Chapter 1

1

Bernth, Ivory Black - Waterworks

The soft hum of the ceiling fan is the only sound in the quiet living room, the blades spinning lazily overhead, doing little to chase away the oppressive heat that lingers in the air. My dark hair spills over my shoulders like ink as I sit cross-legged on the grey plush carpet of our family living room surrounded by textbooks. The wooden coffee table next to me is littered with highlighters, sticky notes, and empty cups of coffee, a testament to the long hours I’ve spent today cramming for my upcoming exam. Minus the lamp casting a warm glow over the room, the house is dark. Empty and silent.

Unlike my mind.

My mind is a blur of formulas and definitions, my eyes heavy with exhaustion, but still, I force myself to keep going. Just a little longer, I tell myself, rubbing my tired eyes. You’d think it would be easy to focus in a house with no distractions, but apparently not tonight. Something just feels off. Maybe it’s because having the place to myself is rare. Or maybe it’s because no matter how alone I am, I still feel like someone's eyes are on me—always watching.

Leaning my back against the floral-patterned couch where we’d spent countless movie nights, the framed photos on the walls capture memories of my childhood. Mine and Caius’s. They look like happy times. To outside eyes at least, but behind the scenes, each one of them has a horror story. A bad moment forever engraved into my memory, impossible to forget.

Tonight, the house feels different. There’s a strange stillness, an eerie quiet that makes me uneasy. I’ve been trying to shake it off, chalking it up to stress and lack of sleep; after all, I’ve been studying for hours, and my brain has to be fried from the constant barrage of information I’m forcing on myself. Maybe I just need a break, a moment to clear my head.

That has to be it. Right?

As if on cue, my phone buzzes on the table, the sudden noise startling me. I reach for it, expecting a text from a friend or a reminder about my study group. But when I see the unknown number on the screen, a cold knot of dread forms in my stomach.

“Hello?” I answer, my voice is tentative, but my heart is racing.

“Is this Tatum Carter?” The female voice on the other end asks. She’s calm and professional, but something in the tone makes my blood run cold.

“Yes, this is Tatum,” I reply, my fingers tightening around the phone. “Who is this?”

“This is Detective Williams with the city police department. I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”

My breath catches in my throat, the room spinning around me. “What… what happened?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“There’s been an accident,” Officer Williams says gently. “Your mother and stepfather were involved in a car crash earlier this evening. I’m sorry to inform you that neither of them survived.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, the air leaving my lungs in a painful rush. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head as if that could somehow change what I’ve just heard. “No, that’s not possible. There must be some mistake.”

“I’m so sorry, Tatum. I know this is hard to hear, and I hate being the one to have to inform you, let alone inform you over the phone, but we’re short-staffed tonight, and there's a big fire downtown that's needed most of our on-duty deputies,” the officer continues, her voice filled with sympathy. I know this is a lot to process. Is there someone there with you? Someone who can be with you right now?”

I barely hear her, my mind reeling. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening. They never go out. Unless it’s a special occasion, even tonight, they only did it because they thought it would help me. They wanted me to be able to study. My mother is supposed to be at home right now, watching TV, maybe having a glass of wine while she’s cuddled up with Charles, my stepfather. My mother is supposed to be safe, not lying dead in some twisted wreckage on the side of the road.

“I… I don’t…” I stammer, unable to form a coherent sentence. My vision blurs, tears spilling down my cheeks as the reality of the situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. My phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor as I bury my face in my hands, my body shaking with sobs.

The world around me crumbles; the cozy living room that once felt like a haven now feels suffocating. I scan the living room and the pictures along the wall with tear-soaked eyes. Every memory, every trace of my mother, becomes a knife in my heart, a cruel reminder of what I have just lost.

There was no goodbye. No nothing.

She… they are just gone.

I want to scream and tear the room apart. The urge to do anything to make the pain stop intensifying by the second, but all I can do is cry.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours—I can’t tell. Time has lost all meaning. All I know is that the two people who have always been there for me and loved me unconditionally are gone. And with their death, a part of me has died too.

I don’t hear the front door open or the sound of heavy boots on the hardwood floor. I can feel the weight of his gaze before I see him. I look up, my tear-streaked face contorted in grief as I lock eyes with Caius. He’s standing in the doorway, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow across the living room rug.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence between us thick and suffocating. Caius’s expression is unreadable, his cold blue-green eyes fixed on me, but there is no trace of emotion in them. No sympathy, no concern—just a detached curiosity, as if he were observing a stranger.

My heart twists painfully in my chest. Caius has always been distant, always kept me at arm’s length, but at this moment, I need him. I need someone to hold me, to tell me it will be okay, even if it’s a lie.

“They’re dead,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “Mom and Dad… they’re dead.”

Caius doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just continues to stare at me, his expression unchanged. My sobs grow louder, more desperate, as I search his face for any sign of comfort, any sign that he cares. But there’s nothing. Just the same cold, indifferent gaze. Maybe he didn’t know? A lie. Even I know it. If the detective called me, she likely called Caius as well.

“Caius, please,” I beg, my voice raw with anguish. “Say something. Please.”

Finally, he steps forward. The old wooden floor creaks under his boots as he crosses the room toward me. He stops in front of me, towering over my small, crumpled form; his presence is overwhelming. Holding his stare, my eyes plead with him, but he doesn’t reach out to me. Instead, he crouches down, bringing his face close to mine—so close that his breath is warm against my cheek.

He smells of liquor and smoke, and his bleached hair is disheveled.

“They’re dead,” he repeats, his voice low and flat. “So why are you crying? There is nothing you can do about it now. What the fuck will your tears do?”

I flinch at his words, the harshness of them cutting through me like a knife. I expected him to be cold, to be distant, like always. But not like this. Not this brutal indifference. It feels like a slap in the face, a cruel reminder that I am alone in my grief.

That he doesn’t care. Not about them or me.

Caius only cares about himself. He always has.

“Why would you say that?” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Why are you being so cruel right now?”

Caius tilts his head, studying me with that same detached curiosity. “Cruel?” he echoes as if the word is foreign. “I’m just telling you the truth. You can cry all you want, but it won’t change anything. They’re gone, Tatum. And now, it’s just you and me .”

The way he says those last words sends a shiver down my spine. There’s something in his tone, something dark and twisted, that makes my skin crawl. It’s as if he were claiming me, marking me as his own in the wake of our parents’ death.

I recoil, my back hitting the edge of the coffee table. My heart is pounding in my chest, fear mixing with the overwhelming amount of grief. I don’t recognize the man standing before me. This isn’t the Caius I know, the one who has tormented me for years but has always been a distant figure, someone I could avoid if I tried hard enough. This Caius is different. He’s darker and more dangerous.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Caius’s lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. “What I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You.”

My breath catches in my throat, my eyes widening in shock. “Me?” I repeat, my voice shaking. “What do you mean?”

Caius reaches out, his tattooed hand brushing against my cheek. His touch is cold and unsettling. “You’ve always been mine, Tatum,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

His words send a wave of nausea through me, my stomach twisting in knots. I try to pull away, but his hand tightens on my cheek, holding me in place. His grip is firm, almost painful, but I’m too scared to resist. I’ve always known there was something off about Caius, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. He’s always been cruel to me. Since the moment our parents introduced us, it’s only gotten worse.

Any chance he could get to fuck with me when our parents weren’t looking, he took. Sure, I could’ve told them, but what would that have gotten me or him? He might’ve spent our entire childhood bullying me, but even I don’t want to see him locked away somewhere. So, I learned to avoid him. To limit my interactions with him so that he doesn’t have the opportunity to do anything.

“Please, Caius,” I whisper as tears stream down my face. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

Caius’s smile widens, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “Oh, Tatum,” he says softly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “This is just the beginning.”

He releases me abruptly, shoving me down onto the plush rug as he stands up and looks down at me with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. I stare up at him, my heart pounding nervously and my mind racing. For the first time, I don’t know what to do or how to react. The grief, the fear, the shock—it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming my senses to the point where I feel like I’m drowning.

“I’m going to bed,” Caius says casually as if nothing has happened. As if we haven't just had our world shattered. “You should, too. Tomorrow’s going to be a long fucking day.”

With that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving me alone in the silence. I watch him go, my body trembling and my mind struggling to process what has just happened. Suddenly the room feels colder, darker, as if the warmth and light have been sucked out of it, leaving only shadows and fear.

I curl up on the carpet, hugging my knees to my chest as my tears soak my black leggings as they cascade down my cheeks.

Now, lying here, I’d give anything to return to the moments plastered along the living room walls, even if I know them to be fake. Those fake memories are better than the reality I currently find myself forced to live.