Chapter 27 - The Snake at the Table
The chandelier in the formal dining room cast a glittering, golden light over the crystal flutes and sterling silver cutlery. Outside, the storm had finally broken, torrential rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlooked the violent ocean waves crashing against the cliffs below.
Marcus Sterling sat opposite me. He was a distinguished man in his late fifties, dressed in an immaculate bespoke charcoal suit. His silver hair was swept back neatly, and he wore gold wire-rimmed spectacles that made him look like a benevolent scholar. He had been Daniel’s guardian since the fatal fire twenty-five years ago. To the world, he was the saint who had raised the orphaned Vance boy.
To me, he was now a monster.
"Clara, my dear," Marcus said, raising his crystal goblet of Bordeaux with a gentle, paternal smile. "To you. The strength you showed during Julian’s sentencing was nothing short of miraculous. Charles would be so proud of the woman you’ve become."
"Thank you, Marcus," I said, raising my glass and letting the rim touch my lips without swallowing a drop. "My grandfather always taught me to keep my eyes wide open. Especially when surrounded by family."
Daniel, seated at the head of the table between us, cut a piece of roasted duck with surgical precision. He paused, his knife hovering over the china.
"Speaking of family," I continued smoothly, leaning back against my cushioned chair, "I was reviewing some old archives from the Geneva medical registry this afternoon. Fascinating records from the late nineties."
The atmosphere in the room plummeted instantly.
Marcus's smile froze. The wine glass in his hand remained perfectly still, but the slight twitch near his left eye betrayed him.
Daniel slowly set down his knife and fork. The clatter of silver against porcelain sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.
"Geneva?" Daniel asked, his voice deceptively calm. "I didn't know you were looking into Swiss registries, Clara."
"A bride likes to know the history of the house she is marrying into," I said, fixing my gaze entirely on Marcus. "For instance, I found a birth record for twin boys born to Arthur Vance. One was named Julian. The other was named Julian II... but registered as Daniel after the firstborn died."
Marcus let out a soft, dry chuckle. "Old hospital clerical errors, my dear Clara. The Vance family had many political enemies back then. False birth certificates were created routinely to divert kidnapping threats."
"Were they?" I tilted my head, letting my diamond brooch catch the light. "And was Brandon placed in my life as a kidnapping diversion, too, Marcus?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Outside, lightning tore across the black sky, illuminating the dining room in a blinding flash of white.
Marcus’s polite, grandfatherly facade cracked. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating malice that sent chills through my bones. He took a slow sip of his wine, setting the glass down with deliberate precision.
"You really are Charles's granddaughter," Marcus murmured, his voice dropping into a sinister, low register. "Too smart for your own good. Always digging where the bodies are buried."
"It was you," I said, my voice steady despite the hammer of my heart. "Julian was just your blunt instrument. You funded Brandon's debts. You set him up to marry me so you could freeze Charles's legacy trust."
"Brandon was a weak, pathetic fool who couldn't even keep a simple woman subdued," Marcus spat, dropping all pretenses. "And Julian was arrogant. He thought he was the master when he was merely the hound."
Marcus turned his head slightly toward Daniel.
"Tell her, Daniel," Marcus said with a chilling smirk. "Tell your lovely bride why you came back into her life. Tell her whose idea it was to play the dashing savior when Brandon abandoned her on that roadside."
I felt the room spin. My eyes snapped to Daniel.
Daniel sat frozen at the head of the table. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscles jumped under his skin.
May you like
"Daniel..." I whispered, the word tearing out of my chest like a shard of glass. "Is that true?"
***