“It’s from your half-sister,” he says.
That gets my attention.
“Funny,” I say. “I don’t have one.”
“She says you do.”
He doesn’t hand it to me yet. Deliberate. He wants the moment. He wants leverage.
“She says there are things you don’t know about your father,” he continues. “Sounds like bad things. My guess is that evil doesn’t fall far from the family tree.”
A laugh slips out of me—sharp, sudden. “Oh, wow. That’s poetic.”
His frown deepens. “This isn’t funny.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s lazy.”
I take the envelope from his hand, slow and deliberate. I don’t open it. I don’t need to—yet.
“You drove all the way here,” I say, “to warn me?”
He hesitates. “I thought you deserved to know.”
“What you thought,” I say, “is that this would make you important again.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about us was fair,” I say. “You just didn’t mind it when you were the one holding the keys.”
He steps closer. I don’t move.
“You used me,” he says.
“There it is.”
“I stuck my neck out for you,” he snaps. “I took risks.”
“You enjoyed them,” I say. “Don’t rewrite history now.”
A car crunches into the driveway.
Blake.
Perfect timing. Always.
Declan turns as Blake gets out, camera bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses on like he’s walking onto a set instead of into a confrontation. Blake clocks Declan immediately—curious, not threatened.
He kisses my forehead like it’s instinct. Like it’s practiced.
“I’ll be in the guest room,” Blake says easily. “Need to finish some B-roll.”
And then he’s inside, gone, like he didn’t just plant a flag.
Declan’s face darkens.
“The camera guy?” he asks. “Really?”
I shrug. “It’s a work thing.”
