I don’t acknowledge the greeting. Instead, I take my designated seat, directly opposite my father, and cross one ankle over my knee—casual, unconcerned, though my jaw is clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
“The Council of Thirteen has called this emergency session regarding disturbing allegations concerning your Chosen,” Blackwood continues, his ancient hands resting on a leather portfolio. “It has come to our attention that Seraphina Carvelli may be your half-sister, making your…involvement with her a violation of our most sacred tenets.”
My eyes never leave Vincent’s face as the old man drones on about tradition and moral standards and the integrity of bloodlines. My father stares back, the corner of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smirk.
“Such an offense, if proven true, would require immediate dissolution of the choosing bond and appropriate sanctions,” Wallace says, his voice grave. “What say you to these allegations?”
The room falls silent, twelve pairs of eyes boring into me while Vincent watches with barely contained triumph. I let the silence stretch until it’s uncomfortable, until several council members shift in their seats.
“May I inquire,” I finally say, my voice controlled, “as to how the Council came to possess this information?”
Wallace glances at his notes. “The matter was brought to our attention by a concerned member who wishes to remain anonymous.”
I bark out a laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Anonymous. How fucking convenient.”
“Mind your language, Heir Devereux,” scolds Elder Monroe, his pocket square clutched literally in his bony fingers. “This is a formal proceeding.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the polished table. “Will my father also be brought before this council?”
The question lands like a grenade in the center of the table.
Confusion ripples through the council. Elder Wallace eyebrows shoot up toward his receding hairline, while Monroe looks like he’s about to choke on his own spit. The rest of them exchange glances, clearly caught off guard by my question.
“I don’t understand,” Elder Fairmont finally says, his voice careful. “Why would your father be subject to this inquiry?”
I lean back in my chair, drumming my fingers against the polished wood. “Well, I assume you heard these allegations from him.” I gesture toward Vincent with a dismissive flick of my wrist. “So you have a high-ranking member who cheated on his wife with another society member’s wife, bringing embarrassment to four society families. Or am I wrong?”
The room falls so silent I can hear the ancient grandfather clock ticking in the corner. My father’s face loses several shades of color, and I can practically see his brain working overtime to recalibrate.
Elder Fairmont clears his throat. “I believe there’s been some misunderstanding, Heir Devereux. The allegation isn’t that your father had an affair. Rather, we have documentation suggesting your mother, Lady Celeste, engaged in relations with Elliott Carvelli during a period when your parents were briefly apart.”
What the actual fuck?
I keep my face carefully blank even as my mind races. This is a plot twist I didn’t see coming. My mother and Carvelli? I almost laugh at the absurdity.
“Is that so?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft. “And where exactly is this documentation?”
Elder Monroe slides a folder across the table. I flip it open to find medical records, dates, and a handwritten letter I instantly recognize as my mother’s elegant script. The dates align perfectly with Seraphina’s birth.
“According to these records,” Fairmont continues, “Lady Celeste became pregnant during this...indiscretion. She apparently told Vincent the baby didn’t survive, when in fact she gave the child to Mariella Carvelli, who couldn’t have any more children of her own.”
I stare at the documents, trying to process this absolute horseshit. My mother, who barely tolerated the man at society functions, supposedly fucked him and then secretly gave away their love child? It’s so fucking ridiculous I almost respect the audacity of the lie.
“This is quite the tale,” I say, looking directly at my father. “Especially considering my mother despised Elliott Carvelli. She called him ‘the walking embodiment of syphilis’ if I recall correctly.”
Vincent doesn’t flinch. “Hatred and passion often occupy the same space, Lucien. You should understand that better than most.”
I can feel the rage building in my chest, but I keep it locked down tight. “So let me understand this correctly. You’re suggesting my mother—who couldn’t even be in the same room as Elliott without making her disgust known—secretly fucked him, got pregnant, faked a miscarriage, and then handed the baby over to his wife? All while maintaining her position in society and never once showing any interest in the child she supposedly gave away?”
“The heart is complicated,” Elder Monroe offers sagely, like he’s dispensing wisdom instead of swallowing my father’s bullshit.
“And yet, these medical records,” Vincent says smoothly, “tell a different story than your assumptions about your mother’s feelings.”
I flip through the documents again, noting the perfect consistency, the right letterheads, the appropriate dates. They’re impressive forgeries, I’ll give him that. Probably cost a small fortune to create.
“You know what’s even more impressive than these forgeries?” I tap the folder with one finger, keeping my voice casual. “The absolute balls it takes to drag my mother’s name through the mud with this pathetic attempt to cover your own ass.”
I stand slowly, buttoning my jacket as I rise. The movement is unhurried, controlled—everything I’m not feeling inside. The rage is molten, threatening to burn through my carefully constructed facade.
