Chapter 255
Thomas
I watched Lance's expression shift, saw the subtle tightening around his eyes, the fractional pause before his next breath. That infinitesimal hesitation—the kind most people would miss—told me everything I needed to know.
God. I actually guessed right.
The realization hit me with the force of a revelation, almost giddy in its unexpectedness. The Hudson Valley property. I'd stumbled across it during one of my many investigations into my nephew's affairs—a meticulously hidden mountain estate tucked away in the wilderness, purchased through a labyrinth of shell companies. The kind of place you'd use to hide something precious. Or someone.
I'd thrown it out there on pure instinct, a desperate gambit when I felt the walls closing in. A dead horse I was beating in hopes it might twitch. And Lance—careful, controlled Lance—had just confirmed it with nothing more than a frown.
The smile started small, tugging at the corners of my mouth before I could suppress it. Then it bloomed into something I couldn't contain, spreading across my face like wine through water.
"Well then," I said, letting my voice carry that lazy, almost paternal warmth I'd perfected over decades. "Just as I said, Lance. Let's talk." I paused, savoring the moment. "Though I have to wonder—you were what, three? Four when it all happened?" Another pause, letting the words settle like sediment. "Are you absolutely certain you want to discuss something that brought such... catastrophic damage to your childhood?"
The word childhood landed exactly as I'd intended. I watched Lance's shoulders stiffen, saw the aggressive confidence he'd been wielding like a weapon start to fray at the edges.
Perfect.
I couldn't quite suppress the dark satisfaction blooming in my chest. After all these years of watching him tower over everyone, untouchable and cold—finally, finally, I had him on uncertain ground.
I began to pace, slow and measured, each step deliberate. As I passed Lance, I let my hand fall on his shoulder—a gesture that might have looked comforting to anyone watching, but carried just enough weight to remind him I was still standing. Still here.
"You know," I continued, my voice taking on a reflective quality, "I remember how it all unfolded. The chain reaction of tragedy." I squeezed his shoulder gently, almost tenderly. "Your mother's suicide at Saint's Bay. Then your father—consumed by guilt, convinced her death was his fault for agreeing to that arranged marriage your grandfather had orchestrated. Believing he'd driven the woman he loved to despair." I shook my head slowly. "He couldn't live with that knowledge. Threw himself from his office window less than three months later."
I glanced toward Arthur, whose head had turned slightly away, his weathered face carefully neutral.
Yes, Father. Your handiwork. Your obsession with controlling bloodlines and business alliances. You created this graveyard we're all standing in.
Lance's head had lowered fractionally, his jaw working as he processed my words. But I wasn't finished.
"After that, you locked yourself in your room for nearly eight months. Wouldn't speak to anyone. Wouldn't eat unless someone physically brought food and waited while you—"
"Enough."
The word cut through my monologue like a blade through silk. Lance's head snapped up, his gray-blue eyes blazing with something I hadn't seen before—not quite rage, but close enough to make me recalculate.
"We're here for the truth," Lance said, his voice dropping to something lethal. "Not your sadistic little puppet show with my trauma." He paused, and I caught his gaze sliding toward Diana—who'd been tracking our exchange like a hawk circling prey—before snapping back to me with renewed venom. "Those scars you're so desperate to pick at? They didn't break me, Uncle. They taught me something your withered heart will never comprehend."
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious despite myself.
"They taught me that everything I love can vanish in a heartbeat," Lance said, each word landing like a hammer. "That the people who matter—the ones who actually see you—they're fragile. Temporary. One wrong move and they're gone." His jaw tightened. "So before that happens, before some bastard like you takes them away, I'll protect them with everything I have. Even if it means burning this entire family to ash."
And there it was. The opening I needed.
Well, well, Lance. How convenient.
My mind raced ahead, connecting the threads. In his eyes, I now held the person he valued most—even if that belief was built on nothing but bluff and misdirection. But he didn't know that. He couldn't know that.
So the question became deliciously simple: Would he sacrifice his vendetta against me to save Serena? Or would he gamble with her life to settle old scores?