Chapter 89: Not A Spade
Lorali Pov
"Damn, this house is grand," Vanya whispers in awe as we step into the entrance hall. The air smells faintly of polished wood and expensive perfume, the kind of scent that clings to wealth. A massive painting of Yurena dominates the wall in front of us, her younger self captured in an oil painting. She looks like a little saint in that portrait, delicate features softened by artistry. I can almost see how she might have been an Alma’s omega once, perfection painted into every brushstroke.
"Is that her?" Vanya asks, pointing at the painting, I nod, lips curling. "Yep. But a lot younger. She looks like a literal witch now."
"No way. I think you just hate her," Vanya laughs, rolling her eyes. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps my hatred paints her uglier than she is.
"Torin..." A cheerful voice floats down from the staircase above, slippers clattering against polished floor. We look up together, and there she is, Yurena. The witch herself. Her eyes meet ours, confusion flashing across her face before hardening into pure hatred.
"Hi," I say brightly, waving my hand with a smile that drips with mockery.
Her expression twists. "What are you doing here? You are not welcome." She seethes as she rushes down the stairs, her slippers slapping against the steps like war drums.
"What? I came to say hi to my mate’s mother," I reply, feigning hurt, pressing my hand to my chest as though wounded.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "My son is not your mate, Take your little friend and get out of my house. You are polluting my air."
I nod slowly, glance back at Vanya, who looks utterly bored with her chin propped on her hand and then turn back to Torin’s mother. My hand lashes out, delivering a slap across her cheek that echoes through the hall. Her neck snaps to the side with the force, the sound sharp and satisfying.
"Ouch. Look what you made me do," I whine, shaking my hand at the sting before blowing on it dramatically.
Yurena remains frozen, her eyes wide with shock and locked in place by the impact.
"You see, being mean will only cause you pain. Believe it or not, we’re here for peace. If you cooperate, this won’t hurt." I pause, savoring her expression, joy rushing through me before I correct myself. "Well, I mean it won’t hurt physically. But it may hurt mentally."
"You... you little bitch!" Yurena snaps, her voice rising and her gaze sharpening as if she suddenly remembers who she is and that this is her house, her domain. I smile sweetly at her before slapping her two more times, each harder than the last, each strike ringing louder in the cavernous hall.
"Did you not hear what I just told you?" I huff, shaking my hand again, the sting spreading up my arm. "If you’re mean, this will be hard on you. Trust me, it brings me no joy to hit you." Lies, every word, but delicious ones.
"Lori, don’t slap her again. It will leave a mark. Remember, she still has to see Torin tonight," Vanya warns from behind me, her voice calm and practical.
"Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that," I chuckle, lowering my hand, though the urge to strike again burns in my veins.
Then a voice rings out from above. "Madam?" in a gentle tone. Me and Vanya both look up. A girl in a maid’s uniform stands at the top of the stairs, her face a mix of confusion and fear, hands trembling against the railing.
"Pam, get my phone and call my son or mates!" Yurena shouts, cutting through the air before either of us can stop her.
The maid—Pam, apparently—nods quickly before she bolts upstairs, her footsteps fading into the distance.
Fuck.
"Mind getting her?" I say, flicking my head toward Vanya, who is already tugging off the heels I told her not to wear.
"The things I do because I love you, Lorali," she groans, tossing the shoes aside before sprinting up the stairs.
"Love you too, boo. I’ll never forget this!" I shout after her, laughing when she lets out an even louder groan. Her dramatics amuse me. I still wonder why she came instead of Susie. This sort of thing isn’t Vanya’s vibe. Susie would have set the house on fire by now, probably for no reason other than boredom.
I’m too lost in my thoughts to notice Yurena raising her hand until it’s too late. Her palm connects with my cheek, the sting sharp and immediate.
"Is this some petty revenge?" she scoffs, laughing. "Did hitting me make you feel better? Make your life less miserable?"
I look at her, slightly amused by how thick‑skinned she pretends to be, ignoring the burn on my cheek. "Listen to me, Alma bitch. I will only say this once. Leave this house and my son’s pack while I am still being nice, or I will make your life more miserable than it already is."
She seethes, her laughter dying, replaced with that same bitter expression she wore during her entire stay at the penthouse.
"You know this is why you lost your daughter," I say flatly. Her eyes widen, the color draining from her face.
"I believe it was Yolisa. You named her after yourself. She’s a very smart, pretty girl now, right?"
I relish the sight of her arrogance crumbling, the mask slipping.
"Oh, sorry, my mistake. How would you know how pretty she is now when you last saw her when she was one?" I feign an apology, holding back a smile. To think she’s been searching for her daughter for years with no success. It took Ella’s pack only two weeks to find the girl, with the help of Headmistress Cleovera and the old Alma headmistress.
"Where is she?" Yurena mumbles, her eyes desperate, her voice trembling. I can smell the desperation rolling off her.
"Where is who?" I tilt my head, feigning innocence. Her composure shatters. "YOU KNOW WHO I’M TALKING ABOUT! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY DAUGHTER?" she screams, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I click my tongue. "I don’t appreciate being shouted at. If you want to know, ask nicely."
She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to speak through clenched teeth. "Please... tell me where my daughter is?"
I walk closer, closing the distance until our faces are inches apart. Our eyes lock. Funny how she’s the one with tears now, it was usually me.
"No."
I watch the craziness flash in her eyes the moment the word leaves my lips. I smile, turning away, strolling toward the massive painting with my hands clasped behind my back. Beneath it sits a table cluttered with framed photos of Torin and his parents.
"You lying bitch! You don’t know where she is either. You just know her name!" she seethes behind me, her voice cracking, probably still crying. I don’t give her my attention. The desperate will tell themselves whatever they need to cope.
"You think you’ll use her to threaten me? You think I’m dumb enough to believe you know where she is?"
I lift a framed photo of young Torin, toothless grin wide and butterfly face paint smeared across his cheeks.
"Does he know he has a sister?" I ask, squinting at the innocent little boy in the picture. He looks nothing like the man he is now. I wonder if this child ever knew he’d grow into a monster.
"If you think you’re going to threaten me by exposing Yolisa’s existence to Torin, you’re sadly mistaken. You can tell him. He’ll be delighted to know he has a sister!" Yurena spits, her voice trembling but defiant.
"Delighted to know his bastard, you mean. That man is not a Spade."
Silence follows, heavy and suffocating, broken only by faint sounds of things breaking upstairs.
"H...o... What are you talking about?" Yurena stutters, nerves radiating off her like heat.
"I wonder how he will feel, knowing the business he works so hard to maintain and push to new heights isn’t his family business at all. He is so proud of his Spade blood, but in truth he doesn’t have a speck of Spade blood. What he does have, though, is the blood of the help. His father is Yolisa’s father, isn’t he?"
"You are lying!" she shouts, her voice cracking as I lazily place the photo back on the table.
But I’m not lying. Torin is the product of a very short affair. How do I know this? When we were confirming Yolisa’s DNA against Yurena’s, we threw Torin in for good measure. The results were obvious, Yolisa and Yurena matched perfectly. But Torin and Yolisa? Their DNA came back at fifty percent. Half siblings are supposed to share twenty‑five percent, not fifty. That meant they were full siblings.
With that information, we ran DNA tests across all of Yurena’s mates. None matched Torin and Yolisa. Only when we looked at Yurena’s old flames—the two men she slept with during the sports festival—did we find the truth. One of them matched.
Torin’s father a male omega, used to work in this house as a driver before Torin was born. A month after he was born, the man was fired. Now he lives on the bad side of the city, drowning in the debts of his pack. Torin would crawl out of his own skin if he knew his father was a poor man, that he was no Spade but just an average man.
"You cannot tell him. Or anyone," Yurena cries, desperation finally breaking through, knowing denial won’t save her now.
"I won’t. Not if you promise me that when you see Torin tonight, you will tell him it was Oril who ordered you to whip me during Walter’s heats."
"But he didn’t," she sniffs, voice trembling. "I did it of my own accord because I hate you."
"I know that. But that is what you will say." I cross my arms, waiting for her reply.
"Fine. But you have to promise me you won’t tell Torin."
"I promise." I won’t tell him... for now. I’ll wait until he’s at rock bottom.
"By the way, I wasn’t lying about your daughter. I do know where she is. If you kneel and ask nicely, I’ll tell you."
"Kneel? To you?" Her face twists, rage and humiliation battling across her features.
I lift my hands. "I’m not forcing you. It’s if you want to know."
She hesitates, contemplating, before slowly lowering herself to her knees. The sight fills me with a rush of happiness, laughter bubbling in my chest.
"Please tell me where Yolisa is," she bites out, the words venomous.
I laugh aloud, savoring the sight. The things a parent will do for their child.
"Can’t believe you actually kneeled. Bitch, I was playing with you. Kneeling doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m not telling you where she is." I walk toward her, sneakers clashing against the floor, enjoying every step.
At the same time, Vanya comes down the stairs, her hair a mess, her face scratched. "That girl can fight. We should go now. She called someone, I don’t know who." She’s already reaching for the door.
"Alright. This is the end for now. Goodbye, Yurena. If you’re good, I’ll tell you where your daughter is." I smile, pacing toward the door.
"Pour water over yourself before you get back home," Vanya says as we slip into the car. "You smell like Yurena."
"Really?" I mumble, sniffing at myself. She’s right. I do smell like her.