Storyline of Blood And Bones Of The Disowned Daughter: A disowned daughter struggles with betrayal, family secrets, and her fight for redemption.
Chapter 1: The Escape
The Bentley’s engine purred through the storm, each mile putting blessed distance between Natalie Parson and the mausoleum her family called home. Rain lashed against the windshield in sheets, turning the highway into an impressionist painting of blurred lights and shadow.
She hadn’t meant to run. The plan had been simple: endure the engagement party, smile through the congratulations, play the grateful daughter finally welcomed back into the fold. But when her stepmother had made that comment—“Such a shame about her… condition. But Benjamin doesn’t mind damaged goods, do you, dear?”—something inside Natalie had simply snapped.
Now she sat curled in the passenger seat of Ben’s car, her designer gown feeling like a straitjacket, her left arm throbbing with phantom pain that two years of healing couldn’t erase.
“Stop apologizing,” Ben said, his voice cutting through her spiral of self-recrimination.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your whole body is an apology.” He glanced at her, and in the intermittent light of passing cars, his eyes were nothing like the glazed, drunken gaze he’d worn at the party. They were sharp, predatory, completely sober. “It’s annoying.”
Natalie almost laughed at his bluntness. Benjamin Rothschild, heir to a pharmaceutical fortune, was supposed to be her punishment—the alcoholic wastrel her family had sold her to in exchange for a business merger. The man driving with deadly precision through a storm looked nothing like that caricature.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere that isn’t infected with Parsons,” he replied. “My place in the city. Unless you’d prefer a hotel?”
“No.” The word came out too fast, too desperate. The thought of being alone tonight, with the phantom sensations of the reform school still crawling under her skin, made her nauseous. “Your place is fine.”
Ben’s hands tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. “Natalie.”
“Yes?”
“When’s the last time you ate actual food? Not that bird shit they served at the party.”
She tried to remember. Breakfast? No, she’d been too nervous. Yesterday? The days blurred together when you spent them pretending to be human.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” His tone brooked no argument. “There’s a 24-hour diner about ten minutes away. We’re stopping.”
“Ben, I really don’t—”
“You’re going to eat,” he interrupted, “or I’m going to feed you myself. And trust me, princess, I’m not nearly as gentle as I look.”
Despite everything, Natalie felt her lips twitch. “You don’t look gentle at all.”
“Good. Then we understand each other.”
Chapter 2: The Diner
The diner was a relic from another era, all cracked vinyl booths and flickering neon. At 2 AM, it was nearly empty save for a tired waitress and a trucker nursing coffee at the counter. Ben guided Natalie to a corner booth, positioning himself with his back to the wall—a predator’s instinct she recognized from her own habits.
“Coffee?” the waitress asked, not bothering to hide her assessment of Natalie’s couture gown and Ben’s rumpled tuxedo.
“Coffee for me. Hot chocolate for her,” Ben ordered without consulting Natalie. “And two of whatever your cook recommends at this hour.”
“Ben—”
“You’re shivering,” he said once the waitress left. “And not from cold. Sugar helps with shock.”
“I’m not in shock.”
“No?” He leaned back, studying her with those unsettling gray eyes. “So your hands always shake like that? You always fold in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear?”
Natalie forced her spine straight, hating that he could read her so easily. “Maybe I’m just not used to my fiancé actually being sober enough to notice things.”
“Ah.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth—not nice, but genuine. “There she is. Was wondering if there was any fight left under all that porcelain perfection.”
“Why do you do it?” The question escaped before she could stop it. “The drunk act. It’s convincing.”
“Why do you do yours?” he countered. “The grateful daughter, reformed and repentant. It’s equally convincing.”
The hot chocolate arrived, and Ben pushed it toward her. “Drink.”
She wrapped her hands around the mug, careful to keep her left arm angled away from him. The old injury ached in the cold, a constant reminder of the price of being framed.
“They tell you what happened?” she asked quietly. “Why I was sent away?”
“They told me their version.” Ben’s voice was neutral. “Something about grandmother’s sleeping pills and a substantial inheritance. Very Greek tragedy.”
“And you believed them?”
“I believe…” He paused as the waitress delivered two plates of pancakes drowning in syrup and butter. “I believe that the Natalie Parson who supposedly murdered her grandmother for money is the same girl who once spent her entire trust fund allowance on funding a shelter for trafficking victims. Make that make sense.”
Natalie’s throat tightened. No one had ever bothered to look deeper than the surface accusation. “How did you—”
“I do my research, princess. Especially when my family suddenly insists I marry someone. The drunk act has its benefits—people say all sorts of things around you when they think you won’t remember.”
“And what did they say about me?”
Ben cut into his pancakes with surgical precision. “That you came back wrong. Broken. That something happened at that reform school that made you…” He gestured vaguely at her hunched posture. “Smaller.”
“Maybe they’re right.”
“Eat your pancakes.”
“Ben—”
“Eat,” he commanded, “or I make good on my threat.”
To her surprise, Natalie found herself cutting a small piece and bringing it to her mouth. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, and suddenly she was ravenous. When had food last tasted like anything other than ash?
They ate in companionable silence, the storm still raging outside their bubble of warmth and grease and normalcy. It wasn’t until she reached for her mug again that her sleeve rode up, revealing the edge of what lay beneath.
Ben’s hand shot out, catching her wrist with gentleness that belied his speed. “May I?”
The question hung between them, loaded with more than simple curiosity. Natalie found herself nodding, unable to form words.
With infinite care, he pushed the sleeve up.
The scars were a roadmap of violence, crisscrossing from wrist to elbow in a pattern that spoke of prolonged, deliberate torture. Not the clean lines of self-harm, but the jagged signatures of external cruelty.
Ben’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted, became dangerous.
“Reform school,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“They had creative methods of… reformation.” Her voice sounded distant, clinical. “Apparently I was particularly resistant to their teachings.”
His thumb traced one of the worst scars, the touch so light she might have imagined it. “How long?”
“Two years. Seven months. Thirteen days.” The precision of her answer revealed everything.
“And your family?”
“Never visited. Never checked. Just… left me there.” She tried to pull her arm back, but he held firm. “It’s ugly, I know. We can keep the lights off when—”
“Stop.” The command cracked like a whip. “Look at me.”
She raised her eyes to find his face transformed with a fury so cold it burned.
“If you ever,” he said slowly, “apologize for surviving again, I will take great pleasure in reminding you why that’s unnecessary. Understood?”
“I don’t understand you,” she whispered.
“Then we’re even.” He released her wrist but didn’t move away. “Because I don’t understand how anyone could look at you and see anything but magnificent.”
Chapter 3: The Apartment
Ben’s penthouse was nothing like she’d expected. No bachelor squalor or empty bottles—just clean lines, dark furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a kingdom’s view of the rain-soaked city.
“Guest room’s down the hall,” he said, hanging his jacket with practiced ease. “But you’re taking the master.”
“I couldn’t—”
“You could and you will.” He moved to a bar cart, pouring two glasses of what looked like very expensive whiskey. “Unless you’d prefer to argue about it until sunrise?”
Natalie accepted the glass, noting how he’d positioned himself between her and the door—not blocking her exit, but making himself a barrier between her and the outside world. When had she last felt protected rather than caged?
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Which part? The rescue from your loving family? The food? The bed?” He took a sip of whiskey, considering. “Maybe I have a thing for lost causes.”
“I’m not a cause.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not. You’re a survivor playing at being a victim because it’s safer. I recognize the game because I play my own version.”
“The drunk wastrel.”
“Among other things.” He moved closer, and Natalie caught his scent—expensive cologne underlaid with something darker, more dangerous. “We’re well-matched, you and I. Two frauds bound by other people’s greed.”
“Is that what we are?”
“That’s what we’re supposed to be.” He reached out, fingers ghosting along her jaw. “But I’ve never been good at following scripts.”
The touch was electric, sending sparks down her spine. How long since anyone had touched her without agenda, without pity or revision?
“Ben…”
“You need sleep,” he said, stepping back abruptly. “Bathroom’s through there. There are clothes in the dresser—they’ll swim on you, but they’re clean.”
“Whose clothes?”
“Mine.” His smile was sharp. “Despite rumors, I don’t actually keep a harem. You’ll be the first woman to sleep here.”
“Should I be honored?”
“You should be asleep.” He finished his whiskey in one swallow. “We’ll deal with your family tomorrow. Tonight, you rest.”
“And you?”
“I have some calls to make. People to wake up.” His expression turned predatory again. “Your reform school—what was it called?”
Ice flooded her veins. “Why?”
“Humor me.”
“Mercy House.” The irony of the name had never stopped tasting bitter. “In upstate New York. But Ben, it’s been over a year—”
“Good. Recent enough for records to be intact.” He pulled out his phone, already scrolling through contacts.
“Sleep, Natalie. Let me handle this.”
“Handle what? Ben, you can’t just—”
He crossed to her in two strides, crowding her against the window. The city lights blurred behind her as he caged her with his arms, not touching but making his presence inescapable.
“Do you know what I found most interesting in my research?” His voice dropped to that dangerous register that made her pulse race. “Mercy House had a 98% success rate. Remarkable, really. Except that twenty-three of their ‘success stories’ committed suicide within five years of release.”
Natalie’s knees went weak. “How did you—”
“I told you. I’m very good at my job when I’m sober.” His breath fanned across her face, whiskey-sweet and tempting. “And my job, as of tonight, is making sure the people who hurt you understand what a terrible mistake they made.”
“It won’t change anything. I’m still—”
“Perfect.” The word was growled against her ear. “Scarred and strange and absolutely perfect. And mine, if this engagement is to mean anything.”
“Yours?” The word came out breathier than intended.
“Problem with that?” He pulled back enough to study her face. “Because if you prefer to go back to your family, to pretend this never happened—”
“No.” She grabbed his shirt, surprising them both with her vehemence. “Not back there. Never back there.”
“Then you’re mine to protect. Mine to avenge. Mine to put back together properly this time.” His hand came up to cradle her face with devastating gentleness. “Starting with eight hours of sleep without nightmares.”
“I always have nightmares.”
“Not tonight.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, the gesture somehow more intimate than a kiss. “Tonight you’re safe. I promise.”
And somehow, despite everything, she believed him.
Chapter 4: The Reckoning
Natalie woke to sunlight streaming through windows she didn’t recognize and the smell of coffee brewing. For a moment, panic clawed at her throat—where was she, what had happened—before memory flooded back. Ben. The escape. Safety.
She found him in the kitchen, still in his tuxedo pants but shirtless, revealing a back covered in intricate tattoos she never would have expected. He was on the phone, voice deadly calm.
“I don’t care what the senator says. You have forty-eight hours to deliver every file, every record, every surveillance tape from the past three years, or the next call I make is to the FBI.” He paused, listening. “Yes, I’m quite serious. Yes, I know who your backers are. Would you like me to list them? Along with their… extracurricular activities?”
He ended the call and turned, unsurprised to find her watching. “Sleep well?”
“Better than I have in years.” It was true. No nightmares, no phantom pains. Just dreamless rest in sheets that smelled like him. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast. And destroying lives.” He cracked eggs into a pan with practiced ease. “I’m multitasking.”
“Ben—”
“Sit.” He pointed to a barstool with his spatula. “Eat first. Discuss my reign of terror after.”
She sat, tugging self-consciously at the hem of his t-shirt she’d borrowed. It hit her mid-thigh, making her feel smaller and somehow cherished.
“Whose lives are you destroying, exactly?”
“The entire board of Mercy House, for starters. Did you know your father is a silent partner? Fascinating what you can learn when you follow money trails at 4 AM.”
The eggs in Natalie’s mouth turned to ash. “My father…”
“Paid them extra to ensure you were… thoroughly reformed.” Ben’s knuckles went white around the spatula. “I have the receipts. Literally.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He slid a perfect omelet onto her plate, then rounded the counter to stand before her. “Because someone should have. Because you deserve justice. Because—” He stopped, jaw working.
“Because?”
“Because I’ve been playing dead for five years, and you make me want to be alive again.”
The confession hung between them, raw and unexpected. Natalie reached out tentatively, her fingers finding the largest tattoo—a phoenix rising from flames that covered most of his left shoulder blade.
“We match,” she said softly, understanding flooding through her. “You’re broken too.”
“Was.” He turned into her touch, eyes closing briefly. “Past tense. Turns out rage is excellent motivation for healing.”
“What happened to you?”
“Family betrayal. False accusations. The usual tragedy.” His smile was sharp enough to cut. “But we’re not talking about my scars today. Today is about yours.”
He pulled out his phone, showing her a series of documents. “Mercy House is being raided as we speak. Twelve arrests so far. Your father’s assets have been frozen pending investigation. And your stepmother…” His grin turned feral. “She’s about to discover what happens when you falsify evidence in a murder case.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can. I did. It’s done.” He cupped her face between his palms. “You were never supposed to be in that place, Natalie. What they did to you was torture, not reformation. And they will pay for every scar, every nightmare, every moment of pain they caused.”
Tears she hadn’t allowed herself in two years suddenly spilled over. “I thought I deserved it. Thought if I could just endure enough, atone enough, they’d love me again.”
“No.” His voice was fierce. “You deserved protection. Safety. Love. And since they failed to provide it, you’ll have mine instead.”
“We barely know each other.”
“I know enough.” His thumbs wiped away her tears. “I know you’re brilliant and brave and broken in ways that make you more beautiful, not less. I know you survived hell and came out kinder than your tormentors. I know I’ve been sleepwalking through life until you crashed into it.”
“Ben…”
“I know I’m not what you expected. Not the drunk wastrel they promised you. But I’m hoping…” He paused, vulnerability flashing across his features. “I’m hoping you might want me anyway.”
Chapter 5: The Claim
Instead of answering with words, Natalie did something she hadn’t done in years—she initiated contact. Her lips found his, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as he groaned and pulled her closer.
The kiss was nothing like the dutiful pecks she’d imagined sharing with her arranged husband. This was fire and demand and promise, two damaged souls recognizing their match. His hands tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and she melted into him completely.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his eyes were wild.
“Natalie,” he said, voice wrecked. “I need to know you want this. Not because of the arrangement, not because I’m helping you, but because—”
“Because you see me,” she interrupted. “The real me. Scars and strangeness and all. And you don’t flinch.”
“Flinch?” He laughed, dark and wanting. “Princess, your scars make me want to burn the world down. They’re proof of your strength, not weakness. They’re magnificent.”
He proved his words by trailing kisses down her throat, pausing at the collar of his borrowed shirt. “May I?”
She nodded, beyond words as he slowly unbuttoned the shirt, revealing the full tapestry of her survival. The scars didn’t stop at her arms—they painted abstract patterns across her torso, each one a testament to her refusal to break.
Ben’s expression turned reverent. He traced each mark with fingers and lips, worshipping rather than pitying, until Natalie shook with something that had nothing to do with trauma and everything to do with desire.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “Every inch of you. Beautiful and mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed, then pulled him up for another kiss. “And you’re mine. No more hiding behind masks. No more pretending to be less than you are.”
“Demanding little thing,” he said, but his smile was genuine. “I suppose that’s fair.”
What followed was a claiming—mutual and complete. They came together with the desperate hunger of those who’d been starving for genuine connection. Ben’s hands and mouth mapped every inch of her body, replacing traumatic memories with new ones full of pleasure and safety and choice.
When he finally joined with her, it was with a tenderness that destroyed her more thoroughly than passion could have. He moved like she was precious, like she might shatter if handled carelessly, all while whispering praise and promises against her skin.
“Never again,” he vowed as she came apart beneath him. “Never alone, never abandoned, never unloved. You’re mine now, Natalie. Mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to rebuild with.”
“Ben,” she gasped, nails digging into the phoenix on his back. “I—”
“I know,” he said, following her over the edge. “I love you too.”
Chapter 6: The Aftermath
Later, tangled in sheets and each other, Natalie traced the lines of Ben’s tattoos while he played with her hair.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
“Now?” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Now we make them all regret underestimating us. Your family, mine, everyone who thought they could use us as pawns.”
“Together?”
“Together.” His arms tightened around her. “Fair warning—I’m extremely possessive. And I have very specific ideas about how to handle people who hurt what’s mine.”
“Such as?”
“Complete and utter destruction.” He said it casually, like discussing the weather. “Financial, social, legal. I want them to lose everything, the way they tried to make you lose everything.”
“That seems… extreme.”
“Princess, they tortured you for two years based on lies. Extreme is me showing restraint by keeping it legal.”
Natalie considered this, finding comfort in his protective fury. “And us? What about the arrangement?”
“We’ll marry,” he said simply. “Not because our families want it, but because I’m never letting you go. Unless you object?”
“To marrying my avenging angel? The only person who’s ever seen me clearly?” She smiled against his chest. “No objections.”
“Good. Because I already had the engagement ring redesigned.” He reached for something on the nightstand, producing a black velvet box. “The original was insulting. Generic. This is you.”
The ring was extraordinary—a black diamond surrounded by smaller white ones, set in platinum. Beautiful and unconventional, darkness and light intertwined.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed.
“You’re perfect,” he corrected, sliding it onto her finger. “The ring is just decoration.”
Chapter 7: The Reckoning, Part Two
The news broke three days later.
“MERCY HOUSE HORROR: Torture Disguised as Reform”
“PARSON PATRIARCH ARRESTED: Paid to Torture Daughter”
“SOCIALITE FRAMED: Two Years of Hell for Inheritance Scheme”
Natalie watched the coverage from Ben’s couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like him, while he fielded calls from lawyers and journalists.
“No, she won’t be giving interviews,” he said for the fifth time. “No, I don’t care what they’re offering. My fiancée’s privacy is not for sale.”
He ended the call and joined her on the couch, pulling her into his lap. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s surreal,” she admitted. “Seeing it all laid out like that. Knowing everyone knows.”
“Regrets?”
“No.” She turned to face him fully. “For the first time in years, I feel… free. Like I can stop apologizing for existing.”
“Good.” He nuzzled into her neck. “Because I have plans for you, princess. Big plans.”
“Such as?”
“First, we’re going to therapy. Both of us. Separately and together.” He felt her tense and soothed her with long strokes down her back. “Not because we’re broken, but because we deserve to heal properly.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What else?”
“Then we’re taking a year off. Traveling. Healing. Learning each other without crisis and chaos.”
“Your family won’t like that.”
“My family can fuck off.” He said it cheerfully. “I’ve made enough money to buy and sell them ten times over. They need me more than I need them.”
“And after the year?”
“After the year, we come back and build our empire.” His eyes gleamed with ambition. “You want to help trafficking victims? We’ll build the best damn organization in the world. I want to destroy corruption? We’ll dismantle it system by system. Together.”
“You really think we can do that?”
“Princess, we just took down a torture ring disguised as a reform school and exposed one of the city’s oldest families as frauds. We can do anything.”
Natalie kissed him, pouring all her gratitude and love and hope into the contact. When they broke apart, she was smiling. “Okay then. Let’s burn it all down and build something better.”
“That’s my girl,” Ben said, pride evident in his voice. “My beautiful, brilliant, unbreakable girl.”
Epilogue: Five Years Later
The gala was in full swing, Manhattan’s elite mingling in the ballroom of the Rothschild-Parson Foundation. Natalie stood at the podium, confident and radiant in a dress that left her arms bare—scars proudly displayed.
“Five years ago,” she said, voice carrying clearly, “I was broken. Tortured. Discarded by those who should have protected me. I thought I would never be whole again.”
She found Ben in the crowd, his eyes locked on hers with that same protective intensity that had saved her all those years ago.
“But I learned something important: We are not defined by what breaks us. We are defined by how we rebuild. By who stands beside us in the ruins and says, ‘Let’s create something better.'”
Applause rippled through the room, but Natalie only had eyes for her husband.
“Tonight, we’ve raised twelve million dollars for survivors of institutional abuse. We’ve funded safe houses, legal aid, and therapy programs. We’ve taken our scars and turned them into salvation for others.”
Ben was at the stage now, hand extended to help her down. She took it, feeling the familiar spark of connection.
“How’d I do?” she whispered.
“Perfect,” he said, pulling her close despite the crowd. “As always.”
“Ben, people are watching—”
“Let them.” He kissed her deeply, possessively, completely uncaring of their audience. “Let them see what it looks like when broken people refuse to stay broken. When love is stronger than trauma. When we choose to heal together.”
Around them, cameras flashed and people whispered, but in their bubble of two, there was only truth: They had survived. They had healed. They had conquered.
And they had done it together.
In the end, that was the greatest revenge of all—not just surviving those who’d tried to destroy them, but thriving so completely that their former tormentors became nothing more than footnotes in their love story.
As Ben led her onto the dance floor, Natalie caught sight of their reflection in the ballroom mirrors. The woman looking back wasn’t the broken girl who’d fled her family home in a storm five years ago. This was someone new—scarred but strong, loved and loving, whole in ways she’d never dreamed possible.
“No regrets?” Ben asked, spinning her under his arm.
“None,” Natalie said, meaning it completely. “Every scar was worth it if it led me to you.”
“Careful, princess,” he murmured, pulling her close. “Keep talking like that and I’ll have to take you home and remind you exactly who you belong to.”
“Promises, promises,” she teased.
His eyes darkened with intent. “Always. Every promise, every vow, every day for the rest of our lives.”
And as they swayed together, surrounded by the empire they’d built from the ashes of their trauma, Natalie knew he meant it. They were two phoenixes who’d found each other in the flames, and together, they were unstoppable.
The broken daughter had become an unbreakable queen, and beside her stood a king who would burn down the world to keep her safe.
It was, she thought, a far better ending than either of them had dared to dream.
But then again, the best love stories always were.
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