For Katie, whom I promised to dedicate a chapter to for reasons I forgot. Haha, ignore the stupid spoiler I emailed you. I hadn't planned on posting this yet sooo... There goes the whole thing. Just read the non spoiler parts.

Chapter 18: What it is to Burn

"It seemed like the night sucked them up, took them into its dark heart. It seemed like the darkness swallowed them... Perhaps it did."

-Neil Gaiman

There was that tiny crack of anxiety that disturbed her otherwise perfect façade. Kathryn's mask was cracking, and he had no idea why. As he watched her sit down, her mouth open and eyes glazed over as she stared blankly while Belinda was driven to the hospital, he couldn't help but come to her. Something was wrong. At the way his stepsibling was reacting, something was seriously wrong. Everybody else seemed to think it was the perfect time to gossip about what had happened, and somebody had already called the tabloids, rendering it useless to continue without the constant pestering of blinding lights from a few sneaky bastards who managed to get in and the occasional shoutout for Belinda's condition.

"Hey." He said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder so he wouldn't freak her out more than she seemed to be already. "Are you okay?

Kathryn seemed to age before his very eyes as her somber green eyes finally directed themselves on his face. "I can't do this right now, Sebastian." She said distractedly, removing his hand from her body.

"Do what?"

"This. Us. There are bigger things at work."

"What are you talking about?"

She started walking away, ignoring the other people calling out her name in a confused reaction as to whether the rehearsals were over or not. Sebastian noticed Annette was watching them with an odd interest in her large blue eyes but she quickly gave him a small smile when he stared back at her and wondered if she knew. However, there was still the matter of Kathryn and he wasn't going to let her off easy this time and he ran after his stepsister and grabbed her arm before she could knee him on the groin or do something else that would hurt as much.

"Dammit, Sebastian!" she hissed, shoving him. "What part of I can't do this didn't you understand?"

"My comprehension of that phrase, yes. Your explanation, however, was not at all helpful. What the fuck just happened, Kathryn?"

She put on her sunglasses and he could see his anxious face mirrored on the two ovals that stared back at him. Kathryn was hiding again. "None of your business. I'm fine, okay?"

"Look at you, you're shaking!" he protested, "And take off those damn glasses."

"Quit giving yourself another reason to hold on. I can't do this with you, Sebastian. Not now."

"Let me help you."

"YOU CAN'T HELP ME!" she finally screamed and the two recoiled when they realized the room had gone silent and were now observing them.

"I can try." He struggled to keep his voice even, trying to think up of something, anything, to make her stay.

"Haven't you already?" she answered, raising her eyebrows in a silent dare, remembering his trip to Paris and his cowardice at not even letting her know.

He stared at her in bewilderment, "What?"

The expression on her face changed from frightened to aloof, "You don't get it, do you? You're a toy, and now I've whetted my appetite. Get lost."

He froze at her harsh words, telling himself that it was another of her ploys, another attempt to push him away so she wouldn't lose face. Still, at the back of his mind, there was that seed of doubt. The truth of the matter was, Kathryn disguised herself and her emotions so many times it was sometimes difficult to tell when she was telling the truth. What difference does it make? It still hurt. More than the bitch could even comprehend.

"Fuck you."

She laughed coldly, "Been there, done that. Goodbye, Sebastian."

---

Marseilles, France

Sixteen years ago

Rarely does the chance of producing such a perfect little girl come across a couple's life, but Julian and Tiffany Merteuil had two. They were really delightful to watch, these Merteuil daughters, with their prim faces and shy smiles. Even at their young age, they knew that they were different. They could get away with anything at just the fluttering of their long eyelashes or the widening of their almond shaped eyes while proclaiming their innocence for something they did indeed do. Their father owned eighty percent of the business in the city and forty percent of Paris, entitling them to the finest, the most beautiful of things, the fear and reverence of little girls and their fathers in school. Their mother owned the social circle, perfectly capable of making or breaking any woman's reputation with a few well placed words and the revelation of dirty secrets she somehow found out no matter how much the others tried to hide it. The Merteuil sisters were heiresses, princesses, and in a way, prisoners of the mysterious and intricate world of gossip, intrigue, and wealth.

The eldest, Belinda Victoria Merteuil, was of angelic beauty that was the muse of every painter looking to paint the most cherubic of faces. She was born beautiful, a tiny pink, crying baby with the most striking gray eyes that almost made the doctor gasp when she fixed him a steady stare for the first time. She had been held by the cold arms of her mother before arriving in the arms of one nanny to another, that bald head eventually filling with corkscrew blond curls and a pink mouth that never touched any form of sweet because Tiffany forbade it. She was smart, charming and she knew it. Even at a young age, she was well aware of two things. She was beautiful and she could get anything she wanted. This philosophy did not fail her as she grew older.

The second born, Kathryn, was perhaps just as beautiful, if not more, than the first. Starkly contrasting her older sister's classical good looks, she was born making the slightest whimper, as if she knew it was improper for a lady to cry out in public. At first the doctors thought she was mute or abnormal, but they soon realized that this peculiar child was indeed just that— peculiar, although there was neither nothing abnormal nor particularly disfigured flaw about her. Belinda came out screaming, telling the whole world that she was alive. Kathryn came out quiet, her green eyes preferring to observe and to let her presence be felt. And that she did. Even three year old Belinda had been intrigued by the coming of her sister and would sometimes spend up to half an hour just observing her in her custom made platinum and gold plated cradle while Kathryn's nanny watched over the baby with an eagle eye.

"Is she my new doll?" as a rule, they were encouraged to practice their English whenever they can, and since Belinda was already fluent in French, Tiffany insisted she try to master the other language and to speak it without her accent.

The nanny laughed at her earnest face, "No. She's your sister."

"But she never moves much. She looks like a toy."

"She's resting."

"She's always resting." Belinda complained, "She never does anything except look around."

Five years passed and Kathryn outgrew the two thousand franc crib. Soon, she existed in society along with her sister, basking in the adoring gazes of the women who could only wish their own daughters would be as beautiful as they were. Her beauty was compelling, if Belinda depicted radiance and happiness, Kathryn depicted the kind of perfection found in the saddest, and most beautiful of poems. It was a lingering vision of the purest form of ethereality that would soon make men fall down to their knees in admiration. There was a certain kind of mystery hidden beneath her dark green irises, the threads of gold and shadowy jade that made up her eyes were too dark for you to read into. She wasn't the Kathryn Merteuil she would be as she grew more jaded, although she had already acquired that trait of making astute observations about people and keeping these to herself, knowing fully well the power of information. This was a trait Belinda would only learn in the years to pass. Belinda had always thought she followed her around because her little sister looked up to her, but the truth was, Kathryn was progressing faster than the angelic little blonde girl could ever be. In fact, Kathryn was fascinated with her sister, and although she didn't feel certain idolatry, she indeed knew that she admired Belinda to a certain point. They were of the same blood, and that meant they entitled were to definite privileges, and those privileges, Kathryn wondered, (at such a young age she'd already started to think beyond the boundaries of any five year old) would they both use it to get the same things or would they have different needs? What did Belinda want? What made her want differently? What were her means of acquiring these wants?

Although these questions were too advanced for a girl her age, Kathryn Merteuil did indeed ask herself this when she went with Belinda to the various social functions if only to be cooed and admired. Tiffany's decorative dolls of opposite beauty, only to be admired but never really loved.

While the Merteuil family ruled Marseilles with an iron fist, it deteriorated from within. Decaying perfection, frantically putting up appearances with their perfect children and exorbitant wealth and power. Julian drank more and more, and he'd begun to take an interest in Belinda. Papa's little angel. That's what he called her as he slurred each night, going up to Belinda's room to stroke her soft hair and smell her sweet, eight year old girl-scent. As every child loves the affection of a parent, Belinda felt special because of the fact that while Julian's gaze would often look at his youngest daughter's as he watched her handle herself with utmost poise, it would be her he'd smile at and give an extra bar of chocolate which Tiffany had ever forbidden any of her girls to have. It was fine, at first she thought his hand had accidentally just brushed against her inner thigh, but then It happened.

He moved his hands up while the other covered her wide open mouth. Wrong, wrong, wrong! She felt like screaming as the fatherly love in his green eyes turned into lasciviousness, the affectionate murmurs for his eldest turning into chilling commands that she wouldn't even be hearing at that age. The first princess, the first-born, the angel faced perfect little girl was defiled, defaced, and permanently ruined that night. The tears that came out of her almost translucent gray eyes weren't flowing out for her to get what she wanted at that time, they were running down her cheeks because she felt sick and horrible, a million scalding hot baths wouldn't be able to take the sensation of him inside of her away. She gritted her teeth in pain as she bled while he pounded mercilessly into her, the liquid that flowed from her fragile body staining the sheets of her pink silk sheets while the headboard of her princess styled antique bed banged against the wall. The purity of a Merteuil never lasts, and although this was somehow at the back of her mind through the years of watching her mother backstab, blackmail and laugh while she's doing it, Belinda had never thought she would lose it this early. At age eight and sex was something designed to tear her in two. He'd never take off his gloves while he touched her in places she shouldn't be touched, perhaps it was because Julian couldn't bear to have his daughter's stench on his fingers before he crept back to bed with his oblivious wife, or perhaps in his own twisted way, he wanted her to feel the gentle leather skin as it pushed through her, as opposed to his own calloused and rough hands that would only make her uncomfortable. Belinda never did know.

The first time it happened, she stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to move. Her entire body felt sore, and the cold sensation of the blood against her skin made her throw up. She never made it to the bathroom. Clutching her stomach, she doubled over and out came the filth she felt out her mouth, her tears now dried up and she no longer felt like the special one in the family. Kathryn had that role now. She was still pure, her body a temple untouched until she deemed it to be otherwise. She had a choice. At least, at the time. Her older sister didn't. The bed stank from her spew, but at least it distracted her from smelling his tobacco breath on her own body. If she was dirty, it was on her own terms, in her own vomit. How sick that sounded, but in a twisted sense, it made her stand up and wordlessly take out the layers of sheets only to promptly burn them. She never went to anybody else. She was a Merteuil, and by rule, one must never talk about such things. After taking a bath that nearly burned her alive, she quietly put on her pink, frilly pajamas, the ones that depicted her in the most virginal way possible and she couldn't bring to look at herself in the mirror. The outside vision did not match the inside. Not anymore.

The common room was only accompanied by a solitary figure of a girl with damp curls and the sound of a flickering fire as it burned the filth away. The fire turned the stains on her bed sheet from crimson to black while her gaze was transfixed in fascination.

"B'linda?" murmured a sleepy voice that made her tense up. She slowly turned to see five year old Kathryn rubbing her sleep puffy green eyes that sometimes looked so much like their father's she wanted to gouge it out of her sister's pretty face.

"Go back to sleep, Kathryn." She said it more harshly than she'd liked, but the last person she wanted to see right now was her.

Even as a child, Kathryn had never been one to follow orders. Her long baby blue nightgown trailed from behind as she approached Belinda. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Then why were you crying?"

"I was not."

"Your eyes are still red." She pointed out smugly, her small finger directed to her red rimmed eyes now hollow and unforgiving.

"There are things you don't understand."

She liked challenges and had never been one to back down, "Like?" she asked arrogantly, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.

"You're too young." She sighed, averting her gaze to keep from looking anywhere near those eyes of hers. Sometimes, the way her sister gazed at a person made the person felt as if Kathryn was burrowing deeper into your thoughts, a five year old beautiful mind reader.

"It's okay, B'linda. It won't hurt so much as time flies by."

Her ears pricked up at Kathryn's patient voice, "What?"

"The bruise on your wrist. It'll heal soon, you don't have to worry." So the innocence was still there. The matter-of-fact way Kathryn had said it told her that she was the tainted one. They were a balance, a contradiction, the Angel Belinda with the blood pouring out of her while the Hauntingly Beautiful Kathryn with her purity intact. When she finally allowed her to stay, the two sat down, their beautiful eyes not so young looking while they waited for the fire to die and the darkness to come cradle them in its safety once again.

The years did pass by and her bruises did heal; only they were replaced by new ones as the sick practice continued. Once, only once, she'd gone to her mother only to receive a sharp glare and a painful slap, all the while hissing that it must never be mentioned again. So Tiffany wasn't as oblivious as she'd thought, and that fact alone hurt her more. She never spoke a word about it, but their nannies did. Soon, gossip traveled and there were scandalous rumors of Julian Merteuil and his twisted preferences. Nobody ever looked at Belinda, or Kathryn, for that matter, the same. She knew for a fact that during one particularly empty night of her drunken father, he'd mistakenly gone inside Kathryn's room. It was like fucking a female child version of him, and oddly enough it was the first and last time he'd strayed to his youngest daughter again.

The scandal prompted Tiffany to file for divorce two years later after a bad day at the spa because somebody had called her husband a disgusting incestuous fornicator. The humiliation was too much for her and even before the ink on the divorce papers were dry, she'd grabbed Kathryn and jumped on a plane to New York, leaving her ten year old eldest to rot in hell with Julian without so much as a backward glance. One little girl was enough to ensure child support anyway.

While the Merteuils ran into the Valmonts in New York, she was wasting away in Paris. Papa's little girl had changed into Papa's little bitch, and everyone knew it. While he brought other women home, he never let go of Belinda. She remained shackled against the walls of their Paris mansion until one particular day when something in her life changed.

She met Mathieu at the age of thirteen, when the beauty she possessed and once coveted now seemed like a curse to her. Indeed, one could get a lot of things for being physically attractive, but at the same time, one carried a lot of burdens as well. Boys had started to lust after her, their mouths practically salivating every time she'd walk past. One glance and they'd fight over themselves about who gets to take her home. The rumors that she was still being molested fell on deaf ears because the only sounds they heard were her footsteps. The small sighs that came out of her mouth, that confident, mocking laugh that escaped her throat. True, she was tainted, but then again, who the fuck on earth wasn't? Being a Merteuil entailed having a fucked up past, and if that served as a qualification to the untold wealth and power her family had, then fuck it, she'd been qualified even before she'd reached a two digit age.

Her father had insisted that she go out with Luc Pardeu, the seventeen year old son of a business partner to make the merger of their businesses easier. "It would look good in the papers, Belinda."

True, but will it be good for me? She wanted to ask, but kept her mouth shut. Her ribs still ached from when he hit her the other night. She obeyed and allowed Luc to take her to a bar, and since she was who she was and her father still had the power to make a business disappear, they let her in even though she was underage. Pardeu's son was a nasty, maniacal son of a bitch who'd barely said two words to her before his hand slid under her dress. She discreetly tried to push him off at first, unwilling to make scene but her resistance only drove him into a crazed rage and he began biting her neck, kissing every inch of her body until she finally let out a cry.

And then, he was there. As mysterious as he was charming, the most beautiful, intense man suddenly pulled Luc away from her and threw him on the floor without even flinching. The fallen boy was about to attack him when her savior fixed him a steady stare with his golden brown eyes and suddenly, Luc Pardeu was nothing more than a mere memory.

"A lady as beautiful as yourself should never be in the company of such an animal." He gestured to an empty seat next to her, "May I?"

She nodded, her eyes transfixed on him. Her savior, her only friend, confidante, and the only man she'd ever trust. "Thank you."

He finally smiled, politely averting his eyes while she fixed her dress. "I'm Mathieu De Comte."

"Belinda Merteuil."

He left the next day and she wasn't going to hear from him again until more than a year later, when news of Julian Merteuil's murder broke out, Mathieu found her wandering the streets of Marseilles aimlessly, the last franc of her fortune (at least until she turns eighteen) spent from drugs, alcohol, and God knows what else. Without asking for an explanation, he took her in. They left Marseilles the next day and soon, like the lascivious young man named Luc Pardeu, Belinda Merteuil became a mere memory herself.

She used her beauty, the one thing she'd grown to despise, to make a name for herself. True, it wasn't a particularly mentally stimulating job, to stand in front of the camera and freeze for a moment or two while the adoring flashbulbs exploded on your flawless body. In fact, Mathieu once even commented, and this was from the fact that he truly understood the inner workings of her mind, that she shouldn't waste her time with a career as insipid as modeling when she was clearly above those other women.

"Exactly." She'd reply every time he made that comment, "They think I'm some airhead. They never see me coming. The power, my dear Mathieu, might seem to lie in the hands of those who think they own me, but the reality of this, and pay attention because I hate to see you…" she allowed herself to kiss him, ruffling his dark hair affectionately. "Lose track of me, is I control them. I'm the puppeteer pulling their strings. I allow them to see and believe the lie that I work for them, when in fact they'd soon work for me. Do you honestly believe that I'm this wealthy based on endorsement alone? I'm the unattainable, influential woman in the fashion industry and being in that position of lucrative influence, I'm privy to a lot of dirty little secrets most people would do anything to keep from surfacing." Her gray eyes would grow heavy as soon as he started to respond to her advances, yet before they came close to having sex, he'd always pull back. She understood, or at least she thought she did. Mathieu was by no means a celibate man who believed in the sanctity of sex after marriage and her years of living in his house had given her plenty of acts to witness to support that fact. No matter. It was only a matter of time until he succumbed to her, most men did.

She thought he'd one day see the error of his ways and go to her, that is, until one night of speaking with her long lost younger sister. Mysterious and hauntingly beautiful herself, and if it weren't for the drugs she'd taken, she'd still be shuddering at the sight of Mathieu, her beloved of all the men who'd come and gone in her life, her unconquered task, mentor, and the only one who could possibly make her feel what the idealistic fools would call making love, kneeling before Kathryn as if he'd discovered a new religion.

Mathieu. Never. Knelt.

Once again, Kathryn was the favored child. Doted upon, loved from a safe distance, and Belinda couldn't possibly blame him. Kathryn Merteuil was breathtaking; the exquisite nature of her features only the starting point of an obviously complex individual with a past. He was the saint of lost girls with pasts they wanted to escape, and Kathryn made no difference. Except one.

He fell in love with her.

And another difference.

She loved him back. Belinda had been convinced of that until she heard the story Kathryn wanted to flee from. Sebastian Valmont. Curly hair, blue eyes, sensuous mouth. Stepbrother, confidante, advocate, and would have been lover. Cecile Caldwell. Brown hair. Naïve and foolish. Ronald Clifford. Cecile's music teacher and Kathryn's fuck buddy. Court Reynolds. Fell in love with the innocent twit after dumping Kathryn. Annette Hargrove. Bringer of all that is good and holy descending upon Manhattan and ripping Kathryn's hold on Sebastian. The Bet. The car. Her body. His journal. Sex. Manipulation. Drugs. Power. Lust. Love.

Like a light, this tale allowed her to read those hard to comprehend green eyes she'd once thought of gouging out. Mathieu made love to Kathryn, but He was in there. In her gaze, the unspoken unhealed wound of the past. In her voice, the harshness coming off as if directed to him. Every thrust, every explosion from deep down inside her, it was a big DAMN YOU to Sebastian Valmont and Belinda knew it. Yet, she was so difficult to comprehend. Mathieu was the soother of her nightmares, the one who offered his support when it comes to the dangerous act of seducing Sebastian to make him feel what it felt like to be rejected, he was the one who proposed to Kathryn and broke Belinda's heart for the merest of minutes before she got her shit together and left the country for a couple of days. He was breaking all his rules for her. No saying of the word love, no staying with a woman after sex, no admitting your feelings and especially no fucking marriage. Was she worth it? Would Kathryn be worth all this?

---

She knew it was him even before he knocked on the door. There was something distinct about Sebastian's knock, just three crisp raps on the door before the knob turned and he'd come in anyway. Dammit.

"A year after you left, he tried to go after you."

It was as if Valmont subconsciously knew what she was doing and he was letting his own secrets slip through to keep her from doing what she came back for. She wanted to hurt him, she just wanted to hear him say he hated her. He loathed her, that she was an evil bitch for trying to set Annette up with that loser Trevor, couldn't he just say nothing while they touched each other intimately? Kathryn wanted him to tell her again and again that he never loved her, that they were at war and that contented, blissful feeling they both had while they were in each other's arms were just physical manifestations of lust. Nothing more.

"Oh come on, Kathryn. It's just a bet."

"The only thing you'll be riding is me."

It would be so easy to just fuck everything up and call Mathieu so they could purchase the Bordeaux chateau, to just forget Belinda ever told her that their father was alive, to send Trevor back into wherever shithole town he came from and to just let Annette have Sebastian, because really, it was a certain punishment in itself to be with Ms. Purity.

"I know you're there." He sighed from outside, "Let me the fuck in and I need to talk to you."

"I'm not in the mood." She called out coldly, going through her drawers to look for her secret stash when an unopened, yellowed with age envelope fell out.

"He was rambling about some letter he'd written and how he was going to give it to you personally. He wasn't sure where you were so he decided to go there to make sure you got it."

"You did get it, didn't you?"

"Alright, I'm coming in." the knob jiggled but it didn't turn all the way since she'd locked it as soon as she arrived.

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I'll break this fucking door down."

"Fuck off, will you, Sebastian? I have company." She held the letter in her hands, glancing at it thoughtfully. It bore her name in Sebastian's messy scrawl, but the temptation to open it never came to her. She hated that she was feeling something for him again, he fucking left her and now he's just going to go unpunished?

The pounding stopped for a moment, "Oh? A gigolo or one of Court Reynolds' date rapist friends?"

"Does it matter?" she shot back, throwing the letter into the drawer and shutting it before she could read what Sebastian wanted her to know.

There was a dull thud that banged against the door as he gently smacked his forehead against it. "I don't believe you." His voice no longer shouting and frustrated yet she could still hear him so well.

She didn't reply.

"Annette warned me about you." He continued and at the mention of Blondie's name, she stood in front of the door to hear him better. "She said you never let go of your grudges, even when you came back she pulled me aside to say it."

That bitch. She seethed, making a mental note to tell Belinda off the next day for putting all kinds of crap (granted most of them were true) into Annette's mind just to gain her trust.

"You wanted a war, Kathryn, remember?"

She anticipated this next, the hard edged tone in his reply, the slamming of doors, and the breaking of things.

"I hate you for that fact, for wanting to hurt me when in fact I want to be with you again. This war you're asking for, I won't give you the pleasure of watching me surrender because I won't. You want one, I'll give you one. Just say when, Kathryn. I don't know if what's going on with us is part of your plan or not, but right now, I know that something's wrong. Something that goes beyond all this, and even though your plans of revenge might include killing me while I'm asleep, I'm not leaving you alone. At least, not for tonight because you obviously need someone right now. I'll be in my room."

And then, silence. No slamming of doors, just the gentle closing the double doors in his elegant bedroom.

---

Hours later, as night finally fell once again to the Valmont house, a slow click resonated meekly while the knob of the blue and gold plated room slowly turned and the door opened. She slowly walked across the hallway and into his room, where Sebastian lay in bed asleep, the covers twisting around his body and his arm hanging off the side of the bed.

"I never loved you."

"I chose Annette."

Moths are drawn to the flames because light might just be the most powerful drug moths can perceive. Yet, as we all know it, if you allowed yourself to get too close, you end up being consumed by its warmth until you're reduced to mere ashes. Despite this impending warning screaming in her head, she slipped into his bed, trying not to wake him up with her movements. She curled as far away from him as possible because the mere knowledge that he was beside her was enough when her hand brushed against his wrist.

Sebastian moved, one blue eye opening to focus on her sleepily. As she stared back, she opened her mouth to speak but he didn't allow her to, instead, he moved closer to her, orienting his shoulder so her head would fit at the crook of his neck. Their hands intertwined and he fixed the blankets to make sure she wasn't cold.

Kathryn Merteuil, with all her capabilities and influence, was going too close for comfort. She and Sebastian were about to get burned and she knew it.


A/N: Okay DAMMIT I CAN'T LEAVE THIS ALONE. For those concerned about my well being and sanity, I'm actually going to study after I post this.

Sam: Very astute. Great observation about Mathieu and Kathryn. About openly leering at Sebastian, I think I'm going to get the drugs and mix them with sleeping pills so Kathryn'll faint and I'll be able to take advantage of Sebastian. What a particularly delicious thought. You're only falling in love with him now! Hahaha

Katie: Shit, I just remembered I'd dedicate the next update to you. Okay. Wanna take this one? Hahaha

Feyechelon: Sorry I know that was mean, but I have to be mean so I can pass college. Hahaha

Nicole: How did I figure you out? Well, in my spare time, I like stalking people. Mwahahahaha

Kerimack: You made my day with the Dangerous Liaisons update. Seriously. But then again, you could probably tell from my review. Lol