“No,” I snap, louder than I mean to. “But you can’t hide things from me forever.”
For a moment, the only sound is the hiss of the smoke curling from his cigarette. Then Ford speaks, his voice calm, steady. “She’s right. Some of this does involve her. She has a right to know.”
Hayden exhales hard, the kind of sigh that sounds more like a growl. He releases me to walk to the dining table and crushes the cigarette into the ashtray, jaw tight. “Fine,” he mutters, his gaze still fixed on me. “Go ahead.”
The words hang heavy in the air, permission wrapped in resentment, and I feel my chest tighten as I turn to Ford, waiting for the truth that has been locked away from me for too long.
Leave it to Hayden to overcomplicate a situation with his suffocating obsession with control.
For the first time since he stepped back into this house, Ford really looks at me. His expression is steady, almost too calm, and it terrifies me more than the wound seeping through Hayden’s side.
“I wasn’t dead,” he says quietly. “I was in training. Special training. Because we’re Legacies.”
“What do you mean by training?”
“They put me through hell, and I stayed there longer than I should have.”
“Am I supposed to go through training?” I ask hesitantly.
Ford chuckles, “No, you won't have to, Martini. But you should know we’re Legacies, so we’ll always be expected to contribute more than other members.”
I’ve always known this. Being a descendant of a founding member means you owe more than just your bloodline. Our family fortune was the foundation of the Brotherhood.
My chest tightens, every breath sharp and shallow. “Then why are you here now?”
His mouth presses into a line. “Because Hayden negotiated for my release. But it wasn’t free. In exchange for bringing me back, you now owe them a favor.”
The words land like a blow, and I shake my head hard, as if I can make them vanish. “No. No, I never agreed to that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ford replies, his tone blunt, merciless. “The Brotherhood only cares about your status. Hayden had to negotiate for something regarding you, because you're his wife.”
“Why?” My voice splinters, rising with desperation. “Why me?”
For the first time, Ford’s eyes flicker with something softer—regret, maybe, or pity. He drags a hand down his face before speaking. “Because there’s a secret, Martine. A secret about you. The Brotherhood knows, and they’re leveraging it against us.”
The room feels too small, the air sucked out of it. My stomach lurches. “What secret?”
He hesitates, just long enough to make me want to scream, and then he says it. “Henri wasn’t your real dad. Hudson’s father is. Sullivan Taft is your father.”
The ground tilts beneath me, and for a moment, I can’t hear anything but the rush of blood in my ears. Hayden’s hand grips mine, grounding me, but it’s not enough. The world has just cracked open, and I don’t know how to stand inside it anymore.
My head spins. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper, as Hayden comes back to me to pull me close to his chest. I reach out, clutching at Hayden’s hand as if it will anchor me. “I was the heir—the Huntington-Russell fortune—the arguments with the lawyer. Now you’re telling me I’m a Taft? That’s—” My voice breaks. “This is all impossible to understand.”
Ford doesn’t answer, and that silence is almost worse than the truth.
The sound of footsteps cuts through the tension—a spark flares in the doorway, followed by a curl of smoke. Archiestrolls into the dining room as though he’s been here all along, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes narrowing with amusement as he takes in the scene.
“Well,” he drawls, exhaling a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling, “she’s not technically a Huntington-Russell anymore, is she? Her mother was a Belmont. Which means, littleMartini, you’re a Taft now.”
The words are more complicated to digest than Ford’s silence.
I blink at him, stunned, the weight of his smirk pressing down like a boot on my chest. “What the fuck does that even mean?” I demand, my voice shrill, cracking. “What does any of this mean?”
Archie only grins, tilting his head as the smoke curls lazily around him. “It means the bloodlines aren’t as clean as everyone pretended. And in the Brotherhood, that’s a problem.”
Before I can catch my breath, Hayden’s voice cuts through the room, low and dangerous. “It will never be a problem.”
His hand comes down heavily on my shoulder, possessive and unyielding.
