Steel Princess (Royal Elite 2)

She doesn’t pay me attention as if I don’t exist. She continues scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing.

At this rate, her hands will bleed.

I step to her side and clutch her arm.

She pushes me away and shoves her hands under the tap again. “They’re dirty. I need to clean them.”

“They’re not dirty, Elsa.” I try to pull her away again, but she squirms free.

I let her. Any type of force will have the exact opposite effect on her.

“I saw you,” she whispers.

“You saw me,” I repeat, unsure where she’s going with this.

“You were chained in the basement. That’s the reason for the scar on your ankle.” Her lower lip trembles and her scrubbing turns more aggressive. “Was it Ma or Dad?”

My left eye twitches.

She remembers.

She finally fucking remembers.

“No. Don’t tell me that,” she blurts. “I think I know. When Jonathan burnt Ethan’s factory down, Dad must’ve kidnapped you as a fuck you to Jonathan. Cole and Xander were taken by mistake, that’s why they were returned almost immediately and the kidnappers never asked for ransom. Ethan didn’t need the money. He only wanted to hit Jonathan where it hurts the most.”

I remain silent. If she remembers, everything else will start making sense.

She’s smart to connect all the dots.

“But it wasn’t Dad who kept you, was it?” Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. “It was Ma. The worst part is, I don’t think you were the first boy that she kept in the basement since Eli’s death. But usually, they’re gone after a day. You’re the only one she kept that long.” A tear slides down her cheek and clings to the teardrop in her upper lip. “You’re the only one she hurt that much.”

My face remains the same. I knew this time would come. I knew Elsa would remember, but hearing her choked tone and watching her trying so hard not to break hurts more than I thought it would.

I want to hold her.

Protect her.

But I doubt she’d let me.

“I’m a carbon copy of her.” She finally stops scrubbing, but her hands remain under the water.

Her eyes meet mine.

Those electric blue, blue eyes.

>

They’re rimmed with tears and red like she’s been crying since I left her ten years ago.

“How can you look at my face?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“I told you,” I murmur. “You were a ghost.”

“You saw my mother in me that first day at RES, didn’t you?” Her voice cracks as if she doesn’t want to say the words.

I did. And sometimes, I see her when she’s slipping out of her element.

But not once have I mistook her for anyone else.