She stepped closer, tears streaming freely now. "You were nineteen years old, and you’d already killed three people. You rember that? Three people you killed because they threatened the family business. And you didn’t even hesitate. You ca ho, you washed the blood off your hands, and you sat down to dinner like nothing had happened."
Jorghan felt sothing cold settle in his stomach.
He did rember. Those deaths had been... necessary. Clean. Professional. He’d felt nothing at the ti except satisfaction at a job completed.
"They were threats," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"They were human beings," Grace shot back.
"With families, with lives, with futures you erased because your father taught you that so people don’t matter. That’s what he did to , son. He taught you that people are tools or obstacles, nothing in between. And I watched you absorb that lesson like it was gospel."
"But I was never cruel," Jorghan protested.
"I never hurt you. I never raised my hand to you. I loved you."
"You did," Grace agreed, and her voice cracked.
"You loved the sa way he loved at the beginning. Protective, possessive, overwhelming. Do you know how many tis your father told he loved while his hands were around my throat? How many tis did he apologize with tears in his eyes after he’d broken my ribs or blackened my eyes?"
She was shaking now, her carefully maintained composure completely shattered.
"He loved . That was never in question. But his love was a cage, a prison, a slow death. And I watched you developing the sa patterns, the sa instincts. The way you’d get this look in your eyes when soone disrespected —this cold, calculating look that said you were already planning their punishnt."
"I was protecting you," Jorghan said weakly.
"I didn’t need protection!" Grace’s voice echoed through the foyer.
"I needed escape! I needed freedom! I needed soone to see that your father was a monster and that his empire was built on blood and suffering and human misery! But you—you saw strength. You saw legacy. You saw sothing worth preserving and expanding."
She moved closer, close enough that Jorghan could sll her perfu, the sa scent she’d worn when he was young. "When you were seventeen, you ca to and said you’d found evidence that one of our suppliers was cheating us. You were so proud, so excited to have caught him. And you asked if I thought your father would let you handle it. You wanted to kill him yourself, to prove you were ready to take over the business."
Jorghan did rember.
The mory rose up unbidden—the rush of adrenaline, the desire to prove himself, the certainty that violence was the appropriate response.
"I did what was necessary for the family," he said, but the words sounded hollow even to him.
"The family," Grace repeated bitterly.
"The family that your father built on corpses and cocaine and things God knows. That family. The one you were so eager to inherit and expand. Did you ever once ask if I wanted to be part of it? Did you ever consider that I might have been trapped, just going through the motions because leaving ant death?"
"I would have let you leave," Jorghan insisted.
"If you’d told you wanted out, I would have helped you."
"Would you?" Grace’s laugh was ugly and broken.
"Would you really? Or would you have done what your father did when I tried to leave the first ti? Would you have found , brought back, and locked in our room until I ’ca to my senses’? Would you have controlled every aspect of my life while telling yourself it was for my own good?"
She reached out and grabbed his arms, her grip surprisingly strong. "I saw you becoming him. Maybe you would have been better, maybe you would have been kinder, but you would still have been a cage. Still been a monster wrapped in love and good intentions. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t watch my son turn into the man who spent twenty years destroying ."
"So you destroyed instead," Jorghan said quietly.
"Yes," Grace admitted, and there was no defiance in it, just exhausted honesty.
"I destroyed you. I murdered my own child because I convinced myself it was the only way to stop the cycle. That if I could end your father’s legacy through you, I could finally be free."
"And are you?" Jorghan asked.
"Are you free, Grace? Does sleeping next to the man who helped you kill your son feel like freedom? Does raising another child in the sa empire you claim to hate feel like escape?"
Grace’s face crumpled, and she released him, stepping back.
"No. God, no. I’m more trapped than I ever was. Because at least when he was alive, I could tell myself I was a victim. But this—what I did to you—that makes the monster. I see your face every night. I hear your voice asking why. And I don’t have a good answer, son. I never did."
She sank back onto the stairs, all strength leaving her body.
"You trusted . You never doubted , never questioned when I said I was trying a new recipe or experinting with dishes. You ate everything I gave you with a smile, with gratitude, with love. And I watched you die slowly, watched the poison consu you, and I told myself it was necessary. That I was stopping sothing terrible before it could fully beco."
"But you didn’t know," Jorghan said, sothing breaking open in his chest.
"You didn’t know what I would beco. You killed based on fear and projection. You murdered your son because he reminded you of your abuser."
"Yes," Grace whispered.
"Yes, that’s exactly what I did. And I’ve lived with that knowledge every single day for eighteen years. I’ve raised Lukas terrified he’ll show the sa signs, the sa patterns. I wake up screaming because I dream about your face in those final days, the way you looked at with confusion and betrayal when you finally realized what I’d done."
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