ALVA
I can’t shake off the agent’s words.
They’ve burrowed under my skin like splinters, refusing to let rest. Even now, hours later, his voice still loops in my head, low and insistent, gnawing at every rational part of that knows better. "There are always traces left behind. Even when a mother turns her back on a child, so part of her lingers. Maybe regret. Maybe love."
I scoff when I recall it but the sound is hollow. No matter how many tis I try to laugh it off, my chest won’t unclench. My mind keeps circling back to the sa question.
What if Camille left sothing?
It’s absurd, isn’t it? The sa woman who could barely stand to hear my na, who shattered in fits of paranoia whenever I entered her thoughts—what would she leave ? A token of guilt? A cruel reminder? Nothing at all?
But the thought won’t leave. It claws at , scratching against the walls of my skull.
I can’t ask Duncan. God knows my father has nothing to give but half-baked excuses and the sour stench of regret. His drunken lust was what created , not love or anything close. He didn’t even know Camille, not really. She was just an unlucky woman who crossed his path one night when alcohol blurred out the word no.
No. Duncan can’t help .
But Marcel...
I stare at my phone for a long ti, shut down the doubts in my head and dial his number. Sweat dribbles down my neck as the dial tone rings once, twice, then cuts into silence. He’s ignoring as usual.
I try again but it goes straight to voicemail.
Frustration surges hot in my veins. He thinks he can dismiss ? He thinks he can brush aside like I’m so fly buzzing near his ear? Fine. My thumbs fly across the screen, composing a ssage he could never ignore.
You’re going to regret it if you ignore this ssage. I know Camille left sothing behind for . If you don’t give it to , I’ll NEVER leave Demi alone. I’ll make sure she knows everything you’ve hidden from her.
I hit send before I can second-guess. Then I wait, tapping my foot on the floor of my ho.
The phone vibrates minutes later as Marcel’s call cos in.
I answer. "Took you long enough."
Marcel’s voice crackles with disdain. "What kind of sick joke is this? What nonsense are you filling your head with now?"
"No one’s joking here." I force calm into my tone. "You know exactly what I’m talking about, Marcel. Camille left sothing for . Give it to and I guarantee that you and your niece can live your lives without being a bother."
A bark of laughter rattles down his end of the line. "You’re being delusional. Camille wouldn’t have left you a crumb of bread, let alone sothing sentintal. When will you get it? She hated you. She hated the very idea of you."
Despite how many tis he has said these words, they never fail to bruise my chest anew. Silently, my breath hitches.
"She regretted you the mont you were born," Marcel continues, voice rising with venom. "You were nothing but a reminder of what Duncan did to her. You want to dig up a gift? The only thing she left you to the best of my knowledge is disdain."
A chill ripples through , cold enough to seep into my bones but he isn’t finished.
"You want details? Fine. Every ti soone with the na, Raz, ntioned it around her, my poor sister lost her cool. She spiraled. You were her biggest trigger and the change of na to Alva didn’t solve anything. Her delusions always circled back to Duncan and his equally evil spawn coming to finish the job. That’s how deep the wound went."
My throat tightens. Sha burns hot at the base of my skull.
"And sotis," Marcel adds, his tone still bitter, "she even mistook Demi for you. Do you hear ? Her own daughter. She’d look at that little girl and see Duncan’s bastard instead. And when that happened, Demi suffered for it. Camille’s words, her tempers, they cut deep. I thank God Demi doesn’t rember those years because if she did, she’d be scarred for life because of them."
I shut my eyes, nails digging crescents into my palm. He wants to fold under this. He wants to believe there’s no trace of tenderness anywhere in Camille’s heart for but I can’t. I won’t.
When I speak, my voice is impeccably firm. "If Camille was the angel you paint her to be for Demi, if she was truly a good mother, then I have every reason to believe she wasn’t always disdainful of . Sowhere in the quiet, when no one was watching, she must have thought of and even worried for . She must have regretted what she did and maybe—just maybe—she left sothing as a truce. You can spit all the venom you want, Marcel, but you can’t deny the possibility."
"So, all of this was out of speculation?" Marcel clucks his tongue. "Listen to , Raz or Alva, whatever your na is, there is nothing for you!" His voice shreds the air. "Nothing but your delusions. You’re grasping at shadows to fill the hole inside you. Camille doesn’t owe you anything. She never did."
Before a fresh wave of pain hits , a thought crosses my mind. "How did you know my na was changed?"
"What?"
"Now that I think about it, I never told you my na had been changed to Alva or that my real dad was responsible for it. So, how did you know, Marcel? When did you stop calling the na Camille gave , Raz?"
I swear I heard him gulp. A smile tugs at my lip. "I know you don’t care enough to look out for so soone else must have been checking on ? Camille? Did she follow the paper trail of my foster hos?"
"That’s insane. Why would she care about a past life she desperately needed to forget?"
My knees almost wobble so I sink into the closest chair. The pieces are starting to fall into place. The random, little gifts I found at the school playground were far different from Duncan’s obtrusive ones. Sotis it was as simple as a new pencil to replace the one a bully had broken in class. Sotis it was a fruit in my favorite play spot.
Tears blur my eyes. "She checked on , didn’t she? I guess she stopped after my father showed up. She believed I was in safe hands then."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Alva, but keep my niece out of your madness."
I surge to my feet, my voice hardening. "You’ll make sure to bring whatever my mother left , Marcel or I swear on her cold grave that Demi will pay for your stubbornness."
Silence floods the line. Then Marcel snarls, "You only prove how evil you are, just like your rapist of a father. You think threats will get you love? Respect? You’re pathetic."
The insult stings, but I swallow it down.
"If you have a shred of decency," he presses, "if you inherited even a drop of Camille’s kindness, you’ll let Demi live in peace. She’s already fragile. She already lost her mories. You want to destroy her completely? Telling her she had a brother born of rape, that would be beyond inhumane."
I grit my teeth and ignore his words.
"I’m taking her away from this wretched city," Marcel says. "...away from you and Duncan and all the drama of the Rollins family. We’re going to start over sowhere else. If you care at all, you’ll let us go. Don’t make beg, Alva. For once in your life, do the right thing."
"There it is. The twist. Paint as evil, then flatter when you need to cooperate. Manipulation must run in the family."
"You’re hopeless." He spits.
"And you’re predictable," I bite back. "Don’t feed that noble rubbish. You want silent? Then pay the price. Demi isn’t leaving Danvarr until I get what I want. If you try to sneak her away, I’ll shatter that bubble she’s floating in—that illusion where she thinks she’s Camille’s only child. And then? I’ll pay a visit to our dear aunt Elizabeth."
I let the na hang in the air a beat.
"She was shaless enough to use Demi’s drunken marriage to one of the quads to bury her claws in the Rollins family. What makes you think she won’t sell Camille’s secret to the highest bidder? I give her all the fine details, and Demi’s humiliation will be splattered across every headline. In Danvarr. Let’s see how you far she can run from that."
On the other end, Marcel breathes deep.
"Are you working with that woman?"
I chuckle at that. "The Branson family is really a hot ss. It always beats how Elizabeth still has no idea that you and your brother found Camille after she was sexually assaulted, stayed by her side till she had a baby and even helped her give it away. How could she not know a great deal about her own blood sister? That’s what makes this so perfect. Elizabeth would profit off of her own family secret before she feels an ounce of pity for her late sister or her niece."
I can hear the fear he’s trying to mask through his ragged breath.
I smile into the receiver and hang up before he can reply.
That’s when I feel another presence in the room. I turn around and Duncan stands a few feet away, watching . His face is a mask of fury and disappointnt. I wonder how long he’s been there and how much he heard of my conversation with Marcel.
He steps forward, jaw tight. "I’m sick of this. I’m really sick of watching you obsess over a woman who wanted nothing to do with you. Why do you have to claw for scraps from the Bransons like a starving dog."
I blink my eyes dry. "Careful."
"No," he snaps. "You want honesty? Here it is. Do you want a mother that badly? Fine. I’ll marry one for you. I’ll pick the kindest, gentlest woman I can find and she’ll dote on you like you were born from her own womb. Would that satisfy you?"
The words only annoy .
"You still don’t get it, do you?" I hiss at him. "You think this is about filling a seat at the dinner table? About slapping the title of ’mother’ on so stranger like it’s a bandage? You don’t understand a damn thing. A new mother won’t heal the hole Camille left. It won’t erase her hatred. It won’t quench the thirst for acceptance from her family. You can’t just whip up a wife like you whip up whiskey, Duncan."
The heat in my voice grows sharper. "That mindset—your casual disregard for won—is exactly why I am in this ss. It’s the underlying reason why you shalessly raped an innocent woman in the first place."
The crack of his palm against my face cos before I register it. The sting blooms, radiating through my jaw. I reel backwards in shock.
For a mont Duncan looks more guilt stricken than I ever saw him. His hand trembles in the air before he drops it like it’s on fire.
"Alva... I didn’t—"
"Don’t." My voice is a low growl. I taste copper on my tongue, but the pain only fuels . "Don’t you dare stand there and play the repentant father. You’ve been ruining since before I drew breath. You ruined my mother too. Now, you hit ?"
Guilt is etched deep in the lines of his face. "I lost control. I shouldn’t have—"
"You always lose control!" I roar, the words tearing from my throat. "That’s who you are, isn’t it? Drunk, reckless, selfish. You see a woman, you see a bottle, you see a life, and you take it, crush it, and then regret it when it’s already too late. That’s what you did to Camille. Quit pretending you can fix everything with an apology."
His shoulders sag. "I never wanted you to carry the weight of my mistake."
"Then you should never have made that disgusting mistake in the first place."
The words hang heavy, vibrating between us. He opens his mouth but ends up closing it. For once, he doesn’t look like the swaggering Duncan who bulldozes through life without consequence. He looks... old. Broken.
"You think I don’t hate myself?" His voice trembles. "You think I sleep at night? Every ti I close my eyes, I see her face. I hear her voice. I rember what I did. You don’t know the half of it, Alva. You can’t imagine how many nights I begged the bottle to erase it all."
My chest tightens, but I force myself not to soften.
"What I did to Camille was evil. I know you think I walked away untouched but that’s not true. I am not a monster and I did regret my actions that night. I...I tried to make things right."
"What are you talking about?"
"Months after it happened, I traced her ho and went to her. I thought, God help , I thought I could beg. I thought that if I crawled at her feet, she might give a shred of forgiveness. But when I saw her, she was...pregnant. I was shocked and unprepared. I didn’t know how words could change anything when her life had been so altered by my mistake. So, I fled like a coward."
I grit my teeth and say nothing.
"Years later, I was shocked again when she showed up at the Rollins HQ for a job. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize but it didn’t make it any easier being around her, knowing what I had done to her in the past. I tried not to inquire about her personal life beyond what was demanded by the company. I tried to steer clear of her, and then the mall accident happened."
"And you helped them cover up her murder!" I blurt out. "That’s a great way to show repentance, huh?"
He shakes his head, anguish twisting his features. "I need you to understand that I’m also suffering. No matter what I do, I can’t outrun Camille’s ghost. First it was her at work, then Demi ca into the picture too. But my biggest punishnt is watching my son look at with disgust."
He places a hand on my shoulder. "It also hurts watching you clawing her back, digging her bones from the grave when she made it clear she never wanted you. You want her love so bad you’ll lose yourself chasing it."
My hands curl into fists as I shake his off my shoulder. "You don’t get to tell what to want. You don’t get to decide what pieces of her I cling to. You already took everything else."
His voice drops to a rasp as he shakes his head. "I always see her in you. Every ti you open your mouth, every ti you glare at , I see Camille. You’re what’s left of her, and I’m what destroyed her. You have no idea what it feels like to live with that, Alva."
The confession guts . My throat burns but I refuse to let him see the tears pressing against the back of my eyes.
"Then don’t live with it," I whisper. "Leave. I don’t need you, Duncan. I never did. You’ve done your best raising but I am an adult now. I can fend for myself."
He inhales sharply. "I’m already used to living in hell, son. My job, my past, if the pain could kill , it would have happened by now." To my shock, he presses a kiss to my forehead. "You’re stuck with for life." His voice cracks on that last statent.
For a mont, I see sothing weak and pathetic in him. A man gutted long ago who is still bleeding from the wound. It terrifies because I feel pity where I should only feel rage.
He nods once and turns away. His steps echo, fading until I’m left alone with a strange feeling in my chest. I inhale and shrug off the emotions. Then I dial a number. My interactions with Marcel over the years has taught that he always needs a ’push’ before he can bend.
"Hello?" The soft voice echoes.
"Hi." I reply cheerily. "I’d like to speak with Elizabeth Colin, please."
"This is her."
"Great. I have a very juicy secret to share with you. It’s about your sister, Camille Branson, your niece, Demi Branson and her uncle, Marcel. If you’re smart, this piece of information could make you very rich."
I hear a shuffle in the background.
"Are you a reporter?"
"No."
"Then, who are you and how did you co upon this secret about my family?"
A wicked smile forms on my lips. "Well, where do I even start?"
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