LIACH POV
When Papa says he's going to punish me, I think it will be physical. I never thought he'd go with starvation—it's been two weeks already.
How can I possibly eat when he practically threatens me?
His words still echo in my mind: If you even dare to take a sip of water, I will tear you to shreds, or someone else will be punished in your stead.
Immediately after my treatment, Papa had me locked in my room and ordered Antonio to keep watch. I still haven't seen Elias.
At first, I think it's solely because I failed. But something is off—why has he decided to use this method? Why not the usual pain, the blows or the shouting? What is he trying to do—being so lenient? I hope it isn't some calm before a storm.
But now I know what it is he wants. As the days pass, Elias starts coming every single day, banging at my door, knocking, calling out to me, or sometimes crying, until Dave takes him away. That alone hurts.
I come to realize that Papa wants to see me break. That this is the real purpose of punishment Papa has prepared for me—and it's working.
For I'm hurting.
Each time I hear him cry, I want to tear down the door to embrace Elias. To stop him from crying, and see him laugh instead. But I can't, for if I give in, everything I've endured will go down the drain.
Which means Elias can be taken from me at any point.
I have to wait. Wait for Papa to give the order—to let me out.
I truly hope it'll be sooner.
Hours later, I hear the lock opening. Antonio steps in and stands at the entrance, arms crossed with a scornful look on his face.
"The Boss says you should get yourself cleaned, and come to his office."
Why all of a sudden?
"I'll be there." I reply.
"Don't take your time, the Boss is waiting."
I shoot him a glare, expecting him to have gone, because his continuous remarks are now starting to annoy me. But he stays there—watching me.
"I thought you said I should clean up and meet with the Boss? So why are you still here, or do you want to watch me change?" I ask, lifting the hem of my shirt pretending to take it off.
"Of course not," he mutters, dashing out.
Fool.
I've got to clean up before Elias sees me like this.
Later that evening, after washing away two weeks of pain, I stand in front of his office door, catching my breath before stepping in.
He stands with his back to me, hands tucked in his pocket.
"The dog you couldn't kill is throwing a party. A birthday party… to celebrate his survival; your failure," he says, his voice chillingly cold.
"He sent out invites to The Consilium and others. Your failure gives him the effrontery to laugh at my face."
I say nothing.
"This shows that he's either a fool or that's what he wants others to believe."
I already know that. Me watching him for weeks before the attempt wasn't for fun.
"You're coming with me," Papa adds.
Me?
Why is he picking me? Antonio is there. He'd kill to go with him. Is he trying to put me in the spotlight? Is he trying to make me bait, to catch the bigger bait?
Seeing as Sinveer still hasn't made it public, this birthday is a trap to lure out which family was involved in his assassination attempt, and to locate… me.
I know he's turned over every stone in the country trying to find me. But it won't be that easy.
"Papa, this could be a trap."
"I'm aware."
And you're still going, regardless.
He can do whatever he wants, but I'm not being anyone's pawn to be easily discharged when I have my own priority.
"I'd like to see what he can do," he says coolly. "Besides, we're not the only ones who want him dead."
"When's the party?"
"One week from now. Before then, make sure there's no trace of these injuries in you."
"Yes, Sir."
"And also," he pauses, then smiles slightly, "you've served your punishment well… for not showing any weakness and not being easily swayed by temptation."
I bet he meant Elias—his own son.
"Thank you, Sir."
The hallway is quiet as I step out. Shadows still cling to the corners like watchful ghosts, and my limbs, though freshly washed, feel like twigs—brittle, weightless.
I need to see him.
I stop in front of Elias's door. It's slightly ajar, as if waiting for me. I gently push it open. The scent of lavender drifts out, mixed with the warm, familiar aroma of soft blankets and childhood. The room is softly lit by a small lamp on the nightstand shaped like a cloud.
And there he is.
Curled up like a kitten beneath a sky-blue duvet, Elias lies sleeping, his tiny hands clutched around a giant stuffed lion. His lashes are long and thick, dusting his cheeks like feathers. His lips—soft, slightly parted—murmur breathy sighs in rhythm. His hair is a tousled mess of gentle curls the color of warm honey, one small lock sticking to his forehead with sweat.
He's still wearing his little slippers—he must've cried himself to sleep waiting by the door again.
"God... look at you," I say out loud.
I move closer, kneel by the bed, running my hand through his hair. It's soft and warm. Then he stirs—a little.
"Eli," I whisper.
His eyes flutter open slowly, lashes blinking away sleep.
"Lia…?" His voice is small, sleepy, rough from crying.
I nod, smiling despite the tight knot in my chest. "Yeah, baby. I'm here."
Elias instantly sits up and throws himself into my arms, clinging like I might disappear again. He's all warmth and softness, small arms wrapping my neck, his breath shaky.
"You were gone…" he says in a slight trembling voice.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"I waited. I waited for you every day. Dave said you were sick... but you weren't, right?" he asks, looking up, wide-eyed, innocent. And damn near breaks me in half.
"No," I whisper. "I just couldn't come."
He touches my face then—his soft little fingers brushing against my jaw. "You look tired."
I laugh lightly. For a child, his observation is great. I brush a thumb over his cheek. "So do you," I reply.
"I missed you," he mumbles into my shoulder.
"I missed you more," I say, holding him tighter, pressing a kiss on his forehead.
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Yes I will, darling."
The room falls quiet again, just the rhythm of our breaths and the distant hum of the hallway.
Then a knock catches my attention—two firm taps.
I glance toward the door as it creaks open, and Dave steps in, tall and blunt as ever, holding a tray of food—steaming rice, stew, bread, water. It's more than I've seen in weeks.
His eyes flick from Elias to me, and for a second, his expression softens.
"I figured you'd come here first," he says gruffly, setting the tray on the bedside table.
"Papa allow this?" I ask without moving, still cradling Elias.
He shrugs. "I don't know… if he didn't, you wouldn't be out here. But I don't give a damn right now."
He's right about that, though.
I lift my brows. "That's bold, even for you. Don't you care about your Boss's instructions?"
He looks at me for a long time before speaking again. "You were locked up, Liach. Starved. I couldn't do shit, Liach. I should've—" he stops, clenching his jaw. "Anyway. Eat. You need it."
I nod slowly, my eyes softening. "Thank you, Dave. For looking after Elias."
His gaze flicks toward Elias. "He's the only one I could help."
He doesn't wait for a response. Just turns and heads for the door—but pauses before exiting.
"If the Boss finds out, you didn't get this from me," he says jokingly.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I say with a faint smirk.
Then he leaves.
I look down at Elias as he dozes off again, head against my shoulder, trusting me to be here when he wakes up.
I pick up the water from the tray, bring it to my lips slowly—my first sip in fourteen days.
It burns all the way down.
But it's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.