Page 18 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“Why don’t you?” I demand and again and this time I feel a thud in my shoulder and I glare at Victor.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses in my ear

“Why am I not allowed to ask these questions?” I hiss back through gritted teeth.

“Erm...” Emily interrupts us, “I’m not sure I’m meant to be speaking with you.”

Her eyes glaze back at Riggs who gifts her a soft smile and moves back slightly to give her space, “We are here to help you Emily okay? We just need to try and find some information to keep you safe, would you like that?”

Emily’s shoulders lift in a small, uncertain shrug before she glances up at me briefly and then drops her gaze straight back to the floor like eye contact itself is something forbidden. Her fingers move restlessly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap.

“He never…” she mumbles. “He would sometimes hit me for correction but he never, you know… touched my privates.”

Felix lets out a low, feral sound over the comms and Victor swears quietly under his breath.

“Who is he?” Riggs asks softly.

“My daddy, Colin Fisher,” Emily responds quicker this time.

Emily straightens her spine after she says it, her small shoulders pulling back like she’s bracing for impact. I’ve seen that move before. I saw it the night Fae finally let the truth spill out of her on that cold stretch of beach.

“Can you tell us anything more, Emily? You’re being very brave,” Riggs says gently.

She draws in a careful breath.

“He goes for days at a time,” she begins quietly, “and then he’d come home and train me.”

Her fingers twist deeper into Victor’s jacket as if the fabric might anchor her.

“I had to wear these tight dresses and skirts that I didn’t like. They were scratchy and hard to sit in,” her voice thins slightly. “I would be made to sit on the floor whilst he ate dinner and it made my knees hurt.”

A small hiccup escapes her and my jaw tightens so hard I feel the pressure behind my temples as I force myself not to move or interrupt.

“He said I had to practise,” she continues. “He said I had to get it right.”

“Practise what?” Riggs asks.

“Everything, I guess,” she murmurs. “My posture. My make-up. The way I sat. The way I looked at people.” She swallows as her eyes drop to the floor again, “He said it was for daddy’s friends. If it wasn’t perfect, I would get corrected. Sometimes lots of times.”

The pieces align in my head with a clarity that makes my stomach churn. The make-up laid out across the bathroom sink wasn’t evidence of an adult woman living here. It was the residue of a child being moulded into something she was too young to understand.

“And perfume,” she adds quietly, like it’s something minor compared to the rest. “I had to wear perfume.”

“What kind?” Victor asks, in a deceptively neutral tone

Only his eyes flick briefly in my direction, and a slow and heavy understanding settles in my gut before she even speaks. Emily wrinkles her nose faintly.

“Vanilla,” she says. “I don’t like it. It makes me feel sick. But daddy likes it.” She hesitates, “he said I had to smell like her if I wanted to be successful.”

The air in the attic suddenly feels thinner. Vanilla wasn’t random; it was a preference born from memory. Fisher wasn’t training her for strangers. He was shaping her into somethingheenjoyed. Fae smells like vanilla threaded through with honey. It belongs to her in a way that cannot be replicated. The thought of that fragrance being stripped down and forced onto a child as part of a rehearsal dinner forces me to swallow the bile continuing to rise in my throat and Riggs cuts me a knowing look.

“Where’s your mum?” Victor asks quietly and Emily shrugs beneath the jacket.

“I never met her,” she replies.

Atlas’ breathing shifts over comms. Felix says nothing but I know he is watching every second of this feed.

“We’re going to get you somewhere safe,” Victor tells her and there is no performance in his tone. “Somewhere warm and clean.”