Chapter 8
My mother woke stronger after two days of proper food, medication, and sleep.
She asked to sit in the garden.
I took her myself.
No attendants.
No matriarch ceremony.
Just daughter and mother.
She looked smaller than before my trip.
That made me furious all over again.
“You should have called me sooner.”
She smiled faintly.
“With what phone?”
Fair.
“Before.”
“I didn’t know before.”
Another fair answer.
Then she looked at me.
“You knew Marcus was unhappy.”
I did.
I had ignored it.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I thought unhappiness was his responsibility to discuss, not my responsibility to anticipate.
Correct in theory.
Marriage still needs attention in practice.
“He told me I made him feel decorative.”
Victoria nodded.
“He told me the same.”
I stared.
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought he was whining.”
I almost laughed.
Maybe he was.
Still.
Dismissed resentment becomes easy currency for manipulators—even when the resentful person is also the manipulator.
Then Mother said:
“Don’t make him smaller than he is.”
I frowned.
“He restrained you.”
“Yes.”
“He starved you.”
“He restricted food.”
“Mother.”
She smiled weakly.
“Accuracy.”
Of course.
Even now.
She continued.
“He is cruel. But he is not stupid.”
I looked toward the house.
“What am I missing?”
“The money.”
“The care account?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“The cash in the dresser.”
I had assumed it was stolen household money.
“It isn’t?”
“Some.”
“Then the rest?”
She looked at me.
“Your captains paid him.”
My chest tightened.
Not Marcus paying captains.
Captains paying Marcus.
“For what?”
“Access.”
There it was.
While I was abroad, Marcus had begun selling private introductions, scheduling favors, and household proximity as if he already controlled my gate.
The luxury goods were not only stolen care money.
They were gifts.
May you like
Tributes.
People had started investing in the future they thought might replace me.
