*Trigger warning: This chapter contains themes of sexualization, violence and abuse.

It's been a couple years since I last saw Cece.

The plan after we moved back to LA was to resume life as it had been when we used to live there. Obviously, much had changed since then, including my relationship with my mother. So after moving her into the new house, I took my still-packed bags and shipped out to Cobalt Bay, only managing to visit again for the first couple of years when she'd guilt-tripped me into showing up for Christmas and her birthday.

I didn't lie to Stellan when I said I didn't blame my mother for what happened with Warren. While better guidance might have steered me away from that terrible decision, I ultimately made that call because it was the only one that made the most sense to me at that time. But it didn't take long to realize that my poor judgement was years in the making and in the near two decades of my life that led up to that turning point, only one person featured prominently. All of a sudden, I couldn't respect or accept her decisions but she was also the only person I loved unconditionally in my life.

Well, there's the one you not only let get away but shoved straight to the exit.

Stellan left Darby just a couple days ago.

I couldn't stay.

Mind blank, I'd booked a ticket to Cobalt Bay the day after but when I showed up at the airport after a long drive, I couldn't get on that plane.

I can only break his heart once. Better now and never again.

I should've never gotten us to this point.

I should've never done the same thing I accused Rachel of doing—leading him on when it could only go nowhere.

And this was my only opportunity to set him free before I could inflict more damage.

So here I was, in LA instead.

It wasn't where I wanted to be.

But it was the only home I knew.

I knocked and to no surprise, Carmela opened the door.

The woman joined our household after we moved down south. She's a widow with no children and had needed work, and even though we could barely afford it at the beginning, my mother saw it as a detraction from her image to have no housekeeper. My mother is completely unable to fend for herself. She can't cook, clean, do laundry, pay bills, etc. I picked up most of those responsibilities after we couldn't pay for a staff anymore. We hired Carmela against my better judgement at that time because my mother reassured me that Warren would pay her salary and those of the additional staff she'd be hiring as soon as I was married to him. Turns out, Carmela was the only good thing that came out of that disastrous time at Mission Hill. Not only was she more than competent in running our household, she could handle Cece in all her moods. When she offered to tag along with us back to LA, I agreed with no hesitation which was lucky considering I bolted as soon as I could. The fact that she would keep Cece not only alive but on the straight and narrow (as much as one could with my mother anyway) let me sleep a little better at night.

"Kady, good of you to visit every now and then," was her quiet greeting after one glance at me. She stepped back inside and motioned for me to set aside my carry-on in the foyer. "Can't say it's the best time but your company is much more welcome than what we're currently tolerating."

I raised a brow and looked around. The house was by no means a matchbox but it wasn't anywhere near the ridiculous mansions Cece had us living in during the short-lived glory days of her acting career. We moved through a dozen of them before I was sixteen, every house getting smaller and humbler each time in proportion to what Cece had left of her money.

While she whined about the old Klein house we'd rented after moving back to Mission Hill, she made no complaints about this one.

What was she going to do? Criticize what you could afford with blood money?

"Who is it this time?" I asked Carmela as I followed her into the kitchen. "Anyone we know?"

At the peak of her time, Cece had been better known for the famous men she was romantically involved with rather than her actual career. Bluntly put, she was a starlet who was put on screen because of her beauty, and eventually because of the fanfare her not-so-illicit affairs drew. Unfortunately, after stringing along a few married men, public opinion on her turned sour. But that didn't stop the revolving door of men especially since they became her only means of continuing life in luxury. These days though, as long as they had money, she wasn't picky.

"Some kind of concert producer," Carmela answered as she poured me a glass of iced tea which she knew was my favorite. "Name's Clint. A little younger but acts like he's all that. You know the kind."

I snorted and downed my drink in one long swig. "Cece still sleeping?"

Carmela raised a brow at me. "It's only eleven. What do you think?"

Since I was in no hurry to see my mother, I ate lunch and spent the next couple of hours out by the pool in the backyard. I had a million things I could've done—work on construction plans, go through emails, call a few people back, leave a sobbing voicemail on Stellan's phone—but I couldn't do anything more than just lie there and stare off into the distance, trying not to fall apart.

For once in my life, I was pulled in different directions and unable to run to into any of them.

"Kady Lynn, right?"

I glanced up at the shadow that had loomed over my lounge chair and squinted through my sunglasses at the man standing there.

Here we go again.

Almost every single man who'd lusted after my mother always had some insane idea that they got me too in the bargain. Like a two-for-one sale.

Even in my very early teens, I'd already received more than my fair share of indecent attention. At first, they just looked. Made lewd comments. Then some of them started putting their hands on me. When I was thirteen, I told Cece and she got angry at her latest beau then. He retaliated and almost broke her jaw. I never told her again. Whenever one of them got in my face, I came at them swinging. They were often too humiliated to say anything to Cece or report me but by the time I was sixteen, I was excellent at defending myself and occasionally delivering my own brand of justice.

"Clint, I assume," I acknowledged in a clipped tone, looking away and hopefully making it clear that I wasn't in a conversational mood.

"Cece said you rarely visit but I knew you'd show up at some point," he replied, clearly decided that he was going to chat me up no matter what I thought of it. "And let me just say... you... are... absolutely... worth... the... wait."

Fuck, no.

I lowered my sunglasses to peer at him. "Were you having a stroke on that last sentence? Because it sounded like you were gasping for air after each word. You can happily go keel over in a corner and die—quietly, I hope. I'm trying to nap."

He laughed out loud. He wasn't as old and as unfortunate-looking as some of the men sniffing around my mother's heels but that stark hunger on his face as he looked his fill of me in a short romper was enough to make me want to hurl.

"You're exactly as described—luscious but lively," he said, still not budging an inch. "You've already got me hard as a rock."

Then he gave me a dirty smile. "Maybe a little helping hand?"

And he really thought that was funny because he went on. "Or mouth? Or whatever part you think can accommodate me. Your mom's still sleeping."

I was starting to see red but I casually got up from my chair and stood toe to toe with him. He wasn't that much taller than me even though he was broad from too much gym time.

He was grinning as if he thought he'd scored a point that lured me closer.

I would just gut him if I didn't worry that Carmela was going to yell at me for all the blood she'd have to clean up.

Instead, I gave him a sultry smile and leaned in just a little, catching him off guard and making him do the same.

"You know what I find fascinating about the variety of men my mother likes to fuck?" I said in a low tone that's been tried and tested in mentally paralyzing any man, especially when you throw in the word that vocalizes exactly what they'd like to be doing with you.

"What?" he asked as he licked his lips and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in nervous anticipation. His hand crawled up to cup a butt cheek and I nearly ripped his throat out right then and there.

Slow and steady now, Kady.

I let one corner of my mouth curve just as I dipped one shoulder down in a move that drew the eye to my generously showcased rack. "The simple fact that no matter how many, they're all the same kind—a certified dick bigger than the little one they waddle around with. Thanks but no thanks, Tiny. I'm not feeling so accommodating right now."

With that, I grabbed the metal tray that had my empty glass and sandwich plate and sent it smashing against the side of Clint's head. Porcelain shattered on the floor just as Clint stumbled sideways and caught his leg on my lounge chair, losing all balance. I slammed a bare foot right on his chest for good measure and he fell back into the pool, spewing curses and water in a furious melody.

I smiled before hurling the metal tray one more time at him, sending it straight down on his face. "You're lucky I'm too tired to murder you but I will if you don't get your ass out of this house and never show your face here again."

The cut on his forehead was starting to bleed, matching his reddened face.

He yelled and scrambled out of the pool, coming at me in full force with a fist.

Yes. Let's do this.

Adrenaline coursed through me as I hunched down to grab the side table but the sound of someone cocking a hammer stopped us both.

We both turned to Carmela who was standing calmly to the side, training a revolver at Clint with a steady hand.

"Kady will fight you bareknuckled until you're broken and bleeding on the ground," she said flatly like we were having a conversation about the weather. "But I don't have the patience—or her endless supply of inner rage—so I'm just going to shoot you square between the eyes if you don't do exactly as she'd instructed."

Clint glanced back and forth between us, assessing his options.

Metal side table or a bullet—neither option was especially alluring.

He spat on the ground and wiped the blood streaking down his face now. "Fucking retards—all of the women who live here! Cece's probably the least insane of all of you!"

"No, dear," came my mother's sweet voice as she stood next to Carmela. "I'm just the least violent of us. It simply exhausts me. So please, just go. I'll call you later."

He gave my mother crazy eyes before shouting incoherently at her.

Then he stormed out through the back gate.

After a moment of lapsed silence, I dropped the table back on the ground and Carmela lowered the gun.

My mother beamed, opened her arms, and came to wrap me in a delicate hug.

"Welcome home, sweetheart!"

*****

"I really think you should tell me his name."

"No."

"This is too monumental, Kady. I'm your mother. I need to know these things."

I snorted and tipped back my drink, savoring the burn.

Trust Cece to play the mother-card only when it suited her.

But she'd been like a dog on a bone since I made the mistake of not answering her why I'd shown up out of the blue.

She'd taken one look at me and for someone who was typically too self-centered to bother about other people, her face softened as she declared that I had a broken heart.

Not sure how she knew that, really, because I've never had one before and couldn't have possibly looked like it.

I didn't say anything but that didn't stop her from prodding all night.

I looked to Carmela for help but the woman just gave me a half-smile, and a sad one at that as if she agreed with Cece's assessment, and said nothing.

So here I was, still trying to shake my mother off as we both drank our way into dawn in the backyard.

"Fine," she finally said with an exasperated sigh. "Just tell me why it didn't work out."

I raised a brow at her. "Because it never could've. You know I don't plan to marry or commit myself to a man. It was going to lead nowhere."

"Because in a moment of fury and regret, you made a promise you're too proud to back down from?" Cece asked casually. "Even though it could be justified that at the time you made it, you were so deep in bleakness and despair, you couldn't imagine the possibility of finding love with a man who's nothing like your vile ex-husband?"

Most of the men I know are vile but Warren's the only one I stupidly married with the delusion that it wouldn't be as bad as I imagined.

I didn't say that out loud but I glared at my mother and her deft hand at emotionally picking me apart when she felt like it.

She didn't know all of it, of course—everything that's eating me alive—because I'd never told her. Cece would never understand why it would bother me that I was possibly dragging someone I loved down into the ditch. She'd never asked me if the kind of life she lived had been tough on me.

There's always the argument that maybe she didn't because she doesn't actually love you. Cece only loves herself.

"This has nothing to do with my pride," I bit out. "For once, it's not even about me. It's about him and what he deserves."

Cece snorted. "Oh, honey. It's always about you. Don't kid yourself. Whatever you imagine he deserves is rooted in what you think you lack, or you would've never been able to come up with it. Which brings me to the next head-scratcher—what the hell could you possibly think you lack?"

I opened my mouth to speak but she sat up straight and turned to me fully, her beautiful face scrunched up in confusion.

"You are packaged perfectly to be a man's fantasy," she went on. "If I had half your looks, I could've had any man I wanted."

I grimaced.

My mother reveres physical beauty—probably because it's the only thing she possessed that gave her any kind of power.

At forty-five, she's still as exquisite as she'd been in her glory days—her hair still a soft, golden blond without a wisp of silver, her skin peachy and glowing even with a few faint lines etched on her forehead and the corners of her mouth, and her eyes still a bright, vivid blue. She retained her petite, hour-glass figure and a taste for expensive, elegant clothes that flattered her shape. She had her tubes tied at nineteen as some kind of insurance—which is why she could never have children of her own. But she'd reassured me that while she'd second-guessed that decision for some time, she knew it was a worthy sacrifice to keep her body unmarred by pregnancy. No one could ever accuse her of not having her priorities straight.

So yes, Cece knew what she looked like and what she could do with it and she welcomed all the attention and opportunity it granted her.

She raised me to share the same exact mindset. She taught me early on to recognize my assets and capitalize on them. She taught me what men liked, what made them putty in a woman's hands.

But the more she showed me my power over men and exactly how to wield it with precision and purpose, the more I rebelled against it even as I tried to do as she pleased.

I put up with years of being sexualized and objectified. I suspect it's worse because I'm a woman of color. I often fall into the category of the hot, exotic, novelty stereotype. As if someone who looks like some guy's fantasy lay is automatically fair game to be treated like it in real life. Scanty clothing or not, men and women often acted like I was getting exactly what I deserved simply because of what I looked like. Not that it wasn't true for Cece and she's as white as all get out.

So maybe it's not the color of your skin. Maybe it's how you see yourself.

Either way, living like that for most of my teen and adult life has conditioned me to be in constant lash-out mode.

And sure, my job didn't help the image but that's just me taking advantage of the most accessible means I had to get ahead.

It was either that or be some man's trophy wife and I already tried that last one.

I figured this way, no matter what people assume or say when they look at me, I was in control of own body, of my own fate. Permission was all mine to give. If someone was going to exploit this body for their own gain, it was going to be me.

It had its downside, for sure, but I thought I'd resigned myself to it.

At least until Stellan came along. He's made you question everything you assumed about yourself.

"Don't you think that for once, it might be nice to be with a man who isn't just into you for your looks? Or for the bragging rights?" I asked Cece, genuinely curious.

"Are you saying that it's all I've ever offered and all they've been after?" she asked in mock offense.

I rolled my eyes. "Forget it."

Then Cece burst out laughing. "Oh, darling, don't be silly. Of course, it is. I've never bothered with anything else and they've never complained."

Her expression told me she meant it. "That's fucking sad. And you want this for the rest of your life?"

She shrugged but the look in her eyes was steely. "Yes, because I'm happy to live with little to worry about other than the nice things I enjoy. I don't want to live through decades of emotional ups and downs and eventually being left behind, waiting out my days with a broken heart. That'll be terrible for my skin."

"You're saying you've deliberately avoided falling in love this whole time?"

Cece raised her brows as if confused with my question. "Of course. Why do you think I chose the men I did? You didn't think I could fall in love with any of them, did you? Their bank accounts, yes—head over heels, literally. But definitely not the men who owned them."

"I thought it was because you didn't have a choice," I blurted out. "Because let's face it, once frogs see you kiss one of them, they think you'll kiss them too. No prince who sees you kissing frogs is going to want to get in line."

Cece huffed out an offended laugh, as if she couldn't decide if I was trying to insult her. "You know, I suspected you were secretly into fairytales but this isn't exactly how I thought you'd envisioned them."

I snorted. "And when would've I had the inspiration to believe in them? In between the sleazy men who'd come sweeping in like they own both of us because they happened to pay the rent that month? Or when instead of being white knights laying their lives down for my honor, the boys in high school were making bets about my real cup-size? Or how about when I was being carted off to jail for assaulting the asshole who'd given you a necklace of bruises instead of gold and tried to pass it off as some heroic intervention?"

We were already in a bad way when Cece's latest beau at that time had tried to choke her to death because of some stupid kink. I talked her into pressing charges but because the man was connected to some big Hollywood name, the story that had hit the papers was of her turning crazy and trying to kill herself because her lover wouldn't leave his wife and children for her. He claimed that her injuries resulted from their struggle when he'd been trying to keep her from hurting herself. When talk got nasty about her—because she didn't exactly have anyone's sympathy after all her exploits—Cece dropped the charges and decided we were bolting to South Carolina like we were the ones who'd done something wrong. But when that same man had the fucking nerve to show up at our house days before we were scheduled to leave, I came at him with the baseball bat. I fractured two of his ribs. I was arrested and thrown into jail but as I had just turned seventeen then and the man decided not to press charges in fear of more scandal, I was released the next day.

"The few bad stories out there are the exception, Kady, not the rule," Cece said calmly, like this walk down memory lane had no effect on her.

"It's got to be the rule in my case if I have more bad stories than good ones," I retorted. "I wish I can erase them from my memory but that requires pixie dust which is just as nonexistent as fairytales."

I've never allowed myself to regret my actions but now, in hindsight, knowing how irreparable the damage they'd left, I wish I'd done some things differently.

After Cece's only attempt to pursue legal charges was twisted against her, after Warren's father bailed him out of his crimes against me, I spurned the system. I told myself that wealthy, powerful men will never get more than a hand slap for taking whatever they want. It wasn't enough to just ward them off. So I did what I needed to do in that moment to take back the power they thought to take away from me.

When I started modeling after returning to California, an executive at my first agency invited me to an intimate meet-and-greet with 'clients'. When I was told, along with two other women, to display the goods that would buy us the ticket to the front of the line, I poured my Bacardi on the man's crotch and tossed his lit cigar right after it, not quite realizing it would fully catch fire but not regretting that it did. I left before they could put out his crotch. The men couldn't come after me for it without giving their own misdeeds away but rumors made their way around.

Not long after, I went out on a few dates with a celebrity tattoo artist who acted like he was the cool and down-to-earth type in the beginning. Then he got wasted one night at a private party and insisted I let him ink his name next to my vagina while everyone watched. I told him to fuck off and he shoved me hard. I smashed an empty glass against his face and cut his cheek. He ended up with eight stitches and me with an even bigger reputation for being a savage man-hater.

More similar incidents followed after those and it wasn't long before I realized I didn't mind the rep. Because it made most men steer clear of me except for the few idiots who thought the harder I played to get, the bigger their prize was going to be. And then, before I knew it, I was left with just the idiots of the crude and cruel variety. For some reason, the only men I seemed to attract were the exact types I fiercely loathed. So the more of them came, the more altercations I got myself into, the wilder my rep got. And wash, rinse, repeat.

Maybe Stellan wasn't completely off on that whole self-fulfilling prophecy theory.

"To let the good ones in, you might have to stop being so welcoming to the bad ones," Cece said, doing air-quotes on the word welcoming.

"Hey! That's my advice to you!"

Cece just raised a brow. "Your definition of welcoming and mine are polar opposites. I know the bargain I'm looking for and I'm prepared to pay the price. You, on the other hand, know exactly what you don't want but you can't quit going for it head-on."

"Oh, I'd love to quit it but I can't," I sneered, hating the impotence of my own admission.

"I'm not exactly sure why but my theory is that the alternative scares you," Cece said, almost off-handedly like she doled out this kind of sage advice all day every day. "You'd rather face down terrible men because for the most part, you know what to expect and you know exactly how to deal with them. But put you in front of a very different kind of man and suddenly, you're off-kilter. You don't know what to expect or how to deal with it."

I tried to play down my reaction but we both knew she'd struck a chord. "How about I just walk away from him so I don't do anything stupid that hurts him?"

Cece didn't answer right away.

She was studying me with a gaze so clear you wouldn't think she'd drunk half a bottle of scotch.

"What?" I asked testily.

"My poor, sweet darling. I understand now," she said softly. "You know so little of good men that you think they are completely out of your league. That's my fault and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you live my life."

"I'm not living your life! If anything, I'm doing all that I can to prevent mine from resembling yours," I argued.

Cece's smile was a little pitying. "It may not look like it on the surface, honey, but deep down, we're stuck where we are because we're afraid of something. The only difference between us is that I chose this path whereas you can't run from it fast enough."

I felt like I had a million things to say about that but in the end, I realized I didn't have the words.

All my life, I never asked her.

I just always assumed that her only motivation was the adoration and the money that accompanied it. I would've never pegged her as being afraid.

But that's the snag, isn't it, Kady? We're all a little afraid of something. And the more we're afraid of, the greater the distance we keep and the harder we come swinging at anyone who threatens to get close. Well, at least that's what you do.

"Do you ever wish things had been different?" I asked quietly after a while.

Cece filled her glass and took her time to answer. "I don't ever let myself regret anything. It's what allows me to be content with what I have and that's important because I'm at a point where it's too late to change anything."

Cece said the truth out loud then, about me living her life.

About refusing to regret anything because it meant admitting to making the wrong choices and having to do something about them.

About letting my fears become the sword I pointlessly die on when I so badly wanted to live for something different.

For the rest of the night—or the early morning hours—when it was just me lying wide awake in the guest bedroom, trying not to break from the heaviness in my heart, it remained an epiphany I couldn't shake.

I knew from the moment Stellan and I locked gazes at that pool party that I was afraid. Afraid for the same thing I ached for which had suddenly been put in front of me. Afraid of it being within my reach for the first time and the destruction it would bring at first touch—his or mine, it didn't matter in the end.

So I straddled that line between having what pieces I could have of it and pushing it away when it tempted me too much.

And when it pushed back, demanding decisions I was too torn to make, I scrammed.

I convinced myself I was fine with being the idiot who ran herself in circles.

That I could keep making mistakes and paying for them, no matter how much I hated the price.

That I could still live with all that and break Stellan's heart because in my mind, I was sparing the man from more consequences of his one colossally stupid mistake which was to want me more than what was smart.

I knew, without a doubt, that if I showed up at his door tomorrow, he would be perfectly happy to stay stupid about me. And that I would be selfish enough to let him if it was the only way I could have him.

But that was just restarting another endless cycle and this time, I would be dooming us for good.

If I ever show up at his door again, it had to be for the right reasons.

I owed him that.

I owed myself that.

Maybe you just let it happen. And work out the math later.

Nothing's been resolved by any means but I rolled my ass off the bed and booked the earliest flight out to Cobalt Bay tomorrow.

I had to take chances if I had to live the life I wanted with the man I loved.

Feeling not so powerless for the first time in twenty-four hours, I sped through packing the small number of items I'd taken out of my luggage.

It was almost two in the morning but I needed to talk to my mother.

I wasn't sure what she was going to say about my plan but Cece was never one to overanalyze anything, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Well, most of the time. Our conversation earlier tonight was the first one of its kind that I can recall in the last twenty-four years of my life.

I came downstairs and headed for the sitting room where Cece liked to listen to her records and drink at this time of the night.

The door was slightly ajar and pale golden light spilled from it. To Cece, lighting was everything, even with no camera around.

When I heard a heavy thud and her pained muttering, I smirked because she probably had too much to drink and was running into the furniture again.

I quickened my steps but staggered to a stop on my bare toes when I got to the door.

Clint had her gripped by the arms and had just shoved her hard against her favorite antique console table.

"...just let it go. Don't— she didn't mean to..."

"...gonna fuck 'er up... then I'm gonna fuck her..."

He was slurring a little, his eyes bright and unfocused, face and neck beet red.

"...please, darling... I'm here..."

Her dainty hands were shaking as they alternated between shoving against his broad chest and patting him into calming down.

But he was too far gone, his hand shooting out to wrap around her throat and force her head back. Then he slammed her against the console again and her gasping cry snapped me out of my frozen state.

I said nothing. I wasn't capable of it.

With my arms out and my fists clenched, I barrelled into him, shoving and shoving until I had him down on the floor.

I sat on him and I just swung punch after punch, sounds finally coming out of me in shrieks and screams.

I barely heard my mother calling my name.

I barely felt the crushing pain on the bones of my hands.

Then the breath was sucked out of me when one of his fists found its way straight into my middle.

I swayed sideways just enough for him to push me off and scramble to his feet.

Blinking in pain, I fought against curling into myself. I rolled on all fours before I tried to grasp for something to hold on to.

"Clint, stop! Let her go!" Cece screamed just as his hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, brutally yanking me up to my feet.

"You need to be put down like a rabid animal," he snarled into my face, spittle spraying from his mouth.

I couldn't help it.

I spat at him and then smashed the side of my head against the line of his nose, hoping to break it.

He hissed in pain for a second before the hand he had on my hair yanked my head hard to the side until my skull connected with a solid edge.

My vision dimmed at the impact, nausea sweeping over me all of a sudden.

But I could still see him—eyes beady, face ruddy, mouth crudely shaping words I couldn't hear properly anymore.

I remembered a moment from years ago, of a face this close to mine, bearing the same expression of cruel dominance, so fucking sure that he had me. That I was going to take whatever he was about to do to me.

Not a fucking chance in hell.

And that same, all-consuming defiance surged to the surface, clearing my head for just a second or two.

My hands were free.

I jammed my thumbs into Clint's eyes, trying with all my remaining strength to push through lids he was trying to squeeze shut.

He threw me to the floor, howling in agony, hands going up to his eyes.

I half-dragged myself away and towards my mother who was a shaking heap in the corner.

I rolled on to a crouch, shaking my head to keep my vision clear even as it brought on another wave of nausea.

"Go, Cece," I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from quite far away. "Run. Get Carmela."

Cece's face was red and scrunched up from her terrified sobbing but she was nodding.

My eyes briefly closed as I swayed unsteadily.

Good. Good.

Now she just had to—

"No!"

A heavy weight slammed down on me just before a shot went off in the room, ripping the chaos into a sudden stillness.

The first thing I registered was the sultry notes of Cece's perfume.

Then the feel of her silk dress on my bare arm.

Frantic footsteps and then Carmela's shout. "Oh, God. No!"

I whipped around, the weight above me collapsing against my chest. I caught the shock and terror in Clint's eyes before he looked at the gun he held like it had turned into snakes.

Another shot came from behind me, tearing its way into the space between Clint's right shoulder and his chest, slamming him back against the furniture where he'd been abusing my mother just minutes ago. His hand clutched at the bleeding, his skin paling in the dim light as he staggered down to the floor. Carmela marched over to him, kicking the gun he'd dropped away and training her own right at his face.

She was going to shoot him straight between the eyes, like she'd promised earlier, but the sudden, stunted gasp that came from the heap in my arms spun us back to a horrific reality.

"Cece!"

I didn't realize it was me who screamed but I wasn't aware of much around me as comprehension hit like a crippling blow.

My mother's limp body sagged against my chest.

And a warm wetness was seeping through my shirt.

My ears and head pounding, I slowly wrapped my arms around Cece to try and support her shuddering form.

"Cece, are you okay?" I asked, gently shifting her to her side as I sat up. "Why the hell did you—"

Her face tipped up toward the ceiling and my heart dove straight into my gut at the blood splattered on her chin.

"No, no, no," I muttered as I hunched over my mother, my hands practically spasming as I dragged them across her torso to find where she was injured.

My fingers came away wet with blood from the gushing hole just under her left breast. I gathered what I could of the loose material of her dress with hands that were shaking so hard they couldn't properly hold it against the bleeding.

"Carmela!" I looked up and saw her standing there, with her face nearly gray with dread as she stared at my mother. "Get help, please!"

She sharply glanced up at me, her eyes clearing. "I already called the police when I heard screaming. I'll... I'll call 911."

"Kady..."

I glanced down at Cece's faint voice. Her skin looked almost bloodless under her messed-up make up. I had the most ironic thought that she wouldn't want me to point that out.

"Why did you do that?" I choked out, hot tears stinging my eyes.

"Why wouldn't I?" Cece gave me a weak smile, her blue eyes glassy. She took a shallow breath. And another. I could hear a hissing sound as she started panting heavily. "Besides... better this way"

"How the fuck is this better?" I demanded.

Her gaze was losing focus, like a translucent sheet was being layered over her eyes. Her voice started to warble like she was underwater. "Won't be... one... left b-behind..."

You already made sure of that, I wanted to yell at her.

But instead, I gently told her, "There's no one who could've left."

Cece's eyes fluttered briefly and when she opened them again, a tear rolled down her temple. "There's you... o-only one...I loved... only chance... I took... w-worth... it."

A broken sob escaped her and I caught her free hand with mine, willing some warmth back into her clammy skin, willing life to flow back into her as I clutched her close.

"Cece, please..." My voice came out broken and low, muffled by her glorious hair that now clung limply against her cooling skin. "Don't leave... don't leave."

I cried.

I begged.

I held on as long as I could.

In the end, she left anyway.

*****

Ninya's Notes

So... This chapter did not have Stellan in it but it's a crucial point for Kady. Not only is she grappling with the loss of the one man she could and would ever love, she's confronted by how her upbringing had shaped her and the abrupt death of the only parent she knew no matter how toxic Cece's influence had been. Cece's appearance might be just in this one chapter but she is key in showing us Kady's past and a glimpse of Kady's possible future if she hadn't realized the things she did this night.

But grief is here and it won't leave until it's docked you the cost of losing someone so we'll have to see that path Kady takes after this.

What do you think?

I also want to address the possible questions about why I'd written the part about Kady being disillusioned about pursuing charges in the many times she and her mother had been assaulted. I wish I can say that this is not reality but it is for so many people. Including this in her thoughts is to show how it could poison the perspective, and the damage it can cause to someone's courage, when their story is not only suppressed but turned against them. It clearly has a steep price, as proven by both mother and daughter who can't seem to get out of the terrible cycles they've found themselves in. So this inclusion is not to negate the power of stepping forward and naming violators and their crimes. Hopefully once the entire story is told, it will instead shine light on the importance of not letting these injustices define the future of those who have been victimized; of keeping the fight even when the very system that is supposed to protect us hurts us back instead. I hope my thought process in this makes sense.

Let me know. Thank you!

P.S. I wanted to use this song for the last chapter as well but I really wanted exile for that scene and also, this song fits better when the woman is looking back on what had happened. The line "She would've made such a lovely bride. What a shame she's fucked in the head", they said hits such a sore spot for Kady. This is exactly the kind of mentality she would have.

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift ♪♪♪

https://youtu.be/wMpqCRF7TKg

You booked the night train for a reason
So you could sit there in this hurt
Bustling crowds or silent sleepers
You're not sure which is worse

Because I dropped your hand while dancing
Left you out there standing
Crestfallen on the landing
Champagne problems
Your mom's ring in your pocket
My picture in your wallet
Your heart was glass, I dropped it
Champagne problems

You told your family for a reason
You couldn't keep it in
Your sister splashed out on the bottle
Now no one's celebrating

Dom Perignon, you brought it
No crowd of friends applauded
Your hometown skeptics called it
Champagne problems
You had a speech, you're speechless
Love slipped beyond your reaches
And I couldn't give a reason
Champagne problems

Your Midas touch on the Chevy door
November flush and your flannel cure
"This dorm was once a madhouse"
I made a joke "well, it's made for me" how
Evergreen, our group of friends
Don't think we'll say that word again
And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls
That we once walked through
One for the money, two for the show
I never was ready, so I watch you go
Sometimes you just don't know the answer
Till someone's on their knees and asks you
"She would've made such a lovely bride
What a shame she's fucked in the head", they said
But you'll find the real thing instead
She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred