Caspian’s POV
For a brief moment, Caspian wondered if he should allow his mother to cling to her delusion that Talia was some divine being.
The belief appeared harmless enough, even bringing her a measure of contentment.
Yet the truth escaped his lips before he could reconsider.
“She is not a goddess, Mother.” He released a measured breath.
“A goddess cursed her.”
His mother’s expression shifted, confusion creasing her features as the light in her dark eyes grew dimmer.
“Cursed?” she repeated, her hands gripping her dress fabric tightly.
Caspian gave a slight nod, studying her reaction carefully.
“The Moon Goddess cast the curse herself.”
The confusion on her face transformed into something deeper, more troubled.
“What transgression could warrant such divine punishment?”
Caspian settled back against his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“That question,” he replied with deliberate calm, “can only be answered by the Moon Goddess herself.”
The instant those words reached her ears, something inside his mother shattered completely.
Rage consumed her features, twisting them into something unrecognizable as her lips pulled back in a vicious expression.
“Thatcher carried a curse as well!” she shrieked, her voice climbing to dangerous heights, dripping with bitter hatred.
“That curse drove him to imprison me in this wretched dungeon!”
Caspian’s entire body went rigid.
This pattern never changed.
One moment she was the loving woman who had raised him, the next she was drowning in fury fed by memories that haunted her relentlessly.
He straightened slowly, working to keep his tone even.
“Mother,” he said with careful precision, “this is not a dungeon.
You live in an underground apartment.”
She whirled toward him, her gaze completely unhinged, her face twisted with unbridled rage.
“You speak lies.”
Caspian felt his hands clench involuntarily at his sides.
He recognized this dangerous territory.
Chaos was building, and he needed to prevent it from consuming everything around them.
“You made the choice to live here,” he stated, keeping his voice steady yet compassionate.
“Father never imprisoned you.”
She exhaled harshly through clenched teeth, her mouth forming a severe line.
Then without any warning, her dark eyes transformed, shifting to molten gold that matched his own perfectly.
Her hand darted toward the dish of crimson grapes, seizing a generous handful.
She placed one between her teeth, chewing with deliberate slowness as though the act might restore her composure.
Just when Caspian thought she had regained some semblance of control, her left hand swept toward his face with surprising speed.
He intercepted her wrist before impact, his hold secure but not harsh.
The action did not shock him.
This behavior had become routine.
Predictable.
Violence had woven itself into his mother’s nature, a devastating consequence of the bipolar episodes that shadowed her dementia.
“Mother,” he said, his tolerance beginning to fray.
“Please try to calm yourself.”
She fixed him with that golden glare, her eyes burning with uncontrolled fury.
The gentle woman from moments before had completely disappeared, replaced by a tempest he could neither predict nor tame.
Then, moving with unexpected quickness, she hurled the cluster of grapes directly at his torso.
Caspian felt the soft explosion of juice against his pristine white shirt as the fruit collided with him.
The sticky liquid traced downward, soaking into the fabric before vanishing beneath his belt.
He closed his eyes tightly.
He should have known better than to come here.
If he had not removed his jacket in the vehicle earlier and handed it to Logan, his shirt would not be bearing this mess.
When he reopened his eyes, his mother had torn her wrist from his hold, pulling her right hand away from his chest.
She aimed a shaking finger at him, her voice heavy with betrayal.
“You have chosen his side over mine.”
Caspian exhaled with sharp frustration.
“What are you saying?”
“His scent clings to you.” Her voice trembled, caught between fury and what seemed like heartbreak.
“You visited him before coming to see me, did you not?”
Caspian dragged a hand through his hair, feeling his patience stretch to its breaking point.
The situation had spiraled far too rapidly.
“You are mistaken, Mother,” he attempted to clarify.
She pressed a finger to her lips and made a shushing sound.
“No more deception,” she whispered.
Caspian released a weary sigh, massaging his temples with tired fingers.
Then, almost instantly, she leaped to her feet, jabbing her finger toward the exit.
“Leave!”
Caspian paused briefly, but only for an instant.
This scene always played out identically.
Every visit concluded the same way: physical assault, verbal abuse, and ultimate banishment.
He pushed his chair back and rose, moving toward the door without offering another word.
The moment he closed it behind him, a thunderous crash resonated from within.
He did not need to look back to understand what had occurred.
She had launched the plate at the door.
Caspian shook his head.
The predictability of it no longer surprised him.
Raising his gaze, he encountered Logan’s entertained expression.
Beside him stood Phoebe, his mother’s caretaker, twisting her hands anxiously.
Logan’s attention dropped to Caspian’s chest, where the purple stain from the grapes had expanded.
Then he looked back up, struggling to contain his amusement.
“It appears you require a change of clothes, Alpha,” he observed, his voice thick with barely concealed laughter.
Caspian fixed him with a stern look.
“Do you find this amusing?”
A spark of humor flashed across Logan’s features, but before he could answer, another crash echoed from behind them, followed by the sharp sound of glass fragmenting against the floor.
Phoebe jumped, her gaze bouncing between Caspian and the door, her mouth opening as if to speak before reconsidering.
Caspian sighed and nodded toward her.
“Please attend to her.
Logan and I will leave now.”
She offered a quick bow before rushing past him into the room.
Caspian pivoted and strode toward the elevator, Logan maintaining his position one step behind.
Inside the elevator, Logan finally spoke.
“So,” he began with casual interest, “what caused Mrs.
Vanderbilt to become so enraged?”
Caspian rolled his shoulders dismissively.
“Something I mentioned about Talia.”
Logan made a thoughtful sound, a knowing gleam entering his eyes.
Then, staring straight ahead, he murmured, “It seems someone is already discussing his new wife quite frequently.”
Caspian shot him a warning glare.
“Unless you want to face me in combat tonight, I suggest you eliminate that smirk immediately.”
Logan laughed but made an exaggerated gesture of sealing his lips.
“Understood completely, Alpha.”
Caspian gave him another sharp look for emphasis, though the amusement in Logan’s eyes remained unchanged.
Caspian breathed out through his nose, forcing thoughts of his mother aside.
“Inform the matron that I will attend dinner tonight.”
Logan nodded, his lips twitching slightly.
“Your wife will be pleased to see you.”
Caspian scoffed.
“I seriously doubt that,” he smirked.
“And that is precisely why I am going.” He refused to be the only one whose evening was completely ruined.
Logan chuckled, shaking his head with obvious amusement.
The elevator doors opened at the second floor, and they stepped out together.
Caspian glanced down at his ruined shirt, his mind returning to the moment his mother had struck out.
She had moved with such speed.
Far too much speed.
Faster than her condition should have allowed.
Could her illness be concealing something else entirely?
Caspian dismissed the thought quickly.
He had simply been caught off guard.
That explained everything.
Or at least, that was what he chose to believe.