Chapter 49 - with control

Chapter 49: 49 - with control 49 ~Kael’s POV She ran. Her dress fluttered behind her like a broken flag as she stumbled out of the garden, her eyes wide and full of shame. Weak. Scared. Like she always was. I didn’t even try to stop her. Just leaned back and laughed. "What a waste of a whimper," I said, shaking my head. "You’d think she’d be used to it by now." Ramon burst into laughter beside me, stretching out his legs like he owned the world. "You saw her face? I thought she was going to faint." "She almost tripped over the vines," Damon added, lifting his wine glass, the rim catching the sunlight as he smirked. "Would’ve been funnier if she fell flat on her face." I couldn’t help the grin that crept onto my lips. "Next time," I said coolly, "maybe we should push her. Let’s see if she can cry and bleed at the same time." They both laughed again, loud, careless, cruel. The sound echoed through the flower garden, once our mother’s sacred space. Now it was ours, claimed by darker moods and sharper intentions. The wine in my glass tasted sweeter somehow. I swirled it slowly, watching the deep red color catch the light like spilled blood. I didn’t know why it tasted better. Maybe it was because I knew she was out there somewhere, probably still running, probably still shaking. Crying again. That thought made me smirk. Lisa, sweet, soft, pitiful Lisa, could break a hundred times and still drag herself back for more. Still follow orders. Still obey. Still fear us. And that fear? That was power. Tangible. Heavy. Addictive. "She’ll be back by morning," Ramon said, picking up a grape and tossing it into his mouth. "Like nothing ever happened. Maybe she’ll even say sorry again." Damon gave a lazy shrug. "They always do when they know they’ve got nowhere else to go." I leaned back on the bench, letting the breeze ruffle the edge of my sleeve. The air smelled of flowers and wine, and something else. Victory. Power tastes sweet like that. It always had. It was the kind of sweetness that stayed on the tongue long after the act was done, bitter to others, maybe, but to me? It was satisfying. Control. The knowledge that someone was beneath me, trembling because of me. That kind of power made you forget guilt, made you forget softness. It replaced it with pride. "She said we were monsters," Ramon murmured, his voice lower now, like something heavy had just settled on his chest. "Maybe we are." I didn’t turn to look at him. I kept my eyes on the roses, soft and glowing under the late sun, pretending for a moment that they hadn’t heard every word we just said. "She says a lot of things," I replied, my tone even. "But she still listens. That’s what matters." Because in the end, obedience was everything. None of us spoke for a few seconds after that. The laughter had faded. Even the birds that chirped a few minutes ago had gone silent. It was just us, and the garden. I looked around slowly, letting my eyes roam over the familiar flowers: the tulips near the fountain, the lilies along the stone path, the bed of sunflowers that still tilted toward the light. The garden looked untouched, peaceful. It looked the same as when she was alive. Our mother. She used to spend hours here, her hands deep in the soil, humming songs we hadn’t heard in years. She would make us join her sometimes. Back when we were just boys with scraped knees and dirty hands. She’d laugh when we got frustrated pulling weeds or tangled the hose trying to water the beds. "You can’t force a flower to bloom," she used to say. "Just like you can’t force someone to love. You care for them gently... or you lose them." I hadn’t thought of that line in years. Now it felt like a ghost whispering in the breeze. We’d forced everything since she died, forced silence, forced fear, forced respect. Forced Lisa to bend until she almost broke. And maybe we did lose something. Maybe we lost more than we realized. But I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I let the silence stretch, my jaw tight. Now it was just us and our poison. "She would’ve hated all this," Damon said quietly. I didn’t need to ask who he meant. I already knew. "Yeah," I whispered. "She would’ve." I took another sip from my glass, but it suddenly didn’t taste as good. I stared at the rose bush in the far corner, the one she planted the day before she died. The petals were open. Perfect. Still alive. Unlike her. Sometimes I still hear her voice. Not in my ears, but in my head. Telling me to be better. Telling me not to let the world harden me. I used to listen. Not anymore. Now, I rule the way I have to. With fear. With silence. With control. We finished our wine in silence, the mocking laughter gone. Not because we regretted anything. But because grief has a way of hollowing out even the cruelest hearts. We left the garden without a word. As we walked past the east wing, I glanced at her shrine, our mothers’. I didn’t stop. I never did. I didn’t like seeing her picture, that frozen smile. It reminded me of everything I lost. Everything we ruined. Dinner was quiet. I sat at the head of the table, like always. Damon and Ramon were on either side. Belinda came in late, dressed too brightly, her perfume choking the air. She tried to joke about something, Lisa, I think, but I didn’t care. I didn’t laugh. Neither did my brothers. My thoughts were far away. Not on Lisa. Not really. In the garden. On the silence that followed her leaving. On how my mother would’ve never let it get this far. We ate slowly. No one finished their food. And when the plates were cleared, I stood first and walked out. I didn’t say goodnight. I didn’t even look at them.