34. Theodore
34
THEODORE
M y jaw is tight. It has been since the moment we stepped foot in Hollow Pine .
This place looks like a postcard, but it smells like secrets.
And my mother’s smile? Still as sharp as the day she adopted us.
She sits there in her ivory blouse and pearls, legs crossed, posture flawless, pretending this is a polite family visit and not an interrogation waiting to happen.
I’m done pretending.
I study her for a beat longer, watching the way her fingers rest so delicately over her knee, not a single tremble or twitch to betray her. She has always been the master of composure.
But I know what’s behind that mask.
“ You haven’t said a word about him,” I say, keeping my voice even. “ Lionel .”
Her expression doesn’t falter, but there’s a flash in her eyes. “ Your father,” she says, as if she needs to remind us who he was. “ It’s been... difficult.”
I almost laugh.
Difficult for whom?
Her gaze drifts to the window like she’s searching for the right performance to give us, but she doesn’t find it fast enough.
“ I don’t buy it,” I tell her, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “ You didn’t care about him when he was alive. Why start now?”
That gets her. A shadow crosses her face—it’s brief, but it’s there.
Julian shifts slightly beside me, and Maxwell , arms crossed, stares like he’s waiting for the show to finally start.
“ Lionel Whitmore ,” I continue, “was manipulative, power-hungry, and cruel. You knew it. You were in it . So don’t sit there and feed us some sanctimonious sob story like you’re the grieving widow.”
Her lips press together in a fine line. No tears. No denial. Just that eerie silence she has always used to stay in control.
I’m not letting her steer this anymore.
“ You knew exactly who he was,” I say, quieter now. “ And we know who you are.”
She blinks once, and her jaw shifts.
“ You’re a Sotelo , a bloodline everyone thought vanished. But you didn’t disappear, did you? You just changed your name and watched the rest of us drown in the legacy you tried to bury,” I continue.
The temperature in the room drops.
Isabel stiffens next to Julian , her eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, but she doesn’t interrupt. She has been waiting for this too.
Our mother exhales. “ So you finally figured it out.”
Julian sits up straighter. Maxwell’s fingers twitch against his armrest. Isabel doesn’t move, but I can feel the tension rippling off her like a current.
I lean forward. “ Speak .”
Mother sighs, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt before finally raising her eyes to meet mine.
“ I was born Celeste Sotelo ,” she says, as if reciting a name from a storybook, not one tied to blood rituals and disappearances. “ The last daughter of Mateo Sotelo . He was a visionary in his own right. Brilliant . Ruthless .”
“ And a monster,” I snap.
“ Yes . That too.”
She glances toward the window, as if watching the past play out in the trees.
“ I was married before Lionel ,” she says finally. “ To a man who was perfect on paper. Wealthy . Respected . He was from a good family. The kind of match my parents approved of.”
She pauses, fingers tightening slightly in her lap.
“ We married after a few short months. It was... fine. He gave me everything a woman is supposed to want.”
Mother looks down, and for the first time, I see the cracks in her composure.
“ But I didn’t love him.” Her voice dips. “ Then , I met Lionel .”
The name alone makes something sharp twist in my gut.
“ He was magnetic,” she continues. “ Charming . He knew how to talk, how to listen. I shouldn’t have given him a second glance, but I did. And once I did… I couldn’t stop.”
She lifts her eyes, meeting mine. “ We were reckless. I was still married, but I kept seeing him. Sneaking away. Lying . Then , I found out I was pregnant.”
Julian shifts beside me, his jaw tight, and Maxwell goes unnervingly still.
“ At the time, divorce would’ve destroyed my family,” she explains. “ Especially if they knew I’d been unfaithful and gotten pregnant by another man. A Whitmore .” She gives a bitter smile. “ That’s when Lionel came up with an idea…”
And I already know— I feel it in my bones. Whatever she’s about to say is going to change everything.
“ A few weeks after I gave birth,” she says calmly, as if she’s not about to detonate every remaining truth we have, “ Lionel and I made a plan.”
I shift forward, a tight coil of dread winding in my gut.
“ He said if we wanted a clean slate and we wanted to raise our son without the weight of scandal or shame, we’d need to erase everything. My marriage. My family name. The child’s illegitimacy.”
Julian’s jaw ticks beside me. Maxwell doesn’t move, but I can see the storm brewing behind his eyes.
“ We staged a car accident.”
My pulse spikes.
She folds her hands in her lap, perfectly poised. “ It was supposed to look like I , my husband, and the baby were all in the vehicle. A tragic, fatal accident. The kind no one questions.”
Isabel’s breath catches. I glance at her. She has gone pale, arms wrapped tightly around her own torso, like she’s bracing for impact.
“ But that night, only my husband and another woman were in the car, a woman Lionel convinced him to drive home after some fabricated excuse. The vehicle crashed, went off the road.”
Julian sits bolt upright. “ You weren’t even in the car?”
She shakes her head slowly. “ No . Neither was the baby.”
Maxwell lets out a disbelieving laugh that sounds more like a threat. “ So you faked your deaths and walked away clean?”
“ Clean enough,” she says. “ The press took the bait. The funerals were arranged without open caskets, my former family… devastated.”
“ And the woman in the car?” Isabel asks, her voice a whisper.
Our mother tilts her head, unblinking. “ She was expendable. I didn’t even know her name.”
“ Was Vanguard planning to sacrifice her?” Isabel questions.
Our mother turns toward her slowly and nods. “ Yes . Lionel saw an opportunity.”
Isabel shakes her head. “ So she was murdered for a lie. For your clean slate.”
“ She was going to die either way,” our mother replies calmly. “ At least this way, her death served a purpose.”
Maxwell shoots out of his chair so fast, it tips over behind him. “ You’re fucking insane.”
Mother doesn’t blink. “ You’ve known this about Lionel ,” she says. “ You lived under his roof, obeyed his rules. Don’t act surprised by the blood on the foundation now.”
Julian’s hand is clenched so tightly on the armrest, his knuckles are bone white.
My voice is calm when I speak. It always is, even when everything around me is coming undone.
“ And what did you do with the baby?”
She tilts her head, as if she’s been waiting for this part.
“ I took the baby to St . Dismas , knowing they’d be safe there until it was time to bring them back. It was only a matter of timing.”
I don’t flinch, but I feel Julian shift beside me. Maxwell stops pacing, and Isabel makes a soft noise, her eyes wide as they snap to me.
Me .
I sit back in my chair, pressing two fingers to my lips like I’m just thinking and not rewriting my entire fucking identity.
“ So it was me.”
Her gaze meets mine without apology. “ Yes .”
I just smile. It’s small. Hollow . Dangerous .
Lionel wanted his legacy intact, but only if it carried his blood. That’s why they waited until I was old enough to adopt, to bring me back into the family—so he could groom me and shape me into his perfect successor.
“ You were always meant to lead, my son. You have his mind,” she adds.
That’s when I finally let something shift in my expression. “ No . I’m not Lionel Whitmore and I’ll never be.”
In that moment, I make a decision.
It doesn’t matter what blood runs through my veins.
I will burn down everything they built, starting with my mother.
My thoughts flicker suddenly to Ronnie —to Camila . I lean forward again, eyes narrowed. “ And what about Camila , your so-called adoptive daughter? How does she fit into all of this?”
Mother’s composed mask falters for an instant, revealing something raw and real. “ Camila wasn’t merely adopted. She was my niece—my deceased sister’s daughter. My sister was one of the last Sotelo women, and she was ultimately sacrificed during one of the Latibulum Noctis rituals.”
Isabel gasps, covering her mouth, eyes wide in shock. “ This is insane.”
“ If you and Lionel planned this from the start, why keep it from us? You never had a problem handing out cruelty,” I press, holding her gaze. “ Why deny yourselves the satisfaction of telling me who I really was?”
She meets my eyes, face unapologetic.
“ Lionel believed it was necessary. If you had known the truth, you would’ve been uncontrollable. He needed obedience, loyalty. He needed a son he could mold.”
Maxwell scoffs. Julian remains still, watching her every movement. Isabel stares openly, eyes wide with something between disbelief and disgust.
“ You made a miscalculation.” I tilt my head, lips curling into a cold smile. “ I was never loyal to Lionel . I obeyed because it suited me, not because I was his son.”
She leans forward slightly, a small smirk playing on her lips. “ Exactly . Which is why he was right to hide it.”
There it is—the bitter irony. Lionel hid the truth to keep control.
I give her a final look, a controlled calm settling deep within me. “ You both underestimated me.”