She stepped closer, tears streaming freely now. "You were nineteen years old, and you'd already killed three people. You remember that? Three people you killed because they threatened the family business. And you didn't even hesitate. You came home, you washed the blood off your hands, and you sat down to dinner like nothing had happened."

Jorghan felt something cold settle in his stomach.

He did remember. Those deaths had been... necessary. Clean. Professional. He'd felt nothing at the time 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 some people don't matter. That's what he did to me, 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 me the same way he loved me at the beginning. Protective, possessive, overwhelming. Do you know how many times your father told me he loved me while his hands were around my throat? How many times 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 me. That was never in question. But his love was a cage, a prison, a slow death. And I watched you developing the same patterns, the same instincts. The way you'd get this look in your eyes when someone disrespected me—this cold, calculating look that said you were already planning their punishment."

"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 someone 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 something worth preserving and expanding."

She moved closer, close enough that Jorghan could smell her perfume, the same scent she'd worn when he was young. "When you were seventeen, you came to me 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 me 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 remember.

The memory 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 me 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 meant death?"

"I would have let you leave," Jorghan insisted.

"If you'd told me 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 time? Would you have found me, brought me back, and locked me in our room until I 'came 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 me."

"So you destroyed me 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 same 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 me the monster. I see your face every night. I hear your voice asking me 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 me. You never doubted me, never questioned when I said I was trying a new recipe or experimenting with dishes. You ate everything I gave you with a smile, with gratitude, with love. And I watched you die slowly, watched the poison consume you, and I told myself it was necessary. That I was stopping something terrible before it could fully become."

"But you didn't know," Jorghan said, something breaking open in his chest.

"You didn't know what I would become. You killed me 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 same signs, the same patterns. I wake up screaming because I dream about your face in those final days, the way you looked at me with confusion and betrayal when you finally realized what I'd done."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.