Page 61 of Inheritance
Mine came off with a quiet click. I didn’t move. I watched all of it like I was outside my body.
As we left the room, I saw the Sinclair estate for what it had become. The hallways were riddled with bullet holes. Blood streaked the walls. Bodies littered the floors in grotesque stillness.
But I didn’t look away.
The horror was still there, yes. But so was something else. These evil men were dead, and Gabriel, Damien, Caroline and I were all alive. All safe.
I stepped over a body, having to leap a little to avoid its blood. My foot slipped on the edge of it, and Gabriel’s hand shot to my waist.
“Careful,” he said, a trace of playful warmth under the gravel in his voice.
Gabriel
"Wake up, son."
A firm pat on my cheek dragged me from the fog of sleep. My eyelids fluttered open, wincing against the sterile light that spilled across the room. The sharp scent of antiseptic bit at my nose, and the rhythmic beeping of nearby machines grated on my nerves, each sound clawing at me.
As my vision cleared, my father’s towering frame filled the space, his shadow stretching long across the walls. His face was a mask—emotionless and unreadable.
"Told you I’d come back."
I groaned, shifting against the stiff bed. Every movement sent sharp pangs rippling through my body, but the novelty of pain had lost its edge long ago. I inhaled deeply, steadying myself before meeting his gaze.
"The other families are coming to heel," he began, his voice cold, measured—every word carrying the weight of expectation. "But it isn’t enough. I need you on your feet. They must see our strength. Our unity."
I tilted my head back, letting my eyes drift shut again. "They don’t need me standing to know their place," I muttered, the words heavy with defiance.
"With what I’m going to announce to them, they do."
Before he could continue, I raised my hand to silence him. His hand closed around mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then I used his grip to pull myself upright. Pain tore through my shoulder, burning down my arm. I locked it away.
"I’m fine," I said through clenched teeth, forcing myself to stay steady as the room tilted. "Just give me a second."
His jaw tightened, a flicker of tension betraying his otherwise stoic exterior. He wasn’t here just to deliver an update—something else was gnawing at him.
My gaze wandered, landing on Sophia. She was slumped in the corner, legs curled beneath her, fast asleep in a big chair. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm, her face soft in sleep. In the chaos of my world, she was the one constant, soft, beautiful thing.
Would she still be the same, now that it was her world too?
"What is it?" I asked, dragging my attention back to him.
Before my father could answer, another voice emerged from the shadows, low and steady.
"Ivan is still alive, he fell for the trap, but escaped,” Damien said, stepping into view. His tone was casual, but the words hit like a hammer.
“There’s not much I can do about that right now." I gestured vaguely at the wires and IVs tethering me to the bed. "But I’ll take care of it."
My father’s scowl deepened. "I need you ready. We’re hosting a gala in a few days, and the families must be reminded of their place. Those who sided with the Sinclairs will have an opportunity to beg for forgiveness."
He patted my good shoulder absently, then left the room.
"You’ve been asleep for two days," Damien said, then followed my father out. Their footsteps receded into the hallway,leaving the quiet beeping of machines and an oppressive silence in their wake.
I exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed from my body. Then I reached up, peeling the wires and IV from my skin, turning off the machine beeping incessantly.
Sophia sat bolt upright, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?" she asked, crossing the room in quick, graceful strides. "Don’t take those off!"
"I don’t need them," I said simply.
