There’s a chance it’ll never be enough.
I’m sick of being robbed. The Persian has taken three people from me now, and I’ve yet to lash back with enough force to make an impression. While the boys would have been great allies in such a fight, I refuse to forget how they treated me during the event that led to my mother’s death. If they had helped me, would she still have died?
Or perhaps Amos would have gotten her out in time instead of him fussing over me.
It’s always my fault, I think while tightening my arms over my chest. Without me around, maybe my mother would have survived.
My angry glare falls on the three boys pretending that I don’t exist. If that’s how they want to act, then I’ll be happy to exact my revenge on them and everyone else involved in this shitty affair. When the people opposite me stand and line up to pay their respects, I join the growing crowd, plucking a rose from my mother’s casket to take with me.
I walk away from everyone, more determined than ever to take control of my empire.
And to make those responsible for my pain suffer greatly.