Chapter Thirty-Four

As I drive, my mind drifts aimlessly, much like the car beneath me. The cigarette between my fingers burns slowly, smoke twisting lazily around me as my fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel. I'm not even sure where I'm heading. I'm just… fucking moving. The weight of everything that's been said, everything that's been revealed, crushes me. What do I even believe anymore? What's the fucking truth, and what's just another layer of bullshit wrapped in betrayal?

At first, I didn't believe a word of it. Vivienne—this weird-ass stranger—felt like a walking, talking lie, trying to worm her way into Wren's mind, turning her against my mom. It seemed like she was just another player in this twisted game, someone out to stir up more fucking mess. And honestly, it wasn't even the paperwork that swayed me.

It was Brazil. It was when she mentioned his name. No one knew his name, not even Wren.

When she described how I was found there, nearly dead, by some guy who just so happened to show up at the right moment, something clicked. It was too perfectly timed. And how the fuck was this guy, someone who was poor as hell, able to afford the doctors, the meds, all the shit he used to bring me back to life? I never thought about it, because my mind was locked on one thing—getting back to my family. But looking back now? He wasn't just some random fucking saviour. A guardian angel. There was more to it. Vivienne might actually be telling the truth.

But why? Why the hell is all this happening?

I feel... exhausted. Fucking done. The endless lies, the levels of deceit, the tangled web of revenge and manipulation—it's draining the fucking life out of me. Every time I feel like I am getting back on top, finding good in life, something or someone has to pull me the fuck back down to their pitiful level.

And now, now I have to confront the one person who's been there my whole life. The woman who raised me, who I thought was my mother. I have to look her in the eyes, knowing there's a chance she tried to murder Wren and my unborn child. Knowing she might have orchestrated everything—every disloyalty, every trauma infused heartache—to make sure I was left standing alone in this world with only her to rely on.

The thought makes my chest hurt, my grip on the steering wheel tightening until my knuckles go white. How many times has she set me the fuck up, pushed me closer to the edge, and smiled while doing it?

I flick the cigarette out of the window, watching the ember burn out in the dark, just like the fire inside me feels like it's slowly fading. But not yet. Not completely. I still have to face her.

It's no secret me and my mom are different from the usual mother and son relationship. She's different. She's cold, calculated, but I thought I matched that vibe, more hers than my fathers, yet throughout my life, despite the times I wondered why she was the way she was, why she wasn't a normal fucking mom who showed love toward me in even at least small doses like she did the same waySara, I never questioned if she was my actual mom. It's just not something anyone would fucking think about.

Maybe it's because it's all I've ever known. It's what I was raised in, born into. From day one, I was molded to be the beast I am today, whether I fucking liked it or not. But I relished in the feeling and decided to become what I am regardless. There was never any escaping it—this life, this mess. I've been nothing but a pawn in everyone's twisted fucking game, moved around without even knowing it. And now I'm left wondering: what the fuck else don't I know? What else have they kept from me while I stood there, blindly loyal to "family" who were secretly shitting on me in the background?

My grip tightens on the steering wheel again as the anger boils over, turning into something darker, something dangerous. My teeth grind as I feel the rage rising, settling deep in my chest like a ticking fucking bomb, wanting, needing to explode. Without even realizing it, I jerk the wheel to the left, making a sharp turn.

I know where I'm going. Straight to my mom's mansion. There's only one way to get the fucking truth now, and that's by confronting her. Facing that lying cunt head-on. No more questions, no more guessing. Just the full, ugly truth from the woman who's been at the center of it all.

I pull up outside with a screech, my tires protesting against the tarmac as my car grinds to a stop. My whole body is buzzing with untameable rage, every muscle tensing as I swing the door open and step out into the night without even closing it behind me. I don't care. All I fucking care about is what I'm about to do.

I rip my gun from the back of my pants, cocking it back as I charge forward in a blind rage. My mind is a storm of fury, barely noticing the cars parked nearby, barely aware of anything but the screaming in my head. I storm up the stairs, skipping steps, pounding like a beat of violence.

But then I hear it—raised voices from down the hall. Instinctively, I slow down, my anger sharpening into focus.

"You were never supposed to be with him. No one was. He was mine!" I hear my mother's voice, seething with bitterness.

I freeze, hovering at the threshold, staying out of sight.

"You're sick!" Wren cuts through the air, her words heavy with disgust. "You've put him through hell, for what? Money? Power? A control that you never even fucking had, because the man you and his father built was so much more powerful than either of you! Not even Charles could control him."

I feel my brows pinch, confusion setting in as Wren's intensity hits me like a wrecking ball. I can hear the hurt and passion in her voice, a fusion of pain and rage that's breaking through her usual calm demeanour.

"That's why you did it, isn't it, Carmella?" Wren spits, and I hear the tears threatening to fall in her voice. "That's why you and Charles kept taking everything away from him—because you knew you couldn't control the monster you tried to create!"

I feel my jaw tighten, my hand gripping the gun as I stand just beyond their sight, trying to process what I'm hearing. Wren's hurt is unravelling something inside of me. Something I've never let myself see. I fucking hate seeing or hearing her upset.

"Well, it was all for nothing. You fucked up," Wren says, her tone breaking at the edges, "I'm not going to let this continue. He's not going to let this continue. Especially when I show him this. Your evil, manipulative ways end here."

I walk forward, stepping fully into view, and the scene before me freezes everything in its place. My mom, standing across the room, has her gun aimed directly at Wren. On the opposite side, Wren, Vivienne, Hazel, and Jasper all have their guns aimed right back at her. A half-packed suitcase sits open on the floor between them, betraying my mom's silent plan to do a runner.

As I slowly move further into the room, everyone turns to look at me, now quiet. My gun dangles dangerously at my side, relaxed but present and they all take a step back, clearing me a path. My gaze stays locked onto my mom, whose face has gone pale from my appearance—paler than I've ever seen it before.

When I stop, I turn my head, sharply side-eyeing Wren behind me and the movement causes my mom to flinch, her grip tightening on her gun.

"Show me fucking what?" I ask, my voice disturbingly calm, yet filled with threat before my eyes swing back to my mom's.

Wren doesn't hesitate and steps forward, her fingers trembling as she opens a laptop and sets it down on the bed in front of me. But before I can even glance at the screen, my mom's desperation ignites. She suddenly aims her gun at the laptop, ready to destroy whatever evidence it holds.

Before she can even pull the trigger, Hazel moves faster—letting off a single shot that hits my mom square in the hand. Her gun falls from her grasp as she howls in pain, clutching her wounded hand, blood pissing out of it, missing a few fingers.

Jasper rushes forward, snatching the gun from the floor before retreating behind me once more. My mom stumbles back, her face twisted with rage and shock, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. My focus calmly moves to the laptop as I wait for Wren to show me whatever the fuck it is that has led to this moment—the moment that will either break everything or burn it to the ground.

The room falls silent except for my mom's heavy breathing, and I tap my finger impatiently against my gun, every part of me coiled and ready. I stare at my mom again, head cocked to the side, trying to piece together what could possibly be on this laptop that has her so fucking rattled.

Then, the footage starts playing.

What I see next causes a shiver to slither through me, my stern expression collapsing. My body stiffens, then I begin to fade out, my mind drifting with each passing second of the footage, sinking further into the horror it shows.

In the video, I'm in my yard—gun in hand. My steps are fast, storming toward Bridge as she's doing the gardening, unaware of what's coming. She spots me at the last moment, her face full of confusion as I get closer. We start arguing, her hands rising defensively.

But then… I grab her wrist. The force, the aggression I see in myself, is something I had never shown her before. Something I don't even remember being capable of around her. My breath lodges in my throat as the image of my angered face stares back at me from the screen. I see the temper I always tried to hide, the rage that everyone has always warned me about, but I swore I could always control it around her. For her.

My eyes mist over, and I feel the weight of everything soaking into me. I watch myself, my grip tight on her wrist, the gun still in my hand and how she pleads with me with fear in her eyes. I try to swallow, but my throat's bone dry, my Adam's apple bobbing painfully.

But it's all fucking there. In the footage. Undeniable.

I drag her small frame through the yard toward the house, but her struggle is clear. It's like a fucking movie and I'm the main character, a film I'm seeing for the very first time, not knowing what's going to happen next. Like a memory that I've never been able to remember or process. I can see myself, but it's like I was never fucking there.

As the footage continues, my chest tightens and just when I think it's the same footage Wren had seen before on my TV by the hacker—me storming into the yard then the footage cut out—the camera suddenly switches angles. It cuts to the foyer, and I see myself again, dragging Bridge inside, her socks slipping across the black floor.

A tear breaks free from my wide eyes, sliding down my cheek, but I hardly notice. I'm too lost in the unfolding nightmare. This is how she last saw me? Out of my fucking mind and violent?

Bridge suddenly pulls free from my grip, the strength in her shocking me. She smacks me hard across the face, screaming at me, pointing toward the front door.

She wants me to leave.

She's fucking furious, terrified—because of me.

My gun hangs limply at my side, and I sway, barely holding myself upright, but I don't retaliate to what she did. I stand there, motionless, listening to her shout at me. A few seconds pass, feeling like an eternity, then finally, I turn, my steps sluggish as I make my way toward the front door, seemingly doing as I'm told.

I blink, trying to process it all, trying to understand how this all played out in reality. The footage changes again. Now, I'm outside the front, stumbling down the path. My dad and Cash are following closely behind, my dad yelling at me, his face red and angry, his hands gesturing wildly that I go back inside.

But I ignore him. I get into a car without a second glance, out of my mind on drugs. Cash follows suit, and after a moment, we all drive off, which confuses me.

I stare blankly at the screen, waiting, waiting, then it switches for the last time. It's now dark and a car is pulling up outside my mansion some hours later. The glare on the camera from the moonlight doesn't show me who it is at first as they get out and trail up the long path toward the door. As they enter the house, my heart drums against my ribs.

Time slows to a crawl as my eyes stay glued to the grainy footage. Wren fast-forwards, and I count the minutes ticking by. Fifteen minutes later, the video resumes, showing someone stepping out of my house and they pause halfway down the path, pulling out a cigarette.

I squint, my mind trying to piece together the blurred figure. Is it me? Is that fucking me? But then Wren pauses the footage, zooming in as the cigarette flares to life by a lighter and my heart beat stops dead in my chest.

It's not me.

It's my fucking dad.

The realization hits me like a sledgehammer and my angry, tear-filled eyes flash toward my mom, who's standing there, frail and shaking. Rage, unlike anything I've ever felt, floods my veins and everything else blurs into the background

"Arlo, I can explain!" she cries, holding her hands up in surrender, tears streaming down her face.

But her sobs have no effect on me. I don't fucking need explanations. Everything goes black and my mind spins wildly, flashing through every lie, every betrayal that's poisoned my goddamn fucking life and Cree's. It's like I'm fucking drowning in it—deceit crawling up my throat, choking me.

My hands tremble uncontrollably, and suddenly—

BANG!

A gunshot reverberates through the room, deafening against the eerie silence. My hand shakes violently around the trigger, smoke still swirling from the barrel. I stand there, frozen, hyperventilating as I stare wide-eyed at the lifeless form of my mother. My bullet lodged in her forehead drips crimson, her eyes still open with shock. Until finally, she collapses, her body hitting the floor with a hollow, final thud.

The room is spiraling, my vision clouding as every horrifying thought I've ever had about that night crashes over me. All the fucking grief, the guilt, the endless agony—it wasn't me. I didn't kill Bridge. I didn't kill Cree's mom. I didn't rip my own fucking family apart. But I was made to believe I did. The cruelty of it is beyond anything I've ever seen, ever felt. It's as if every inch of my soul has been torn apart by a lie I've carried for too long.

My gun is still aimed forward, but I'm frozen, paralyzed by the weight of what I've just saw, what I just did. Tears stream from my eyes, but I'm hardly aware of them or register Wren stepping beside me.

"Arlo?" she whispers softly, her eyes trying to search mine.

But I can't answer. I can't say anything. I can't do fucking anything. My body is shaking uncontrollably, and I feel like I'm about to detonate. My mom's murder is not enough. I feel like burning this entire shitty fucking city down to the ground along with her.

The gun slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor with a heavy thump. And then, I turn quickly. Without a word, without a glance at anyone, I walk away, my legs moving on their own. I leave the room, the house, and the fucking madness behind me.