In the quiet sanctuary of the private painting room, a single leather couch sat near the large windows. Fin was seated there, his injured hand resting on his mother's lap as she carefully cleaned and bandaged it.
"Mother, is this really necessary?" Fin muttered, trying to pull his hand back. "I need to find Clara—"
Eleanor didn't let go. She applied the antiseptic with steady, precise movements. Fin flinched slightly at the sting.
"Be silent," she said softly, her voice firm but not unkind. She continued wrapping the bandage with practiced care. "You know why I never questioned Clara or her parents, even after you told me she cheated on you, don't you?"
Fin's voice dropped. "Because you don't care… as long as I'm okay with it. As long as I'm fine."
Eleanor finished bandaging his hand and let out a long, quiet sigh. She finally looked up at him, her sharp, beautiful eyes softening in a way very few people ever witnessed.
"Fin… I don't care if you burn the world down. I don't care if you chase after a woman who dared to cheat on you. But if anyone ever hurts you…" Her voice turned cold and deadly. "I will burn the cause to the ground, regardless of who they are. Remember that."
Fin nodded slowly. His mother had always been like this — ever since he was a child. She never demanded achievements. She never asked for results. The only thing she ever truly cared about was his safety. She didn't pamper him with soft words or say "I love you." She showed it through actions that were sometimes terrifying in their intensity.
There had been many small incidents growing up — a boy who accidentally hurt him, a teacher who spoke too harshly, a rival who tried to undermine him. Each time, the person simply… disappeared from his life. Fin had long suspected what really happened behind the scenes, but he had been too afraid to ask.
Now, looking at the woman who would destroy the world for a single hair on his head, Fin felt a wave of affection he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. Obsessive or wrong as it might be, his mother had always stood by his side. She never demanded anything from him. She only provided.
Before he could stop himself, Fin leaned forward and rested his head gently in her lap.
Eleanor stiffened instantly. Her entire body went rigid. Moments like this had almost never happened between them — she didn't know how to offer comfort, and Fin had always been too afraid to reach for it.
After a long, tense pause, Eleanor's hand slowly came to rest on his dark hair. Her fingers trembled slightly as she stroked it once… twice. The gesture was awkward and uncertain, but it was real.
Fin closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time in a long while, he felt strangely safe. The familiar scent of her perfume — rich, commanding, and uniquely hers — wrapped around him like a shield. It calmed the storm raging inside his chest.
He opened his mouth, voice barely above a whisper.
"Mother… why did you never meet or date anyone after Father's death?"
Eleanor's hand paused for a moment. She looked out through the tall window at the dark gardens beyond, her expression distant.
"Because I never loved anyone other than myself," she said quietly. "I never loved your father, Fin. My parents arranged the marriage because of a debt they owed to his family. I was young and ambitious. Marrying a billionaire seemed like the easiest path to power. So I did it."
She continued stroking his hair, her voice steady and emotionless.
"But I was never able to love him. Actually, I've never been able to love anyone. Love means lowering your guard. Love means giving someone the power to hurt you. So even his death didn't affect me much. After he was gone, I continued living exactly as I wanted."
Fin shifted slightly, turning his head. For a brief second, his gaze caught the way her waist-length white shirt had shifted — revealing the elegant curve of her waist and the proud swell of her breasts beneath the fabric. His face flushed with discomfort. He quickly looked away.
"So… you never really loved me either?" he asked, voice tight.
Eleanor smiled — a very rare, soft smile that almost looked foreign on her face. She looked down at her handsome son, her hand still resting on his chest.
"Didn't I just say I never loved anyone other than myself?" Her fingers pressed lightly against his chest. "You and I are not two different beings, Fin. For me… It's the same. You are mine… as I am yours."
Fin gulped, unsure how to respond. He knew his mother hadn't said it romantically. It was something deeper, more possessive — the same cold, all-consuming ownership she applied to everything she considered hers. Yet the words still carried a weight that made his chest tighten.
Eleanor's fingers continued their slow, uncertain strokes through Fin's dark hair, occasionally brushing against the side of his neck and resting lightly on his chest. She kept talking in that low, steady voice, as if the closeness was the most natural thing in the world.
"I built this family into what it is today," she murmured. "Every decision, every sacrifice… it was never about love. It was about power. About control. And you… You are the only thing I have ever truly claimed as mine."
Fin's breathing grew shallower. He tried to focus on her words, but the warmth of her lap, the scent of her skin and perfume, and the gentle pressure of her hand moving across his neck and chest were becoming overwhelming. Thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having crept into his mind — unwanted, shameful, and impossible to ignore. His body reacted against his will, a growing heat and unease stirring lower, making him shift uncomfortably.
The more Eleanor touched him, the worse it became.
Suddenly, Fin sat up abruptly, pulling away from her lap as if burned. His face was flushed, breathing uneven.
Eleanor blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Fin? What happened?" she asked, uncertainty flickering in her eyes for the first time. "Did I do something wrong?"
Fin stood quickly, avoiding her gaze. "Nothing, Mother. I… I just need some air. I'll take my leave now."
Before she could say anything more, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him a little too firmly.
Eleanor remained seated, staring at her hand with a puzzled frown, unsure what had just transpired.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Main House
Marianne had been restless all evening. Clara had left that morning and still hadn't returned any calls. Sarah wasn't answering either. No one in the mansion seemed to know anything, or they were deliberately avoiding her questions.
She stood by the tall window in her suite, staring out into the dark gardens. She wore a luxurious white silk nightdress — elegant yet seductive, with thin straps that slipped slightly off her shoulders and a deep neckline that accentuated the full, heavy curve of her breasts.
The smooth fabric clung to her mature figure, the hem falling just above her knees, revealing the smooth lines of her legs.
Alain had laughed earlier, telling her she was overreacting — "What's the problem if two adult girls want to stay out late?" — but Marianne knew better. She understood exactly why Fin had brought them all here. The tension in the house was suffocating.
Just as she turned away from the window, she caught sight of Fin walking down the hallway through the slightly open door of her room. Her eyes brightened with determination.
She stepped out quickly, calling after him.
"Fin… wait."
Fin stopped at the sound of her voice. He took a slow, steadying breath before turning around.
"Yes, Marianne?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled. "What is it?"
Marianne couldn't quite meet his eyes. She felt like she was looking at a completely different person — someone colder, sharper, carrying a weight she didn't fully understand.
"It's Clara," she said, her voice tight with worry. "She isn't answering any of my calls. Do you know where she is?"
Fin felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. Though he had already received the report that Clara had changed the route at the last minute, the truth was now painfully clear: Mike's problem wasn't just with him — it was with his entire family. The thought of what might be happening to her on that island made the guilt twist even deeper inside him.
He avoided her gaze, his words coming out slightly unsteady. "Don't… worry about her. I will bring her back safely."
Marianne's brows shot up, panic flashing across her face. "Fin, what do you mean by 'bring her back safely'? Don't you know where she is?"
Fin flinched at his own slip. His jaw tightened as he tried to regain control of the conversation.
Marianne stepped closer, her luxurious white silk nightdress shifting with the movement. The thin straps rested delicately on her shoulders, and the deep neckline drew attention to the full curve of her breasts. Her eyes were sharp with rising panic.
"Fin," she pressed, voice low but urgent, "what do you mean you'll 'bring her back safely'? Tell me the truth. Where is my daughter?"
Fin looked away for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He couldn't tell her the full horror — the island, the games, the public degradation that was about to begin. Not yet.
"I… I can't explain everything right now," he said, his voice strained.
Before he could continue, they both heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. Fin seized the excuse.
"Let's talk about this tomorrow," he said quickly, turning toward his bedroom door.
But Marianne wasn't backing down. As Fin opened the door, she stepped past him and entered the room first. The door banged shut behind her with a decisive click.
Marianne stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, her silk nightdress catching the soft light, eyes narrowing with a mix of fear and anger.
"Tell me the truth, Fin," she demanded, voice trembling but firm. "Where is my daughter? Did you do something to her… or was it that bastard, Mike?"
"Marianne, what the hell are you doing?" Fin hissed, voice low but sharp. "If someone sees you in here, they might get the wrong idea—"
Marianne let out a mocking laugh, stepping closer until her body was almost pressed against his. Her luxurious white silk nightdress clung to her mature curves, the thin fabric doing little to hide the full, heavy swell of her breasts.
"Why?" she taunted, her voice dripping with bitterness. "Didn't you already fuck me? Beat me? Humiliate me?" She moved even closer, her breasts brushing against his chest. "Is there anything left that could make it worse? Maybe they'll finally see your true face, Fin."
Fin's jaw clenched hard, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"Don't talk like you're innocent, Marianne," he growled. "Do you want me to remind you what you actually did that night? Don't test my patience. Fuck off. I'm already feeling like shit."
Marianne's fists clenched tightly at her sides. The more Fin avoided her questions, the tighter her chest felt.
"I won't leave until you tell me where my Clara is," she said, voice trembling with fear and anger.
Fin sighed deeply, his mind racing. What the hell am I supposed to do? How can I tell her I dragged her daughter into a pervert's island? I couldn't protect her…
He looked at the woman standing before him — radiating a seductive presence that could melt any sane man. The silk nightdress clung to her body, the deep neckline revealing the soft, heavy curves of her breasts with every breath.
Fin finally came to a cold, desperate decision.
Shit… I never thought I'd do this again.
Before Marianne could react, Fin grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against him. His other hand cupped the back of her head as he crushed his mouth to hers in a hard, demanding kiss.
Marianne stiffened in shock, her eyes widening. The heat of his body, the firm grip of his hands, and the sudden intensity of the kiss sent a jolt through her. For a split second, she froze — then her hands came up to his chest, not quite pushing him away.
**
On my Patreon, you get immediate early access to the next several chapters (they're already written and waiting), plus a whole library of exclusive stories, bonus scenes, alternate endings, and spicy content I can't share anywhere else.
https://www.patreon.com/c/DevilsWhisper