To ruin an Omega

Chapter 195: Stepmother Dearest 1

FIA

They told me I would wait in a private lounge.

Elder Matthias delivered the information with the same neutral efficiency he had shown since arriving at Skollrend. There was also talk about how they needed time to verify the voice recording, to cross-reference what I had provided with whatever evidence they had already compiled. The trial would not begin until everything was in order.

But even then, it seemed like they were working against time.

“Sentinel Baruch will escort you,” he said.

I nodded. There was nothing else to do but wait.

Baruch moved ahead of us through the entrance, his posture military-straight as we crossed the threshold. The marble floors gleamed under the morning light streaming through tall windows. Everything looked exactly as I remembered. The same portraits of past Lunas and Alphas stared down with painted eyes that followed movement. The same cold elegance that had always felt more like a museum than a home.

It was nothing like Cian’s home though. Nothing like my home now.

I kept my gaze forward. I would not let myself reminisce. Not here. Not now.

We climbed a flight of stairs, turned down a hallway I had walked a thousand times as a child. My feet knew these paths better than my mind wanted to admit. Baruch stopped in front of a door I recognized immediately. The private lounge. My father used to bring important guests here, the ones who required discretion and comfort in equal measure.

Baruch opened the door and stepped aside.

The room was smaller than I remembered, but everything from the past always shrank when you returned to it. Dark wood paneling covered the walls. A leather sofa sat against one side, flanked by matching armchairs. Bookshelves lined the far wall, and a small table near the window held an array of drinks and snacks arranged with deliberate care.

“I will be stationed outside,” Baruch said. “If you need anything, I will be right here.”

“Thank you.”

He left, closing the door with a soft click.

Garrett moved to the window first, checking the sight lines, the distance to the ground, all the things a good sentinel was trained to notice. When he finished his assessment, he turned back to me.

“I will stay in here with you,” he said.

“That works.”

The silence that followed felt heavy but not uncomfortable. I walked toward the table, suddenly aware of how dry my throat had become. A crystal pitcher of water sat beside glasses that caught the light. There were also small plates of fruit, cheese, crackers. Things meant to make waiting more bearable.

I reached for the pitcher.

Garrett moved faster.

His hand closed around the handle before mine could touch it. “Wait.”

I pulled back. “What?”

“It could be poisoned for all we know.” His tone was matter-of-fact, clinical. He poured water into one of the glasses and lifted it to his lips. “I will do the tasting.”

“Garrett—”

He drank before I could finish the protest. I watched him take a long swallow, then another. He then set the glass down and waited, his expression unchanged.

I leaned closer to the pitcher and inhaled. The scent was clean. It was just pure water. There was no bitterness, no chemical undertone, no herbal edge that would signal something dangerous.

“It is not poisoned,” I said. “I have a keen nose. There are not a lot of poisons I do not know.”

Garrett looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “Better safe than sorry.”

I poured myself water and drank. The cool liquid soothed my throat, washed away some of the tension that had been building since we arrived. I was reaching for a piece of cheese when I heard it.

A creak. Coming from the wall of bookshelves.

Garrett’s hand moved to his hip. The gun cleared its holster in one smooth motion and the barrel aimed directly at the source of the sound.

His body shifted into a defensive stance, placing himself between me and whatever was about to emerge.

The bookshelf swung outward. Not just a section of it. The entire middle panel moved as one piece, revealing a hidden passage I had never known existed here.

Though I knew Silver Creek had hidden tunnels built into the estate for escape when necessary.

Isobel then stepped through.

She gasped when she saw the gun pointed at her chest. Her hand flew to her throat, eyes widening in genuine shock.

“I did not think there would be anyone else in here,” she said quickly. “Considering there was a sentinel outside your door.”

Garrett’s aim did not waver. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He cocked the gun. The sound was sharp and final in the quiet room.

“Stay right where you are,” he said. “Or you die.”

Isobel straightened, some of her composure returning. “I am a Luna. How dare you point your gun at me?”

“And I am a sentinel.” Garrett’s finger moved to the trigger. “And you are not my Luna. Leave.”

The door burst open.

Baruch came through fast, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on Isobel. Recognition flashed across his face. He bowed immediately, muscle memory overriding whatever confusion he felt.

“Luna Isobel.” He straightened. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” She gestured toward me. “I want to talk to my daughter.”

The word landed like a slap.

“I am no daughter of yours,” I said.

Baruch stepped further into the room. “Luna, this is against the laws of the elder circle. You should not be here.”

“Don’t quote law to me.” Her voice sharpened. “I will be talking to Fia.”

I walked forward and pushed Garrett’s gun down gently. His arm resisted for a moment before lowering.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Isobel looked at Garrett, then at Baruch. “Can they leave?”

“No.”

Her jaw tightened. “This is a private matter.”

“What you are doing right now is breaking the law of the elder circle,” I said. “So whatever you have to say, say it here with them present. Or are you trying to murder me?”

Something crumbled in her expression. She sank to her knees, the movement graceless and desperate.

“No.” The word came out ragged. “I am trying to sway you.”

I stared down at her. “Breaking the biggest law of the circle?”

“I do not care.” Her hands pressed flat against the floor. “I am a mother. I cannot let my daughter… I cannot let my baby die or be permanently shackled to my family.”

The shackled to my family part confused me but I decided to pay it not much mind.

“What has that got to do with me?” I kept my voice level. “She did the crime. It is best she does the time.”

Isobel crawled forward. Actually crawled, her knees scraping against the wooden floor as she closed the distance between us.

“I know I have wronged you.” Her voice broke. “I know.”

“Which one?” I tilted my head. “The murder of my mother? Or the fact that you helped your daughter frame me for being a jealous bitch who wanted to steal her happiness?”