34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

IZEL

“I only wanted you to keep our mom safe, ” Isla’s voice whispers, floating through the mist like it’s part of the air itself.

I turn, searching for her face, but there’s nothing. “I will, Isla,” I whisper back. “I promise.”

“ It's been a decade, Izel.” Her tone isn’t accusing, but it cuts just the same. It’s a reminder of a promise I made. “I expected you to keep the promise you made me.”

“I will get her out alive today,” I say, louder this time, hoping she can hear the conviction in my voice. Hoping she believes me.

“Izel! Izel, please wake up!”

I can feel hands on my face, gently slapping my cheeks, trying to bring me back.

“Mom?” I croak out.

She looks like a ghost. Her once vibrant hair is now gray and thin, her face gaunt and hollow with deep-set eyes. Her skin is so pale and almost translucent, stretched tightly over her bones. She’s been held captive for three decades, and it shows. She looks fragile, like she might break at any moment, but her eyes are still the same, filled with love and relief.

“Izel,” she whispers. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

I collapse into her arms. She holds me just as tightly, her bony fingers digging into my back as if she’s afraid to let go. I can feel her ribs through her thin clothing, and it breaks my heart to see her like this.

“I’m here, Mom,” I choke out. “I’m here.”

She strokes my hair “I never thought I’d see you again,” she says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I thought... I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“Well, isn’t this touching,” Victor sneers from somewhere. “Mother and daughter, reunited at last. How heartwarming.”

I glare at him. “Go to hell, Victor.”

He chuckles, stepping further into the room. “Already there, sweetheart. And it looks like you’re joining me.” He looks at my mom. “You should be grateful I let you have this moment. It won’t last.”

I know he's right. That’s why I've come prepared. My threats might seem baseless, but they're not entirely. Luna knows the truth that he’s the Ghostface Striker. If Richard rescued her, she’ll spill everything. And once the truth is out, Victor will have no choice but to eliminate me.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper in her ear, barely able to get the words out. My hand slips into my sleeve, and my fingers brush against the syringe I’ve hidden there. I pull it out and inject it into her arm. She goes still almost instantly.

I start hyperventilating, making a show of panic. “Mom? Mom, wake up!”

Victor comes rushing in. He pushes me aside and takes my mother’s limp form into his arms. “Ava, come on, wake up!” he shouts, tapping her cheeks, but she doesn’t stir. She wouldn’t, at least not for a while. That should give me enough time to deal with him.

“I-I’ll get some water,” I stammer, backing away.

“Okay, go,” he waves me off.

I slip out of the room and head into the makeshift kitchen. I grab a glass and start filling it with water. Drugging my own mother... it feels like betrayal. She’s suffered so much, and now I’m adding to it. But I can’t trust her not to intervene. If she wanted to kill Victor, she would have done it years ago. Although I don’t mind killing myself and Victor in order to save Richard, I can’t risk hurting my mother.

The water starts overflowing the glass, pulling me out of my reverie. I shut off the tap and take a deep breath.

I look around, taking stock of my surroundings. Victor is smart, too damn smart. He never kept any sharp objects around, and even the glass in my hand is made of steel. There’s no way I can hurt him enough to incapacitate him with it. Smashing it against his head might slow him down, but it won’t be enough.

Victor glances at me with suspicion in his eyes. “Why are you standing there like that? Give me the water.”

I hand him the glass, and he tries to sprinkle water on my mom, but she doesn’t wake up. I need to get her out of here.

“She’s not waking up,” Victor mutters. He turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I say, my voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. “I don’t know why she’s not waking up.”

He looks at me suspiciously, but he’s too worried about my mother to think clearly. He crouches beside her, checking her pulse. His back is to me. This is my chance.

I need to find something. I scan the room desperately. My eyes land on a heavy cast iron skillet on the stove. I move quickly, grabbing the skillet and hiding it behind my back. I walk back to Victor.

“Is she okay?”

Victor doesn’t look up. “She’s fine. Just... get me more water.”

I grip the skillet tighter, ready to swing, but a thought stops me. If I hit him now, it might not be enough. He could overpower me, and then I’d lose any chance of saving my mother. I can’t risk it. I set the skillet down quietly and walk back to the kitchen to get more water.

I fill the glass again. Every second feels like an eternity. Victor is losing his patience, and I need to act fast. I return to the room, handing him the glass. He snatches it from my hand and sprinkles more water on her, muttering curses under his breath. She still doesn’t wake up.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” he growls.

“Maybe she’s just exhausted,” I suggest. “She’s been through a lot.”

Victor glares at me. “Go get me some smelling salts from the bathroom,” he orders.

I nod and head toward the bathroom. I need to find a way to take him down for good, but without any sharp objects or weapons, it feels impossible.

I head back to the room. Victor is still trying to rouse my mother. “Where are the salts?” he snaps.

“Couldn’t find them,” I lie, stepping closer. “Maybe we should try getting her outside for some fresh air.”

Victor glares at me. “And why would we do that?”

“She’s been cooped up here for so long. It might help,” I say, putting as much conviction into my voice as I can.

He considers his options. I can see he’s about to brush my idea off, so I push harder. “Victor, she might need a doctor.”

“No,” he says sharply. “She’s just out cold. Get her some blankets.”

“She might be dying,” I insist. “Do you hate us that much now?”

His eyes flash with anger. “She wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you,” he snarls. “You’re the reason she’s dying. She nearly died giving birth to you, you know that? She’s been a shadow of herself ever since.”

The words cut deep, but I push the guilt aside. This isn’t the time for self-pity. I know he doesn’t hate my mother. If anything, she’s the only woman he’s ever cared about. His rage isn’t just about me; it’s about losing control over her.

“She’s not going to make it if we don’t get her out of here,” I say. “I know you care about her. Please, don’t let her die like this.”

“I can’t risk it,” he says finally, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Please, Dad ,” I whisper. “Please, let her out.”

Dad . The word burns like acid in my throat, but it’s worth it. I see his expression shifting, softening

Victor is not my grandfather because he is my father .

I was seventeen when my mother sat me down and told me how Victor had coerced her into staying with him. The way he had made me believe that his actions were normal, that what he did to me was just a part of life. I remember her saying that I was becoming too comfortable with it, that I was accepting it as something routine. That realization still makes me gag. I didn’t know then that what he was doing was wrong. How could I? I’d never seen the world beyond these four walls. I didn’t understand that a father was not supposed to make “love” to his child.

Victor gently places my mother’s body on the ground and stands up, crossing the room. He opens a door to a small hidden compartment, one I’ve seen before but was never able to unlock. My heart races as he rummages through it, and I try to look over his shoulder from a distance, but I can’t see what he’s doing.

When he turns around, I give him a nervous smile. My eyes move down and freeze on the vest he’s holding. It’s loaded with explosives.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scoff. “What the hell is that for?”

“You’re going to wear it,” he says, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Are you fucking insane?” I snap, taking a step back. “There’s no way in hell I’m putting that on.”

His grip tightens on the vest. “You don’t have a choice, Izel. This is the only way I can control the situation.”

“Please,” I beg. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says coldly.

“Why not?” I demand. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I just want to get Mom out of here.”

“You’re too close to them,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “I can’t trust you.”

Our argument is cut short by a slight movement from my mother. She shifts before falling unconscious again.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll wear it.”

Victor’s expression softens momentarily. He hands me his coat, and I slip it on over the explosive vest. He covers my mom with blankets and carries her in his arms. As he punches in the code to unlock the door. I can’t shake the thought that I’ve never left or entered this place without being blindfolded or knocked unconscious.

We walk through one more door, and world slips away from beneath me. We’re in the basement of Montclair Manor. These walls that should have sheltered me only echoed the screams I couldn't voice.

I don’t say anything as Victor and I climb the stairs. He opens the basement door, double-checks to see if anyone’s watching, and after finding the coast clear, we walk out. After a few steps, he leads me to the backyard. He puts my mom in the car and turns to me.

“Stay here,” he orders. “I need to inform your grandmother. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I nod, trying to keep my breathing steady. As he heads back into the house, my mind races, searching for any possible way out of here. This whole thing just backfired. The explosive vest is heavy and uncomfortable, a constant reminder of how precarious my situation is.

From outside, I can hear him talking to my grandmother. “I’m taking Isla to the doctor,” he says.

“What happened to Isla?”

“She’s not feeling well,” he lies smoothly. I glance around, not interested in whatever bullshit story he’s spinning.

The last thing I hear is my grandmother saying, “There’s someone here—” before Victor cuts her off with, “I’ll talk to you later.” His footsteps creak as he walks out of the house.

I look up and freeze. Richard is staring at me through the window in my room—well, Isla’s room. My entire body runs cold. The explosives suddenly feel like they’re sinking into me. I see Richard making a move, and with a subtle shake of my head, I silently beg him not to. If Richard comes down, Victor will surely trigger the explosives.

Richard looks unconvinced so I move my coat slightly, revealing the explosives strapped to me. He stills, and our locked eyes convey more than words ever could.

The moment is broken when Victor’s voice shatters the silence. “Let’s go.”

I nod and climb into the car. Victor starts the engine, and we pull out of the driveway. I steal a glance at Richard from the rearview mirror as we drive away, and he looks like he is about to unleash hell.