Cornelia's POV
The shift in Mother's expression told me everything I needed to know about who had just walked through the door. Her entire demeanor transformed in an instant, hardened features melting into something sickeningly sweet.
"Oh darling, you're home!" she practically sang, that practiced smile stretching across her face as she abandoned me completely and rushed to position herself beside her new husband. "I wasn't expecting you back so early."
I pivoted slowly, bracing myself for whatever awaited me, and felt my breath catch when I finally laid eyes on the man standing before me.
He commanded the space effortlessly. Towering at what had to be six feet four inches, with shoulders that seemed to span the width of the doorframe. His hair caught the light in fascinating contrasts of silver threading through deep black strands. Even I had to grudgingly admit that Mother had managed to snag herself quite the prize.
"Good evening, sir," I said flatly, making no effort to inject warmth into my voice or soften my expression. I simply stared at him with complete indifference, pointedly ignoring the sharp warning look Mother was shooting in my direction.
"So you're Cornelia," he observed. Not a question, merely a statement of fact, though I gave him a curt nod anyway. His gaze drifted briefly to the bruise marking my cheek, but he made no comment about it before returning his attention to my eyes. "You missed the ceremony."
"I had better ways to spend my time."
One dark eyebrow arched upward. "Better than celebrating your mother's wedding day?"
"Absolutely, sir."
Maybe it was a trick of the lighting or my imagination playing games, but I could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward, as if he was fighting back amusement.
He brushed Mother's clinging hand away like she was nothing more than an annoying insect and began walking toward me with measured, confident steps. The man radiated something beyond simple authority. This was raw power made flesh, and those eyes of his held depths that made my skin crawl. Not because of how intensely he was studying me, but because of something far more unsettling lurking beneath the surface.
"I assume you know exactly who I am," he said, stopping just close enough to invade my personal space without quite touching.
I shook my head deliberately. "I'm afraid I don't, sir."
This time the smile was unmistakable. Small, barely there, but definitely real.
"How refreshing," he murmured, genuine amusement coloring his tone. He extended one gloved hand toward me. "Griffin Dolf."
I accepted the handshake, noting how he gripped my hand with the same firm professionalism he might show a business associate. "Cornelia Camacho."
"The staff will prepare one of our finest guest suites for you. Make yourself comfortable, settle in properly, and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything at all. We're family now, Cornelia."
I tilted my head slightly. "Are we really, Mr. Dolf?"
Something flickered behind his eyes. Not my imagination this time, definitely not the lighting. For just an instant, his irises flashed brilliant gold before returning to their normal color. He glanced back at Mother over his shoulder, that practiced smile sliding back into place.
"You neglected to mention how perceptive your daughter is, my dear."
Mother's laugh came out shrill and artificial. "Oh yes, she's always been incredibly sharp."
He turned back to me, withdrawing his hand. "Until we meet again, Cornelia. This has been quite enlightening. I have a feeling my sons are going to find you absolutely fascinating."
I watched him cross the room to Mother, bend down to press a brief kiss to her forehead, then exit without another word. The moment he disappeared, Mother spun toward me with that fake smile still plastered across her face, her mouth already opening, but I cut her off.
"Who exactly is he?"
Her grin widened. "He's wealthy, Cornelia. Obscenely wealthy."
"That's not what I asked. Who the hell is he really?"
"Mind your tongue," she snapped, the mask finally slipping.
"Don't lecture me about my language right now," I snarled back, letting my own facade drop completely. "Do you know anything real about this man? What kind of work he does? What sort of person he actually is? Or did you just see his expensive car and start salivating?"
She clicked across the marble floor toward me on those ridiculous heels, one trembling finger jabbed in my direction. "I am still your mother, Cornelia, and I refuse to tolerate this disrespectful attitude and vulgar language. I am your mother and you will—"
"Then start acting like one!" I exploded, my chest burning with the familiar surge of fury that always made it impossible to breathe properly. "When have you ever actually been a mother to me? Tell me! When exactly, Trina? You throw that word around constantly, but you've never once shown me genuine maternal affection. You've never held me or shared a real laugh with me the way normal mothers do with their children. All you've ever given me is hatred and anger, yet you still have the audacity to call yourself my mother!"
The rage felt like molten metal in my veins, making my entire body tremble with its intensity.
Mother stared at me with wide eyes and parted lips. She took an unsteady step forward, her legs visibly shaking, but somehow managed to maintain her posture.
"Do you want to hear something, Cornelia?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I used to be vibrant and free. I used to be stunning, but then your father, that worthless piece of garbage, entered my life and clipped my wings. Then you came along and drained every bit of brightness I had left. After both of you invaded my world, my existence became nothing but shadows and struggle."
"Do you even hear yourself?" I asked, my voice cracking under the weight of decades of pain. "How is any of that my responsibility? Fine, blame Dad if you want, he made his choices as an adult, but me? You brought me into existence! That was your decision! And from the very first moment, all you showed me was contempt. You never even tried to love me. You claim I stole your light, but I never had any light to steal in the first place. Your bitterness and hatred consumed that light while I was still growing inside you."
I moved closer, and she remained frozen, watching me with that same blank expression I recognized from my own mirror.
Perhaps we were more similar than either of us wanted to admit.
"I want to watch you suffer, Mom. Really, truly suffer. Because you should never have brought me into this world if this was all you were ever going to offer me."
I stormed past her, every muscle in my body screaming with tension. For twenty-two years of pure misery, I had kept those words locked inside my throat. They had strangled me from within, but I had never surrendered to the urge to speak them aloud. Apparently, I had finally reached my breaking point.
I had no idea where I was heading because this sprawling mansion was completely foreign to me, like navigating a labyrinth, but I kept moving anyway. I desperately needed something to cool the inferno raging inside my chest.
I was so consumed by my internal storm that I completely lost track of my surroundings. As I turned a corner without paying attention, I crashed directly into something solid and unyielding.
"Damn," I muttered, pressing my palm against my throbbing forehead.
Something shifted in front of me, and before I could lift my head, a smooth voice drawled, "Well, well. What have we stumbled upon here?"