Page 2 of Inheritance
My fists slammed into his desk. He jolted, his carefully curated calm cracking.
“You gave the Sinclairs—our enemies—my sister? Your daughter?”
“Peace was on the table before you interfered,” he said, like it explained anything.
“Our blood is on the table,” I snarled, the fire in my chest flaring hotter. “You were a fool to think otherwise. And now?—”
“I did what I had to do,” he snapped, pushing to his feet, bracing on the desk, pointing a gnarled finger in my face. “You left, Gabriel. You ran from your duty. She paid the price.”
I leaned in close, voice low. “Where is she? Their estate?”
His shoulders sagged. He dropped back into his chair, eyes flicking away.
“Nikolai is looking.” His voice was soft now. Almost mournful.
“You don’t know where she is?” My voice dropped, low and dangerous. I stepped closer.
“Maybe I can help you find some fucking motivation.”
I locked eyes with him. Unblinking. Unrelenting.
“Night after night, day after day, your sweet little daughter is being used. She’s being broken—mentally, physically, sexually—by Ivan Sinclair. You gave her to a monster.”
Silence. Suffocating.
His hand trembled around the empty glass. His knuckles turned white.
“Enough,” he whispered. Hollow. “You think I don’t know what he’s capable of?”
“You don’t,” I said flatly. “If you did, you would’ve fought. You would’ve burned that whole family to the ground before handing over your daughter.”
His eyes snapped to mine, anger swelling.
“If you hadn’t extorted their operation on your fucking vacation, this war wouldn’t have started.”
He shook his head. “You and your fucking pride.”
I stepped back, disgust tightening in my chest.
“Pride? You think this is about pride? This is about survival. About protecting the people you claim to care about, not using them to save yourself.”
“You don’t understand the weight of leadership,” he said, lifting his chin. “You will never have what it takes to sit where I sit. You’ve always been too brash, too reckless. You think you can save everyone—but you can’t. Sacrifices have to be made.”
I leaned in, jaw clenched. “You think you’re a leader? Leaders protect their people. They don’t trade their own daughter for a few more hours of peace.”
His hand twitched. The urge to lash out flickered across his face, but it passed. He didn’t try. He wouldn’t. Too weak. Too much of a coward.
“And what will you do now, son? Charge in, guns blazing? Get her killed in the process? Or will you let me clean up your mess, as I always do?”
I leaned in, voice low and final. “I’m going to find her. And when I do? You’re done.”
Sophia
Isprawled on Gabriel’s bed, starfish-like, feeling impossibly small in the expanse of his mansion. My suitcase sat untouched at the foot of the bed—full of clothes that no longer felt like mine, remnants of a life I’d left behind. The room, vast and meticulously designed, mirrored the man himself: commanding, darkly beautiful, and intimidating in its perfection. Rich wood panels lined the walls with intricate carvings. Sunlight poured through towering windows, illuminating the space like a corner of Gabriel’s mind that only I could see.
He had left hours ago to speak with his father, and the silence he left behind felt suffocating. I was alone to imagine what they were talking about, how the conversation was going, if I would even be welcome here. I scanned the room, desperate for distraction, but every detail only drew me closer to reality rather than pulling me away from it.
My gaze landed on the fireplace, its crackling flames casting a warm, flickering glow. Above the mantle hung a sword—impossibly elegant yet menacing—a centerpiece that was undeniably Gabriel. Of course, he had a sword as decoration.
