My pulse stutters. Stops. Restarts at double time.
"Why?" The word barely makes it past my lips. "Why would you?—"
"The Swan is more than a family heirloom." He's still holding my face, but his grip has changed. Less tender. More intense. "It was entrusted to your grandmother for safekeeping during the war. But it was never meant to be kept."
"I don't understand."
"It holds something. A secret. Information." His eyes search mine. "People are willing to kill for it. That's why it needs to be returned to its rightful owner."
"Returned?" The word tastes bitter. "You mean stolen."
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away. "I mean recovered."
I pull free from his grasp. Step back. The distance between us suddenly feels vast.
"You want to steal it." Not a question. A realization. "That's why you're here."
"No." He reaches for me, but I dodge his hand. "I'm here for you. Always for you. But Vivianne, that pendant?—"
"Is my family's." The words come out sharp. Defensive. "It's been in our family for generations."
"It was never theirs to keep." His voice hardens. "Your grandfather—Henry Faulks—took it. Stole it from the woman it was entrusted to. Brigitte kept it hidden during the war, but it was supposed to be returned?—"
"My grandmother." The pieces click together. Slowly. Painfully. "The letters. Anthony. The pendant in your painting—it matched her earrings because it was part of a set."
"Yes." He steps closer. I hold my ground. Barely. "Anthony entrusted the Swan to her before he went to war. She was supposed to keep it safe until he returned."
"But she married my grandfather instead."
"Yes."
The betrayal cuts deep. Not just Grandmother choosing the wrong man, but keeping something that wasn't hers. Building a legacy on stolen property.
Just like Father said—our family's wealth comes from making hard choices.
How many of those choices were theft?
"Paul." I press my hands to my face. "You can't?—"
"I must." He closes the distance between us. His hands close over mine, pulling them away from my face. "Please understand. If the wrong people get their hands on it, they'll use it to destroy more than you can imagine."
"What's inside it?" I search his face. "What secret?"
"I don't know." The admission costs him. "But Anthony spent his entire life searching for it. And people have died trying to keep it hidden."
"And you think stealing it from my father will somehow make things right?" Anger flares hot in my chest. "That taking it will?—"
"I think leaving it here will get you killed." His voice drops. Goes cold. "Your father knows someone's coming for it. He's preparing. And when they come, Vivianne, you'll be caught in the crossfire."
The words hit like ice water. "What?"
"Sentinel." He practically spits the word. "Your father is a part of their organization. Whatever they're doing, whatever power the Swan represents—they'll kill to keep it. And they won't care who gets hurt in the process."
My mind races. The conversations I've overheard. Father's paranoia. The increased security.
We're preparing for war.
"He said that." The words come out whisper-soft. "My father. He said we're preparing for war."
