The moment cracked like thunder.
The matriarch slammed her hands against the dining table, "You dare speak that name in my presence?!" she roared.
"Caleb!" I shouted, stepping past the gilded threshold of civility. My voice ricocheted off the walls, sharp and furious. "Caleb Massi! He's also your grandson, just like Luther! He's, my friend! Tell me how the hell he died!"
Gasps erupted. A man dropped his wine. A woman clutched her pearls, across the room, someone backed into a column and whispered a prayer to a god that probably wouldn't help anyone in this.
The matriarch straightened like a serpent rearing to strike. Her lips curled, and her voice came back dipped in venom. "How dare a brat from House Caelum barge into my home like a rabid dog?" she hissed. "Do you believe your name makes you untouchable, Evander? Do you think I won't tear down your father brick by brick?"
She snapped her fingers like she was sealing a death sentence.
"Luther!" she barked. "Call that fool Holt Caelum. Tell him if he doesn't show up here in ten minutes, his birthday banquet will become his funeral."
All eyes turned to Luther, who hesitated, he's already half-raised his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, trembling.
Then—
Corwin stepped forward, his jaw clenched, his frame broad enough to blot out half the chandelier's light. His voice came low, dangerous.
"You shouldn't drag Lord Holt into this," he warned, staring down the queen herself. "Touching him would mean setting your entire bloodline on fire."
"Corwin!" I called once.
He stopped instantly. His fists tightened, trembling with the effort to hold himself back. "Sorry," he muttered, and stepped back.
My gaze returned to the woman at the table. I walked forward, step by step, letting my presence press down on the room.
"If you wanted to keep a secret," she said, voice brittle with rage, "you shouldn't have come waving your outrage like a torch in the wind."
"I came for truth." I declared.
And truth was the one thing this house had buried deeper than Caleb. I stopped at the end of the table, right across from her, where no one else dared to stand.
"Caleb Massi! He was more than your blood. He was my brother. Not by birth, but by bond. And his death a year ago? No grief. Just an empty casket and a family that moved on like he was a stain."
The room shifted. Murmurs rolled like thunder beneath the surface.
"Suicide," I scoffed. "That's what you called it. A convenient excuse tied in a neat little bow."
My eyes scanned the faces some pale, some hiding behind wine and fans. No one met my gaze. Cowards.
"I'm not here to humiliate you," I continued. "If Caleb truly took his own life, I'll leave. I swear it. But if I find even the smallest trace of rot beneath your perfect legacy, then I swear on his name…" I looked at every person in that room, daring them to speak, "this entire household will burn."
She laughed, almost mockery, "So audacious…" she whispered, shaking her head. "You come into my house and threaten my bloodline. You wield your grief like a sword, but you forget who forged this world. We did."
She planted her hands on the table once more and leaned in.
"If it's death you seek, then let my family be buried with you," she said. "Let's see if you have the fangs to make good on your threats."
She stood tall again, regal and icebound.
"I doubt you have the ability, Evander."
I didn't flinch. I walked forward, step by step.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?!" Luther's voice cracked through the hall like a whip, but I didn't so much as glance his way.
The distance closed between me and the old vulture at the head of the table. I stopped right in front of her.
And she was trembling.
A soft murmur broke out behind me.
"She's trembling…" someone whispered.
"Is the matriarch… scared?" another voice followed, shocked.
"He's just a bastard orphan… How could she—?"
Her eyes flicked to them, her loyal puppets.
Then she smiled.
Cold. Venomous.
"So you're the beast they say crawled back from the ashes…" she purred, as though it were a compliment. "I heard your adoptive father's fiftieth birthday is around the corner."
I tilted my head slightly, eyes unblinking.
She bared her teeth in a sneer. "Wouldn't it be a lovely gift if I sent him your head wrapped in satin?"
I smiled—not the kind that reached your eyes, not the kind you give when you're amused. Mine was the kind you give before a kill. The kind that cuts.
"Make sure it's velvet," I said softly. "So it doesn't soak too fast when the blood starts dripping."
The air shattered. Everyone went still. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.
Then—
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The matriarch's slow, deliberate applause echoed like a death knell.
The front doors creaked open behind me.
Boots followed—slow, purposeful. I didn't need to turn. The energy changed.
Someone gasped.
Luther's mouth parted in silent recognition. Evelyn shifted. Even the smug Massis on the far end of the table looked like they'd swallowed their own pride.
Then I heard the whispers, like wind through bone.
"What the hell is he doing here?"
"It's going to get bloody now…"
Corwin leaned toward me; his voice was low and tight. "That's Aaron Raze," he said. "They call him the Widowmaker. Works like a mercenary for the Massis. And rumor has it… he's never failed a single assignment."
Still, I didn't move. I just watched the man approach.
He was tall, lean, but there was no softness to him. His silence was louder than screams. Death walked behind him, patient and amused.
He stood beside the matriarch without a word, his hands clasped behind his back. The matriarch turned toward him, lips curling into something that tried to resemble warmth.
"Mr. Aaron," she cooed, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
He nodded once. "It's no disturbance."
Then he added, his voice like metal being drawn from a sheath, "The usual price is twenty million."
The room recoiled.
"Twenty million?" someone gasped.
"For one person?" another sputtered.
Even the servants froze in place.
Corwin's mouth tensed. "He's rumored to be deadly. They say he once wiped out an entire village to catch a single target."
I stayed still. Watching.
The matriarch turned back to me with smug delight. "Money," she said, drawing out every syllable like wine between teeth, "has never been my problem."
And then she dropped the hammer.
"If you can chop off that arrogant head of Evander Holt and bring it to me on a silver platter… then the twenty million is yours."