Page 85 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“You are quite a troubled woman, aren’t you, Vivian?”

“What do you want?” She raises her hands into the air, walking over to her paintings. “I can give you an oil painting.”

“I want the truth.”

She trembles, folding her arms across her chest.

“Hands back up.” I flick my knife into the air, stepping in. “Tell me where Ben is hiding, or I stick this knife straight into your chest and tell the cops it was suicide. Guilt swallows us whole in the end, and you have been battling with this emotion for a while.” I turn my head to the side, assessing her. “Crystals won’t save you, Vivian, but the truth might.”

“I don’t know where Ben is,” she sobs, hands shaking as she holds them in the air.

“What?”

“I’m telling the truth. I was approached a long time ago by someone.”

“Who?”

“Renato Vieri.”

I clench the knife harder, hearing her out. “What did he want?”

“Ben was trying to escape the Crows,” she explains. “For a while, he was successful. He ran away, started seeing my sister Elanor. He wanted to turn over a new leaf, start a family.”

“And then what happened?”

Vivian grinds her jaw, looking away. “I’m leaving my art class one night when I realize I’m being followed. The man approaches me with kindness. He tells me he knows how it feels to be second best, to be seen as the failure of the family.” Vivian shifts, watching my knife. “He assures me that I am not a failure. That I can be powerful.” Vivian stares at the tip of the knife, eyes turning vacant as she recounts the memory. “I knew where Ben was hiding. I exposed his location for money.”

“How much?”

Vivian scoffs, dropping her hands in defeat, gesturing to her surroundings. “Enough to build a life for myself.”

“And what happened to Ben?”

“I never found out, but the Crows took him. Two days later, Elanor falls into my arms, heartbroken, sobbing, saying Ben left without saying goodbye.”

“He’s still alive?”

Vivian shrugs. “I have no idea. But my sister was distraught. Ben promised her the world, and then he took it away from her.”

“No.” I feel Ophelia’s hurt like it is my own. “You did.”

Vivian swipes tears away from her eyes, the fear replaced by something harder. “What the fuck was I supposed to do?” she scoffs, anger creeping into her voice. “Elanor had everything. She was the perfect child, adored by my parents. Elanor this. Elanor that. Elanor could do no wrong. She was hard-working, everything I was not in the eyes of my parents.”

Vivian shakes her head. “Do you know how long it takes to create art? I sacrificed sleep, I skipped school and failed all of my subjects because I wanted to pursue art. Elanor was Little Miss Perfect. She ripped my artwork to shreds over an argument, and my parents still took her side. She cries and the world stops to comfort her. But me? I cry and I’m seen as weak, pathetic. A waste of space. ‘Cry over something real, Vivian. Get a real job. Art will never pay the bills.’”

Vivian takes off into the room, grabbing a painting, lifting it into the air. “Shove this sixty-thousand-dollar oil painting up your ass.” She launches it across the room, pacing through the room. “I traded my sister’s heart for freedom. I proved my parents wrong, becoming everything they never thought I would become. I made more in a day than Elanor made in a month. People started seeing me as someone important.” Vivian crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes down on me. “You’re the same as me.”

“No, I’m not. I sacrificed myself for this life. You sacrificed your family.”

Vivian laughs hysterically, earrings swinging around. “Innocent people are dying, and you pile up the dead bodies, building yourself a throne.”

I clench my jaw, tempted to shove this knife into her heart and get this over with. I have the perfect alibi. Guilt is the number one cause of death, and Vivian has been trying to escape its prison for years.

But for Ophelia’s sake, I shove the knife back under my belt. “Tell me who the new Crow leader is.”

“This person is not her father.”

“Digging yourself a deeper grave here.”