Chapter Seventy-nine

"I'm alright."

Napoleon eyed all of us at the table slowly, then paused to clear his throat, capturing everyone’s attention. Everyone stopped eating, stopping the noises of forks and spoons tapping on the porcelain dishes. Everyone looked at him. He seemed to be sad, his face was of a man who had mastered the art of frowning.

In a somber tone, he said, ”I have some news and it is not very good news."

"Oh?" Harriet asked, raising her brows.

"Yes," he sighed. "Remember when I said I was expecting the birth of a child… the child died when he was being born."

Emily and Harriet ran straight to his side and both wore the same look of concern and sympathy. Both embraced him, telling him soothing things. I sat and watched, seething in pain because I knew the real him, I knew the truth about what happened to that baby. My bile threatened to ravage my throat and all parts of my mouth area but I had to fight it.

He looked at me then, the bitterness in his gaze hidden behind the sorrow he portrayed so well. “Gina,” he said gently in a tone that practically squealed in my ears, “I understand it is tough at the moment but I want you to know this. Your son will officially become my heir when he turns five years old as the law says.”

My heart pounded in my chest. I suddenly realized the real meaning and it hit me like a tidal wave. My son—my only boy—would be in the hands of Napoleon. He would be fashioned into the man Napoleon wanted and not what I wanted, or what my son wanted for himself. I attempted to wear an expressionless face, but the room started to tilt. I had kept a check on the bile I felt rising in me but not any longer. It came rushing forward, I ran out to the hallway just in time to spill my guts all over the floor.

A maid came for me there and when she lifted me to my feet, her face was aghast and her face became a blur as she led me back to my bedroom. There seemed to be other people as well talking. I could not hear what the people around me were saying but the whispers were worried whispers and there was a soft padding of feet on the carpet. Even as I heard those everything seemed hazy and distant as if I were floating in a dense mist. The world swung and I was off balance and had to cling to the walls and the maid to steady myself.

When I got to my room, I fell onto the bed, my body shaking. I could not stop the vomiting and cold sweat trickling down my forehead. I was clotting up with dread and disgust in my head and inside my stomach. The vision of Napoleon in a pool of blood occupied my thoughts. The memory had come to me like a sickening nightmare that revisited me time and time again.

I probably dozed off after a while and when I woke up, the room was slightly lit with the late afternoon light. I was cold, and I had been wrapped in thick warm blankets and already cleaned up while I must have been asleep. I found myself in a state of confusion and so when I shut my eyes again, I was immediately taken by sleep that dumped me into a horrible dream.

I found myself in the cold dark room where Susan was killed. It was a cold metallic smell accompanied by the stench of blood in the air. Napoleon stood in front of my twins and I, his lips were drawn into a wicked smile, clutching the pestle with which he had fatally wounded Susan.

‘No, please’, I whispered lightly, stepping backwards. "Not my children. Please, not my children."

But he ignored my pleas. With utter ruthless force, he turned in the direction my twin children were seated, both looking scared. He reached for them and took them both into his hands grabbing them, and this man lifted them without any effort.


"No!" I screamed and my voice cracked. I attempted to rush towards them but my legs turned to blocks of lead. I could only look on as he smashed the pestle down onto them, they screamed with pain, it was almost as if the sound could cut through me.

I tried to run toward them but it felt like running through a swamp. My arms and legs felt stiff and wooded. Napoleon laughed and the sound reverberated throughout the room, a sound I despised listening to whenever he was in a bad temper. He looked into my eyes and it was clear to me he had nothing but hatred deep in his heart. He consumed my pain and fed off my sadness.

"They shall never be able to run from me," he sneered threateningly, before letting out a low hiss. "Just like you."

I knelt on the ground crying and crying and begging to no avail. I felt nauseous as the stench of fresh metal hit my nose – blood.

After a while, he transformed just like the other day. His eyes were red, and two sharp fangs were protruding from his mouth. He was a monster, and there was no way to get away from him, in any sense of the word.

“Please,” I pleaded in near-sob, my eyes wide and filled with tears. "Please, don't hurt them."

But Napoleon's response was a very wicked and self-satisfied grin. He did not care about anyone other than himself.

He lifted the pestle again and I began to shout; the loud noise continued till eternity, the voice of despair.

And when he had killed off the twins, he turned to me with a look of delight in his eyes, the satisfaction he felt in knowing my personal hell was far from over.

It was my turn to be killed.