Genesis's eyes blinked open, darkness.
The room was swallowed by shadows, the curtains sealed shut.
She turned her head. Nothing. No sound. No movement. No one.
Panic surged. She climbed out of bed too fast and staggered, heart pounding.
She hated the dark. It reminded her of that place.
With shaking hands, she fumbled for the lamp's cord, tugged—and light filled the room. Relief came in a shaky breath.
She was in their bedroom.
But Kier was gone.
Something slipped from under her dress and hit the floor with a soft clink. Genesis froze, then bent quickly to grab it.
A small vial.
Monica's vial.
"Take a sip after every time you and Kier are intimate," Monica had said.
We can't afford any accidents.
What she really meant was: No child. Ever.
Genesis had refused—until Monica slapped her. Hard.
Now she sat at the edge of the bed, clutching the vial. Her fingers trembled. She didn't know what was inside, but she knew what it did—kill anything growing in her. Any life. Any chance.
Her palm moved to her stomach. Tears blurred her eyes.
She already felt like a murderer. Monica had forced it down her throat in that closet, holding her nose until she swallowed.
I d… don't want to do this.
But it was too late.
Hope twisted inside her. If she gave Kier and his father the child they wanted, maybe they'd help her take back what was stolen from her. But how could she ask for that, knowing she was killing the very thing they expected her to give?
Something innocent. Something that might already be his… and hers.
Her grip on the vial tightened until it almost cracked. The thick syrup inside shimmered faintly. Sweet. Deadly.
"Just a few drops," Monica had whispered. "Just enough to keep that bastard thing from ever growing."
Guilt slammed into her chest. She wanted to throw it—watch it shatter and disappear.
But fear froze her.
Fear of Monica.
Fear of punishment.
And beneath that—bone-deep exhaustion.
A floorboard creaked.
Genesis jerked, quickly wiping her tears and hiding the vial behind her back.
Revelation stepped in quietly. "You need to come downstairs," she said softly.
---
Downstairs
"My dear, how are you?" Donald Blackwood asked.
Genesis stood stiffly across the dining table. His voice was gentle, but his eyes—dark and knowing—held something else.
Guilt. Regret.
He saw her parents in her face. A reminder of what he hadn't saved.
Genesis only nodded, gaze down.
Donald sighed and lifted her chin. "Look at me, child. Or is my face too ugly to see?"
Her eyes widened. She shook her head quickly.
He frowned, surprised by her panic. "I'm only joking," he said softly. But her fear clung like a shadow.
Eliana, watching nearby, only smiled like nothing was wrong.
Donald forced a chuckle. "Come, sit with this old man and eat. Tell me about your experience with my son—my only child."
Genesis sat. Across from her, little Daisy watched Cocomelon on an iPad, her laughter echoing softly.
"So," Donald said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, "how do you find my son? I know he's far from perfect, but speak freely. I promise not to hit him too hard."
Genesis reached for her notepad. But before she could write, his tone changed—low and sharp.
"And was he the one who did that to your face?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Donald's eyes didn't waver. "Don't take me for a fool. I can see through makeup."
Panicked, Genesis flipped to the page where Monica's name was written and scribbled two words in bold: NOT KIER.
She held it up.
Donald leaned forward, squinting, until understanding flashed in his eyes.
"So even after my warning… that woman still touched you." His spoon hit the table with a sharp clink. His hands balled into fists. "I'm going to.."
A voice cut through from Daisy's iPad.
"Coming live from The Royal Mirage Casino & Resort—owned by the Caldwell family—there has been a fire outbreak, bringing down the entire building.."
Genesis froze.
Only one word stuck: Caldwell.
Donald didn't move. He exhaled slowly, then turned to her, lips curling into a grim smile.
"How deep," he asked quietly, "has your relationship with my son gotten?"