Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 242

Eve

My hand was twitching as I paced, the replacement phone that Hades made available for me weighing a ton.

My mind was a jumble of thoughts, fears, possibilities, and probable aftermath. The night before, when I had decided to look for evidence, I did not realize just how far I was from any resources that could help manage the narrative and get the truth out before I found a bullet in my skull.

My mind was replaying every interaction since I was brought here, looking for a probable source of help and information that could help put the story together—without me seeming like I was trying to transfer the blame to the sister of one of the victims.

I had almost gnawed off my entire bottom lip from contemplating. Who could help me? Who would have been privy enough to the events of that day that could help me out with just enough incentive or doubt in order to tip the scales in my favor?

Certainly not Felicia, the only other person that knew of the treachery. I could face her head-on with my own set of accusations, but if she twisted it on me, I was pretty much a corpse, and there would be no justice despite my demise.

There would be no justice—not for Hades, or Danielle.

Or Elliot. The child she claimed was hers, yet the truth would most definitely be something different.

Felicia had woven herself into the aftermath like a grieving statue—silent, composed, unshakable. And no one questioned her. No one ever questioned her. The perfect victim's sister. The perfect survivor.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream or rip something apart.

I stopped pacing, pressing my fingers to my temples. My skin felt too tight, my breath too shallow. I had a truth so heavy it threatened to crush me, but no way to carry it without proof. Not after what happened five years ago. Not after I was branded a monster before I even knew I had claws.

I looked down at the phone again, thumb hovering over the call button. I could tell Hades everything right now. I could spit it all out, consequences be damned. He deserved to know the truth. I deserved a chance to say it.

But I knew what would happen without evidence. My voice would vanish beneath the weight of Felicia's tears and the shadow of my own past. History would repeat itself.

It would be my 18th birthday again.

The accusations leveled against me, my words drowned by my family's hatred.

"Not again," I whispered to the empty room.

A soft knock at the door made my heart skip a beat.

I turned, body rigid, until the door creaked open and Amelia stepped inside.

Calm. Kind. Unassuming.

Everything I had come to rely on.

She offered a small smile, her eyes flickering over me with practiced concern. "You're up early," she said gently, stepping in and letting the door close behind her. "Or... haven't slept?"

I couldn't speak. My mouth was dry. My thoughts louder than my voice.

She walked closer, the scent of vanilla and coffee clinging to her. "You look like your mind's been at war with itself."

My laugh was brittle. "It's a massacre, really."

She tilted her head. "Want to talk about it?"