Little Liar: A Dark Taboo Romance (The Web of Silence Duet Book 2)
Little Liar: Chapter 13

Mom calls my name, but I don’t respond. I keep my eyes on the mirror while I apply my lip gloss as slowly as possible, as if taking my time will make the day pass, and I won’t need to walk out of the door and ruin my brother’s life.

It’s inevitable that my mom will come into my room in a matter of minutes and yell at me for what I’m going to say.

She’s looking for me—I can hear her opening the main bathroom door, then the walk-in closet.

“Olivia!”

By the tone of her voice, she isn’t happy. Ever since Dad woke days after his surgery, Mom’s been on a mission to control everyone and everything. I’ve become the target of her anger, so I’ve been keeping my distance.

After all, Malachi did nearly kill our father, and she did overhear me begging my comatose dad to forgive him. I was crying, pleading for him to help me get his son the help he so desperately needs.

I wanted my dad to live but secretly hoped that the brain damage the doctor spoke of after his MRI meant he wouldn’t remember the truth.

The thought of losing him was worse than him waking and remembering what happened that night a month ago, then cutting ties with me forever.

Luckily enough, Dad had some brain damage and only remembers being on the phone to me that night. And flashes of Malachi hitting him, but that’s all. My statement probably solidified Malachi’s confinement. I couldn’t lie about who attacked Dad. Malachi was covered in blood, his knuckles cracked, scratches down his face from my nails, and didn’t even try to deny anything.

He could have run out of the backyard and got away, had time to himself before this all struck, but he just stood there, silent, staring at me like he was committing me to memory.

Emotionless—gone from reality, even when the cops and paramedics barged into the house. My heart slowly breaks, remembering the betrayal I can never take back—I should have protected Malachi.

I still can.

Mom walks into my room and huffs when she sees me; how swollen my eyes are. “We need to leave. Are you ready?” She looks at my outfit—a simple black dress and tights. “Why are you crying?”

I take a deep breath and sit on the edge of my bed. “I can’t do this.”

A beat of painful silence, and she crosses her arms. “Can’t do what?”

“I can’t testify.” I hold my breath, awaiting the storm brewing in her eyes to hit. “I won’t.”

Her gaze drops, and she lets out a disbelieving laugh. “He has you so badly wrapped around his finger, you don’t even realize how much he’s manipulating you.”

I frown. Mom has never spoken to me like this before—of course she’s yelled, but never in this tone, like she’s sickened by me. Not when it comes to my brother. Sure, she’s heavy when it comes to the dates and my lifestyle, but she’s never looked at me with so much… disgust.

“He’s not manipulating me,” I say, standing and taking two steps towards her. “I’m not testifying against him. He needs help, not to be locked up with criminals.”

“He is a criminal, Olivia.”

Malachi isn’t a bad person. Everyone has this image of him now because of how he reacted—but he lost himself, that’s all. Everyone’s afraid of my brother. Even his own friends bailed on him when the news broke online that he snapped and nearly killed his adoptive father.

Everyone but Mason.

If my brother knew that his best friend died the same night he was arrested, while speeding to the manor to make sure Malachi was okay, it would be the final straw. Abigail is devastated and hasn’t left her house to see me. Not that I blame her. We’ve had news reporters and onlookers standing outside our house since the case went global. Thanks to my father’s high-profile name, it’s been all over social media.

I miss Malachi. And I feel selfish for missing him, considering what happened between us. A part of me wishes I hadn’t overheard the girls in the locker room. I’d be none the wiser that Malachi was pretending to be inexperienced so he could mess around with me.

Another part of me also thinks that, maybe, it wasn’t true. I didn’t let him explain. I silenced him and watched him get arrested.

Dad was dying—his blood was all over us both. He was my main focus when I broke our eye contact for the last time. I can never look at him again.

I could be the person who sends him to jail. The reason he’d be charged with attempted murder and put behind bars for a really long time. I might never see him again. I have no doubts that he’d be done with me if I do this.

So…

I won’t.

Mom stares at me—I’m too determined to back down. I’m not going to. Testifying against the one person I love, the one person who’s always protected me, would be like stabbing myself in the heart and leaving the blade there to twist every time I think about him.

She can see the determination and love in my eyes as I think about potentially saving my brother, or at least refusing to testify. I’ll take back my statement. I’ll make him walk free with me. I need to.

“You don’t remember much about your childhood, but I do. I have your reports. Do you know how badly your real mother and father treated you? They were more interested in their next hit than feeding you and your baby brother. They were investigated for years. The only reason child services had a fireman break into your house was because they didn’t attend a drug test, then failed to answer calls, and then a neighbor contacted them to tell them that a baby had been crying for days on end before it fell silent. You were so thin and barely had any energy, yet you held your dead brother in your arms until you were found.”

My eyes burn as she keeps going.

“I saved you from that life. If it weren’t for me and your father, you would’ve stayed in the system. I gave you this life, so be a good daughter and defend your father against the monster who tried to kill him.”

Tears slide down my cheeks, and my body shakes with anger. “How dare you use my past against me like that! I didn’t ask to be adopted by you. I didn’t ask for this life you’re forcing me into.”

She laughs. “Forcing you into? Open your eyes, Olivia. Has Malachi warped your mind so much that you don’t see the bigger picture? You’re refusing to stand up for the man who raised you against a disgusting beast who we never should’ve adopted.”

I have to stop myself from slapping her. “That’s enough, Mom.”

“Is this how you thank us?” she grits. “You’re just as bad as your brother.”

Malachi isn’t disgusting or a beast. But Mom is right about one thing. She did save me.

I bite my lip to stop it from wobbling, and my chest burns. Everything she’s saying, every damn word, hurts me. I try to push away the memory of how cold my little brother was before he was taken from my frail arms, how sore my body was when a fireman lifted me from the soiled crib and carried me out into the sun that burned my eyes.

It’s the only memory I have.

The only one that sticks with me.

Mom sees my inner breakdown, and her shoulders sag as she takes mine. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Malachi will get the best help away from the public. He’s a danger to you, himself, and society.”

Tears soak my cheeks, every atom within me colliding.

“Promise me you’ll make sure he’s safe. Promise me he’ll get help.” I sniffle and drop my head to her shoulder. “I’ll do it, but only if he gets help.”

“I promise,” she says, moving back and wiping my eyes. “Get cleaned up, fix your hair, and let’s go.”

On the drive to the courthouse, I don’t speak a word, even when my mom asks me if I’m okay—she tells me to lift my chin when we stop the car as cameras flash outside, reporters waiting to get their five seconds of shoving themselves in our paths as we push through to the front entrance. Dad being a well-known attorney only makes this all worse. Entitled people think they can yell disgusting words at us, even though we’re the innocent ones. It makes no sense—Malachi was the one who attacked our dad.

A part of me feels nervous, as if someone might be able to read my mind and see the full image of what happened that night. Someone will replace out the truth, and I’ll lose the family who saved me forever.

Malachi was charged with attempted murder and sentenced to prison. He refused to plead insanity, no matter how much we tried to push his lawyer.

He’s sent me letters. Some I can’t read fully; some are so heartbreaking that I keep them under my pillow. He’s losing himself in there. He can’t understand why I’m not there, visiting, being there with him. Some letters are concerning, so I’ve given pictures of them to his in-house psychiatrist. In some, he begs me. Those are the ones that are covered in tears. Both of our tears. I can tell which ones are angry, which ones are sad, and which ones he struggled to write.

After his tenth letter, I’ve been sitting at my father’s desk, staring at a blank piece of paper. If any of them knew what I was going to do, they’d call me a traitor to my family.

My fingers shake too much to start, so I drop the pen and flex them, closing my eyes and imagining his face; the room he’ll be trapped in—four walls he’s going to be staring at for years. He’s already described his cell, the dinners he hates, and how he can hear my voice, see my face when he closes his eyes.

I can see him too. I force images. I force myself to feel his hand on me even though it’s my own. My heart beats heavily at night, and sometimes when I hug my pillow, I pretend I can feel his beating against me.

He’ll know what I’m trying to write. My handwriting is terrible, but he’ll know. He knows me more than anyone, and he’ll decipher this if he has to.

The pencil moves over the page, and the words spill out nearly as fast as the tears fall from my cheeks and onto the page.

Malachi,

What happened to us? We had everything. A family, friends, food in our stomachs and a roof over our heads. We had love. Real love. Did it ever exist? Was it all fake? Am I an idiot for wanting your love, in whatever form anyway? I was mad at you for lying to me about your date with Anna, but I never wanted this to happen. We were supposed to argue, yell, kiss, and make up. You would’ve explained your side if I only let you. I shouldn’t have silenced you the way I did. That was terrible of me and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Malachi.

I know what happened with Dad was a mistake. It was the sign we all needed from you to show how much you’re struggling, and I’m going to help you, I promise. Give me some time to talk to our parents. I’ll tell them the truth about us. Once Dad is doing better and Mom isn’t on the warpath with everyone, I’ll tell them that I’m in love with you and everything you said was true. I’ll spare them the details of that night though. Let’s agree to never talk about that. We’ll do everything as new. Everything.

Mom is hellbent on me marrying still, so I need to try to get her to stop. I’ll refuse. I won’t marry anyone who isn’t you, Malachi, because you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, even if I have to wait a while. Please keep yourself out of trouble. I’ll visit as soon as Mom lets me. I’m so sorry I did this to you. You don’t have to forgive me. But I hope you do.

I love you more than everything: It shouldn’t have taken me losing you to realize that.

I should’ve chosen you.

Olivia

I stare at the words. Some of them are distorted by my tears.

I turn the page over and pick up a picture of the two of us. I’m kissing his cheek while he carries me on his back. His expression is blank. No smile, no emotion whatsoever, but I know he was happy. One of many good moments together, proof we have a chance.

But what happens if I can’t talk Mom out of marrying me off? I was so delusional when my big brother gave me butterflies, and I knew he felt them too. We were just too young to realize our feelings. Too confused by the ridiculousness of falling for someone we grew up with and called a sibling.

This letter… It represents false hope for us.

I don’t have a shred of hope, but Malachi has every opportunity to move on from me. When he’s released, he can replace someone he can truly be with, and not someone already manacled to someone else.

The realization breaks my heart so painfully, I let out a sob.

Through my bated breaths, I grab the lighter, flick it, and hesitate as I read over the words one last time. I wish we lived in a world where I could give him this letter, that I could stand in front of him and watch him read word for word what it says before having the rest of our lives together.

I watch the flames engulf the corner of the letter, spreading to the edges and eating all the words I’ll never speak of. Malachi will never know about my feelings. He’ll never receive the apology he deserves, and he’ll never feel any sort of hope for us. He can’t. If I send this letter, I’ll be leading him on while marrying whoever our mom forces me to be with.

It’s emotional suicide for our hearts—they’re fragile, important organs that need protected, and this is me protecting Malachi’s by burning the letter into a pile of ash.

Thanks to Mom, I’ve never had a choice in my future. It’s inevitable that I’ll become who she raised me to be. Wife to a rich man. Silent. Compliant. The perfect daughter. The worst sister.

At least with me burning my final bridge to my brother, I can protect him from ever being poisoned by me again.