Chapter 27
27
Claudius
I know Blanc is pissed at me. But I can’t bring myself to care. I’ve warned him for months that he needed to tell his family about Cecely. I gave him time. I gave him opportunities. I gave him every chance to do the right thing. And he chose not to. So now? He doesn’t get to be angry. He doesn’t get to act blindsided. This was always coming. And that he tried to pretend otherwise is exactly why I took matters into my own hands. Just like I have with everything else.
I glance at Cecely out of the corner of my eye. She looks calm. But I know better. I know what that silence means. She’s about five seconds from demanding answers.
But it’s Blanc’s wife, Aimée, who shatters first.
“You’re bringing that woman here?” Her voice is sharp, incredulous—borderline hysterical. She takes a step forward, her eyes burning into Blanc. “Tell me Irons is lying. Tell me you didn’t actually agree to this.”
Blanc exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “We don’t have a choice.”
Wrong answer.
“The hell we don’t! This isn’t about safety. This is about you and your past catching up with you. I have spent years building this family,” Aimée seethes, her voice shaking. “And now you expect me to welcome that woman into my home? The same woman you?—”
She stops herself. Too late. Everyone knows what she was about to say.
Bonnie’s lips part. Alyssa curses under her breath. And Cecely? Her face stays neutral. But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands curl into fists.
I take a step forward. Because if Aimée keeps talking, she’s going to regret it. Before I can speak, Blanc’s hand drops from his face, and when he looks at his wife, something inside him finally breaks.
“Enough.”
One word. Sharp. Cutting. Absolute.
His wife freezes, lips still parted, her face twisted in fury.
Blanc steps forward, closing the space between them in one slow, deliberate movement.
“You think this is about my past catching up to me?” He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “This is about survival. About staying alive long enough to make sure you and our daughters don’t end up in a grave.”
His wife shakes her head, still reeling. “You don’t?—”
“I do.” His voice hardens. “Do you think I would willingly put us all in the same place if I had another choice? If I could fix this from afar?”
She doesn’t respond. Because there is no response to that. The truth is right there, staring her in the face. This isn’t just about Cecely. This is about something bigger. Darker. And whether she likes it or not, her husband is out of options.
She steps back, hands trembling.
“I’ve put up with a lot from you over the years. The cheating. The lies.”
The room drops into silence. Alyssa and Bonnie go rigid, their heads snapping toward their mother.
Aimée’s voice is steady, but there’s something raw beneath it.
“All the babies that we lost just so you could say you had a male heir. The blame when all we had were females.” Her voice catches, just barely, but she pushes through. “I want a divorce.”
The air in the room freezes.
Alyssa’s lips part in shock. Bonnie’s eyes widen. Blanc doesn’t even hesitate.
“Fine.” Flat. Emotionless. His tone is like a final nail in a coffin. He meets her eyes, unshaken, unmoved. “You can have one when this is over.”
Her shoulders stiffen. For a second, I think she’s going to scream. But she doesn’t. Instead, she exhales sharply, straightens her shoulders, and turns away.
Bonnie steps forward. Her voice is soft, uncertain. “Mom?”
But her mother doesn’t stop. She disappears down the hallway, her back straight, her movements stiff. She has no idea where she’s going, but I get it. She just needs to get away. Blanc has that effect on people.
Alyssa lets out a slow, exhausted breath. “Well, that went well.”
No one laughs. Because nothing about this is funny.
I turn to Blanc’s daughters. “Let me show you to your rooms. Blanc, I’ll meet you in my office. It’s down the hall, the last door on the left.”
Blanc turns, going in the opposite direction.
To Cecely, I ask, “Want to come?”
Cecely watches me carefully, uncertainty flickering in her expression. I don’t blame her. She’s been thrown into chaos, lies, betrayals— and now? Now she’s standing in front of two sisters she’s never met, yet somehow, they feel familiar.
But she nods. I take her hand, leading the Blanc daughters to their room.
At the door, Alyssa grabs Cecely’s hand. “Stay. We’d love to spend some time with you.”
Bonnie nods, offering a small, encouraging smile. “Please.”
Cecely glances at me, searching for something. Reassurance? Permission? She doesn’t need it.
“Stay,” I whisper. “I think it’ll be good for you three to get to know each other.”
She hesitates for only a second.
Then says, “Okay.”
The weight in my chest eases just a little. I bring her hand to my lips, brushing a slow, soft kiss against her skin. It doesn’t erase my mistakes. Doesn’t make up for the way I shut her out earlier. But it’s a start.
Her breath catches just slightly. She doesn’t pull away. And that? That tells me all I need to know. I step back, giving the three of them space.
Because Cecely might not realize it yet… But she’s not alone anymore.
Turning, I make my way downstairs, where I find Blanc pouring himself a drink at the bar in my study.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says when he spots me.
I don’t respond right away. Instead, I watch as Blanc downs his drink in one smooth motion, his fingers gripping the glass a little too tight. He’s unraveling. And considering the day he’s had, I can’t blame him. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him off the hook. I step further into the room, my tone unreadable.
“Do what?”
Blanc exhales sharply, placing the glass down with a little too much force.
“Set my world on fire.” His gaze cuts to mine. “You knew what you were doing when you told Aimée that Beatrice was coming.”
I don’t deny it. Because he’s not wrong.
“She would’ve found out eventually,” I say simply. “You should’ve told her the truth a long time ago.”
Blanc lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“You talk like it was that easy.”
“It was.”
His expression tightens. “You don’t understand, Irons. My wife has stood by me for years. She put up with?—”
“Your affairs?” I cut in, my voice like steel. “Your lies?”
Blanc’s jaw tics. I don’t back down.
“She didn’t leave you for those, Blanc.” I pause. “She left you for this. For keeping Cecely a secret.”
His eyes flicker with frustration and maybe even regret. But instead of addressing it, he pours himself another drink. I let the silence stretch. I let him feel it. Because no matter how much he wants to drown this in whisky, the truth isn’t going away.
Finally, he says, “I want Beatrice in my room. Move Aimée somewhere else.”
His voice is steady, absolute. Like this is just another business transaction. Like it’s not the final nail in his already crumbling marriage.
I exhale slowly.
“You really are a piece of work, Blanc.”
That gets a reaction. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“Aimée asked for a divorce.” He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, finally looking at me. “You think I’m going to chase after a woman who doesn’t want me?”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
Blanc’s fingers tighten around his glass. I step closer, my tone dropping.
“She didn’t leave you for Beatrice. She left you for the way you treated her. The way you dismissed her. Lied to her. She put up with everything, and still—you never chose her.”
He exhales sharply, setting his drink down hard.
“Don’t act like you know my marriage, Irons.”
“Oh, but I do. You’re like every other man in the Brotherhood who sold a chance at happiness for greatness.”
Blanc’s hand tightens around his glass, knuckles turning white. For a second, I think he’s going to ignore me. Brush it off. Lie.
But then he says, “You wouldn’t understand. You were never supposed to be a member.” His voice is low, bitter. “You were just the spare. The person no one thought about.”
I go still.
Because I know that already.
I’ve always known that.
But hearing it from him? From someone who sat at the Brotherhood’s table, someone who saw the inner workings of this world long before I did? It hits differently.
Blanc doesn’t stop.
“It was Gabriel who was supposed to be one of us. Gabriel who was meant to follow the rules.” He shakes his head. “And now he’s going to make sure I die because I didn’t listen to him.”
My pulse spikes. A cold, creeping chill slides down my spine.
“Listen to him?” My voice is sharp, dangerous. “What does that mean?”
Blanc’s lips press into a thin line. “Nothing.”
Liar. I take a step forward.
“Blanc, there’s a damn good chance my brother is alive and about to avenge our father’s death.” My voice is like steel. “If you know something, start talking. Now.”
Blanc meets my gaze. And for the first time, I see something new in his eyes. Not just frustration. Not just guilt. Fear. Real, cold-blooded fear. He knows something.
Blanc swallows. “I told you, it’s nothing.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
His jaw tightens, but I don’t stop.
“Gabriel isn’t just alive. He’s moving. He’s coming for you. And if you think hiding in this house is going to save you, you’re already dead.”
His breath shudders out. A flicker of something breaks in his expression. I press harder.
“You said you didn’t listen to him. What did he want?”
Silence. Thick. Suffocating.
Then, finally, Blanc exhales.
“He wanted your father to die.”
“What?”
The room feels smaller. Like the walls are closing in. Blanc’s words settle over me, heavy and wrong.
“Gabriel would never say that. He was loyal to our father.”
But Blanc doesn’t hesitate.
“He wasn’t, Irons.” His voice is steady. Certain, even. “He said he could see what kind of man your father was. How he was turning both of you into monsters. When I told him it may be impossible, he came to me with a new plan. He wanted out.”
Out.
The word curls in my chest like poison. There’s no out. Not in the Brotherhood.
Until death. It’s literally our motto.
“What do you mean by out?”
Blanc meets my gaze, his own dark and knowing. “You know what I mean.”
I do. And it makes me fucking sick. Because if Gabriel wanted out…if he went as far as speaking to Blanc, that means he was never the brother I thought he was. That means he was lying to me, too.
I shake my head. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
The worst part? I think he’s telling the truth.
“If this is true, then why is he after you?”
Blanc shrugs, casual as ever.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “My guess is that I didn’t listen to him then, and now I’m the one at the top of his fucking hit list.”
I let the words sink in. Let them sit there, twisting in the silence. Because if Gabriel really wanted out, then why the hell is he back now? And more importantly, what does he really want?
“I need to make some calls,” I say. “Stay in your room and don’t go outside.”
“You’ll have Beatrice brought to me?”
“For fuck’s sake. Yes.”
With that, I turn and leave. My mind races. What in the fuck is Gabriel up to?