Chapter 221 The Wrong Trunk Reese Roman rarely looks afraid. He’s the one who laughs at danger, who smirks in the face of chaos, who doesn’t flinch when The General raises hell. But right now, the way he’s staring at me like he’s waiting to hear the verdict that might shatter the floor beneath him… yeah. He’s scared. But not of our father. He's scared because he suspects I murdered Serena. Or had something to do with her death. “Reese,” he says, voice low, tight. “What do you mean by that?” I swallow, my throat already burning. “I knew her,” I whisper. “I met Serena Matthews. But I didn’t know what she was. Not until she died.” Roman leaned forward, impatient. “Where? How? When did you—just talk, dammit!” “I am talking!” I snap, louder than I intended. “I’m saying something, aren’t I?!” “Well get on with it then!” “For fuck’s sake!” I drag both hands through my hair, pacing. “You’re driving me fucking nuts, Roman!” He shuts up, but his eyes don’t leave me. Paula sits still—too still. Her hands folded tightly in her lap, her lips pressed together like she’s bracing for an explosion. I inhale hard. “It was winter. The beginning of winter that year. I’d gone outside to smoke because I didn’t want him to catch me smoking inside the house. I told myself I’d take a few drags and go back inside but… Odin had sprained his ankle that week, and I wanted to check on him in the stables.” Roman frowns. “That long ago? It’s been years?” I nod. “Yeah. Years. But I remember it like it happened yesterday.” Because trauma does that. It stamps itself into your bones and refuses to fade. “I heard a sound inside the stable,” I continued. “But not a horse. Not an animal. It was…it was more like someone trying not to cry.” Paula’s breath catches quietly. “I walked in and saw her,” I said softly. “This girl. She was on the ground, leaning against the wooden post. Her hair was messy, her clothes torn, and she had blood everywhere. All over her legs. Her feet…”I close my eyes for a second. “Her feet were shredded. Cuts, blisters, swollen to hell, bleeding. I’d never seen anything like it. Not even in the training fields.” Roman’s jaw clenches so tight the muscle near his cheek jumps. “I asked if she’d run through the forest to have such damage to her feet. She said no.” “Then how did she get onto our grounds?” Roman demands. Paula answers before I can. “She must’ve somehow managed to escape from where they were torturing her.” I nod slowly. “Yeah. But I didn’t know that then. I asked for her name—she could barely whisper it. Serena Matthews. First time I’d ever heard it, so nothing clicked.” I grip the edge of the sofa, grounding myself. “She told me she’d been held captive. Tortured for months. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know how long she’d been there. She didn’t even realize she’d slipped into the wrong car.” Roman blinks. “Wrong car?”“The General’s car,” I say hoarsely. “She must’ve either been pitied by one of the people holding her or she outsmarted them. She told me they'd forgotten to tighten her binds. She set herself free and crawled into the trunk of the car that made deliveries to them. She'd hoped to somehow reach a police station and file a report. But sadly, she crawled into the wrong car. Our father must have paid a visit to the people doing his dirty job and she hid inside his trunk, thinking she’d be taken far away. Instead…he drove her straight into hell.” Paula listened. “Or maybe. She crawled into the right trunk. But the deliveries came from Blackwood Manor. That's why she ended up there. It makes me sick to think that we fed criminals who tortured and locked up a defenseless woman.” I said. “There's a possibility that it happened that way.” Roman said. “I don't believe that father wouldn't know that a wounded woman crawled into the trunk of his car.” “But I didn’t know that then,” I say. “All I knew was she was dying. And she needed help fast. I gave her water and food. She was so weak she could barely hold the cup. Her hands were shaking like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.” I see it all again—the trembling fingers, the way she whispered thank you like the word physically hurt to say. “She couldn’t walk. Her feet were surprisingly full of glass shards,” I whisper. “I pulled piece after piece out. She didn’t even scream. She just… she just sat there. Silent. Like she’d been through worse. Much worse. And she'd somehow grown immune to pain.” Roman curses under his breath. “I told her I’d get help,” I say. “I told her my father would know what to do. I was stupid. I should’ve known better. But I wasn't exactly thinking. I believed that even with our father's cruelty, he wouldn’t hurt someone that helpless.” I laugh bitterly. “Foolish, right?” No one responds. “I ran back to the house,” I continued. “Interrupted his meditation. And I told him a wounded girl had wandered onto Blackwood property. The second he heard it… everything changed.” Paula leans forward. “Changed how?” “He went rigid,” I say. “Not angry. Not shocked. Just—calculating. He stood, sent his men out instantly, and told them to search the stables.” Roman shifts. “You followed him?”“I tried,” I say. “But before he walked out, he turned to me and said, ‘Fetch my hunting rifle, Zachary. Bring it to the stables.’” Paula’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.” “I didn’t understand,” I whisper. “I thought maybe he needed it for protection. Or to scare someone. I didn’t question it. I just obeyed. But he had so many rifles, and I didn’t know which he wanted. It took me too long. Too damn long.” I feel the familiar twist of guilt in my gut. That cold, breath-stealing guilt that’s been haunting me for years. “I finally grabbed one and ran,” I say. “I was halfway across the grounds when I heard—” My voice breaks. Roman’s eyes widened. He knows. He already knows. “—a gunshot.” Paula flinches like the sound echoes in her head. “I froze,” I whisper. “Just for a second. And in that second… everything inside me knew. Something horrible had happened. So I sprinted faster. Harder than I’ve ever run in my entire life.”The room feels colder now. Like even the air is listening. “I burst into the stables,” I say. “And there he was. Our father. Standing over Serena’s body. She was still in the same place I left her. Head tipped back. Eyes open. A bullet wound in her forehead.” Paula gasps. Roman goes rigid, just like our father did in my memory. “The gun was still smoking,” I whisper. “He didn’t even look surprised. He didn’t look angry. He just… looked annoyed that she’d made it this far. That she’d made it into his house. Onto his land. Into my hands.” My own breath trembles. “It’s my fault. I killed her.” “No,” Paula snaps, fierce. “You didn’t.” Roman doesn’t speak. “I told her I’d bring help,” I choke. “I told her I’d save her. And I brought the one man who guaranteed she died. He ordered the guards to throw her body into a river like she was worth nothing. And then he turned to me and said—” Roman’s voice is barely a whisper. “What did he say?”I look up, meeting their eyes. “—‘Next time you find a stray, kill it yourself.’”