Julian’s fingers tightened around the warm cup of tea, but the heat did nothing for him. His chest kept rising too fast, his breath uneven, like he was trying to swallow panic and failing.
Then, out of nowhere, he snapped.
He slamd the cup down so hard the tea jumped and splashed across the table.
"I look exactly like my dad!" his voice cracked as he stared around the room, desperate and furious at the sa ti. "If I’m not his son, then who am I? Who the hell am I?"
No one answered him right away. The silence made it worse.
Lewis’s gaze cut straight to Camilla, sharp and unforgiving. "You must know sothing," he said coldly. "Tell him."
Camilla’s arms wrapped tighter around her stomach, like her whole world was the life growing inside her. Julian could be falling apart in front of her and she still wouldn’t care at least not enough to show it.
Her eyes dropped. Her voice ca out thin, almost lazy. "I don’t know anything."
The Morrigans Greg and Malcom had been quiet up until now, watching like this didn’t belong to them. But the mont the truth shifted again, I saw their eyes widen. They exchanged one quick look, the kind that says, What kind of madness is this family living in?
Adam was still pale, still trying to stand upright under the weight of what Lewis had just said. Then his face changed, like a buried mory had punched through the surface.
"Dad..." he started, voice shaking. "Could it be...?"
Jeffrey didn’t soften. If anything, his expression got darker. He nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "Your father had an identical twin brother."
The room felt like it tilted.
Jeffrey kept going, voice heavy but steady. "If things had gone differently, you would’ve grown up knowing him. But you were switched at birth. That’s why Julian looks like his uncle."
I blinked hard, trying to process it.
Even Lewis looked like he hadn’t expected that part. And if Lewis didn’t know, then this wasn’t just family drama. This was a secret buried deep on purpose.
Julian’s eyes darted to Jeffrey, confusion fighting with terror. "Grandpa... are you talking about that uncle?" he asked carefully. "Didn’t he die years ago?"
"We all thought he was gone," Jeffrey said. "But he wasn’t. He survived."
The words dropped like stones.
"And from what we’ve uncovered," Jeffrey continued, "he’s been moving things in the shadows for years. Including the switch yours and your cousin’s."
Adam’s composure finally broke. A second ago he had been an outsider to Julian’s crisis.
Now he was trapped inside it.
"Dad... you can’t an this," Adam said, voice trembling. "You wouldn’t joke about sothing like this... right?"
Jeffrey’s eyes hardened. "Do I look like I’m joking?"
The room went dead quiet.
"Lewis found out Silas is a Hale," Jeffrey said. "A genetic test confird it. He’s your son."
Adam froze so completely it scared . His throat worked like he was trying to breathe through a choke.
I saw it on his face the mories hitting him one after another. The things he’d said to Silas. The way he’d condemned him without rcy.
The irony wasn’t just bitter.
It was cruel.
"Where is he?" Adam finally asked. The question ca out so low it almost disappeared. But he ant it with everything in him.
Jeffrey sighed, then looked toward the door. "Bring him in."
My stomach tightened.
Every head turned.
Even Camilla who had been withdrawn, quiet, pretending she didn’t care sat up straighter. Her attention sharpened so fast it was obvious she’d been waiting for this.
Two n carried Silas in on a stretcher.
The mont his face ca into full view, the air changed.
He was pale. Too pale. His injuries weren’t small bruises you could ignore they were the kind that scread suffering. His body looked fragile, like life had been dragged out of him and he was only holding on by force.
Camilla rushed forward like her mask had shattered.
"Silas!" Her voice broke instantly. Tears poured down her face as she grabbed for him. "Are you okay? Are you okay?"
Silas’s arm twitched, like he was trying to reach for her.
But it didn’t obey.
A broken, choking sound ca from his throat nothing more. No words. No voice. Just pain trapped inside him.
"What’s wrong with him?" soone asked, startled. "Why can’t he speak?"
Camilla’s head snapped up. Her tear-streaked face twisted with rage as she whirled on us, like we were all the enemy.
"What did you do to him?" she scread.
"It wasn’t us," soone answered firmly.
The next words hit the room like a slap.
"He bit off his own tongue."
Camilla’s hand flew to her mouth.
Her expression collapsed.
Fresh tears spilled over, falling in steady drops onto Silas’s battered face. The tears cut through the dirt and dried blood like tiny rivers, and for the first ti, I didn’t see performance.
I’d seen Camilla cry before. She always cried like she was acting for an audience.
This ti was different.
This grief was real. Ugly. Raw.
"Why?" she whispered, voice shaking. "Why would you do that to yourself?"
She leaned down onto his chest like she couldn’t hold herself up anymore, clutching him while her sobs shook her whole body.
Adam stepped closer, slow and unsteady. His eyes stayed on Silas like he was afraid the mont he looked away, this would vanish and turn back into a nightmare.
His hand lifted, hovering in the air, unsure if he was allowed to touch.
"Is..." Adam’s voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "Is he really my son?"
The question hung there, heavy and shaking.
Lewis stepped in, calm as a blade. "Yes," he said. "He is."
Adam dropped to his knees beside the stretcher. His fingers trembled, still hesitant, like touching Silas might hurt him more.
"My boy..." Adam whispered, the words breaking apart in his throat. "You’ve suffered so much."
Silas stared back at him.
His eyes were wide and hard, hollow but burning at the sa ti, filled with sothing that made my skin prickle.
Pain. Hatred. And a silence that felt louder than screaming.
While everyone focused on that ruined reunion, my eyes drifted because Lewis and I hadn’t planned this mont just to shock Adam.
We planned it to watch Sheila.
From the beginning, she had felt... off. Too calm. Too controlled.
And now, she proved it.
Sheila stood slightly apart from the chaos, holding a delicate porcelain teacup like this was afternoon tea, not a family explosion. A faint smile touched her lips not warm, not kind.
Almost mocking.
That wasn’t the face of a woman surprised by truth.
That was the face of soone watching a plan unfold exactly as expected.
In that instant, her whole presence shifted. She didn’t look like a background character anymore.
She looked like the one holding the strings.
She seed to sense my focus. She lifted the cup and took a slow, asured sip, hiding part of her face behind the porcelain like she was daring to accuse her.
I forced myself to look away.
Not because I was scared.
Because we still didn’t have proof.
But her reaction or lack of reaction told enough.
Sheila wasn’t innocent.
Lewis seized the opening imdiately.
"Camilla," he said evenly, "you know sothing. Why would Oliver switch his son with Adam’s?"
Camilla’s eyes flicked just once toward Sheila.
It was subtle, but it was there.
Sheila set her teacup down with a deliberate clink.
Not loud.
Just sharp.
A warning dressed up as elegance: Careful.
Then she moved toward Adam with that practiced softness she always used, the kind that sounded like love but felt like control.
"Adam," she murmured, "you need to sit down. Your heart can’t take this kind of stress. Let’s sort through everything rationally."
Adam looked from Julian to Silas, like his brain couldn’t decide which reality to hold onto. His chest rose and fell with a heavy, helpless breath.
Julian had always been there always "family."
But Silas was blood.
Finding him should have been joy.
Instead, it felt like grief.
And Silas’s condition didn’t give Adam any space to celebrate. It only gave him guilt, fear, and a truth he couldn’t rewind.
The room grew quiet as the weight settled.
All eyes slowly turned to Camilla.
Even Malcom who had been silent for too long pushed himself to his feet. He walked toward her with steady steps, and when he spoke, his voice cut clean through the tension.
"Ever since you ca back," he said, sharp and precise, "you’ve done nothing but stir trouble."
He pointed each mory like a blade.
"You turned us against Elena again and again. Then at their wedding, you called Julian away and Elena vanished. Since then, this family has been dragged through hell. Deaths. Accidents."
Malcom’s eyes burned.
"And that car crash?" he continued. "Everyone was in it except you."
Camilla’s face tightened.
Malcom didn’t stop.
"And now we’re dealing with a switched heir," he said. "And sohow you and Sheila are right in the middle of it."
His voice dropped, colder.
"This isn’t bad luck, Camilla. This is a pattern."
He stepped closer.
"So tell ," he demanded. "What are you and Sheila scheming? What are you trying to do to the Morrigans and the Hales?"
For a second, no one breathed.
Then Camilla crumpled to the floor, her knees hitting the polished wood hard.
Tears stread down her face imdiately, but even on her knees, I could see it the calculation still hiding behind the crying.
"Dad," she sobbed, voice trembling on purpose, "I don’t know what you’re accusing of. How could I plan sothing like this?"
She lifted her face, wet and pleading.
"The police questioned so many tis," she cried. "They cleared every ti. If I did sothing wrong, wouldn’t they have arrested by now?"
Then she tried to make it personal.
"I’m a Morrigans too, aren’t I?" she said, hands shaking. "Why would I hurt my own family? Why would I hurt my own Emily?"
Malcom didn’t blink.
His face stayed hard, voice unmoved. "If you’re innocent," he said coldly, "then the sky must be green and fish must fly."
He leaned forward, eyes ruthless.
"Stop playing gas, Camilla," he said. "Tell us what’s really going on between you and Silas."
His voice lowered, heavy with disgust.
"If he’s the Hale heir... why hasn’t he been with his family all this ti?"
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