channeling my inclination in the right direction, I could have ended up dead somewhere after doing hideous crimes.
Destiny gave me a chance.
I grasped it with both hands.
I never needed anything else…
Before my blue-eyed beauty entered my world.
And turned said world on its axis.
Esmeralda
I hear the door being shut as the last guest leaves the house. Twisting the doorknob in the bathroom, I peek my head out and spot a maid holding a tray of dirty glasses as she heads to the kitchen. “All clear?” She nods, smiling tentatively, and I exhale in relief, stepping into the hallway.