Ruelle’s breath caught in her throat and her body refused to move from the fear that had been instilled since she was young. Her father stood over her with the cane in his hand.

“Please,” she pleaded, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How dare you lie after being caught?” Mr. Belmont snapped, his face twisting with fury. “Have you no shame left? Or has it left you after serving those blood-sucking vampires?”

Ruelle flinched at his words, forcing herself to explain to resolve the misunderstanding. She said shakily, “You were the one w—who sent me there. I never asked for it.”

Mr. Belmont’s eyes widened in disbelief and questioned, “Are you talking back to me…?”

“I wasn’t,” Ruelle answered quickly. “I—I only meant—Father, I truly don’t earn any money there. I—I have been studying hard–I—”

“The lies. You did always associated with the wrong people,” he spat.

Her chest tightened and she uttered before she could stop them, “Father, if you hadn’t gambled—”

“What did you just say?” Mr. Belmont asked in a low threatening voice, his eyes darkening and Ruelle swallowed.

“I only meant… perhaps if we were more careful with money—”

“Careful?” he repeated. “You think you can lecture me in my own house? You spend your days living comfortably among vampires and return here to tell me how to manage my affairs?” he demanded. “Who are you to speak to me like that? I put food on the table so you could eat, you useless child!”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

The cane came down at her before she could finish. Pain exploded across her shoulder and ripped a cry from her throat before she could stop it. “After all we have done for you,” he shook in anger and raised the cane once again.

Ruelle raised her hands on instinct, trying to shield herself. But the wood hit her fingers and a sickening ache shot through them. She bit down on a sob by closing her mouth tightly.

“Please,” she beseeched again, her voice cracked. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

She curled on the floor, more from long-learned habit than fear. The living room felt smaller with every breath she took.

During the whole time, Mrs. Belmont stood silent, disappointment on her face instead of concern towards what was happening before her.

At last Mr. Belmont threw the cane aside with a clatter and said in disdain,

“You are a worthless thing,” his voice thick with bitterness. “First you took your mother’s life and then I ended up in poverty. Anything you touch brings nothing but misfortune.”

The words hurt more than the blows and Ruelle heard him leave the room. She remained where she was, head pressed to the cold floorboards, her body trembling.

She winced as she was made to stand by her mother, who led her to the bathroom to fix her appearance. She felt the ache as if her muscles were being pulled out and she tightened her mouth to stop herself from whimpering.

“Why couldn’t you just stay quiet?” Mrs. Belmont murmured once they arrived at the front of the bathroom. “You know he doesn’t mean it,” she added, not quite meeting Ruelle’s eyes.

Her mother’s words pulled her attention away from the pain. Ruelle lifted her eyes from the floor and met the older woman’s gaze, her lashes heavy with the tears she hadn’t shed.

“Mother…” Ruelle began. Her fingers curled on instinct but she stopped the moment she felt them throb, reminding her not to. “You said Father was asking for me….” She searched her mother’s face and asked, “Was it because of the money?”

Mrs. Belmont scoffed softly, as if Ruelle were foolish. She responded, “He was worried about you, Ruelle. Sharing a room with a man, what were—”

“Did you know that Sexton has a class called Seduction Techniques, Mother?” Ruelle asked quietly. “Mr. Henley teaches it. So why am I being punished when it is known?”

Mrs. Belmont froze.

“You know what goes on in Sexton,” Ruelle continued, her voice shaking at the end. Then she muttered, more to herself than anyone, “He didn’t ask me how I was doing…”

“Get your head out of your thoughts,” Mrs. Belmont snapped, her tone turning hostile. “You don’t want your father to discipline you again.”

“What did I do…?” Ruelle whispered. Her father had beaten her until she could barely move. It hurt her more than she would ever tell to feel like an outsider in her own house.

“Your father is under terrible stress,” Mrs. Belmont defended. “Debts, worries, the shame of it all while he was trying to keep us alive. Anyone would lose their temper. Get some rest and we will talk later.”

Ruelle stood quietly for a long moment. She heard her mother advise,

“Fix yourself and try not to make more trouble.”

“Mother,” Ruelle spoke, and Mrs. Belmont paused, who was ready to leave. “How do you feel… when Father beats me?”

The question hung in the room like something fragile. Her eyes glistened as the bitter truth she had tried not to look at was now glaring at her.

“What childish words are those?” Mrs. Belmont turned back with a frown.

Ruelle forced herself to continue, though her heart ached.

“Every time I heard Mrs. Petis being shouted by Mr. Petis, I felt bad for her. I wished someone would help her,” she sucked in a breath when her fingers touched the bathroom door. “And here I am, your daughter. So when it happens to me how do you feel?”

For a moment, Mrs. Belmont only stared at Ruelle. Then the older woman replied,

“Of course I feel bad,” as though that much should have been obvious.

A brief flicker of relief appeared in Ruelle’s eyes but it faded just as quickly. Her voice trembled, “Then why have you never stepped in?”

“Because you were being insolent today. Spending money on yourself, when you know the condition of this house,” Mrs. Belmont answered firmly. “Look at the dress you are wearing,” she pointed out with a soft huff.

“It was given to me… I would never lie to you or Father. You have known me,” Ruelle looked at her mother, but her mother didn’t believe her.

“Go in,” Mrs. Belmont said at last, fixing her dress as though nothing significant had happened. “And don’t make Caroline worry. She will be here soon. She doesn’t need to be troubled.”

The words landed heavier than any blow from the cane. Ruelle stared at her mother, not quite understanding at first. She had been beaten, yet somehow it was Caroline who needed to be protected.

She watched her mother walk away without looking back. Only when the footsteps faded did Ruelle step into the bathroom and close the door behind her.

Her heart hammered as she crossed to the basin and turned on the water. Her hands trembled beneath the stream, the cold doing nothing to soothe the ache running through her body.

Lifting her face, she stared at her reflection.

The mark of her father’s hand still burned across her cheek, which had turned red. A bruise had already begun to form, which was beginning to darken with every passing minute.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep