LUCIEN’S POV

“There you are, son.”

My father’s voice slithered through the dim cellar like poison, casual and mocking. He stood there, smirking like we were old friends bumping into each other at the market—not like the man who’d spent my entire childhood turning my life into a living hell.

He looked even more like the monster I remembered. Older, yeah—silver threading through his dark hair, deeper lines etched around his eyes and mouth—but that cold, hateful gleam in his brown eyes hadn’t changed. If anything, it burned brighter, sharper, like time had only fueled the fire inside him.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, voice low and steady, even...