Chapter 5: The Man at the Gate
Nobody moved for a moment.
Then Bastian stood up so fast his chair tipped backward and hit the floor.
"You invited him here." His voice had lost its careful control.
"You invited him into this house — tonight — without telling me—"
"I invited him to meet his child," Alaric said.
"Sit down."
"This is my house—"
"This is my house." Alaric didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"Your name is not on the deed, Bastian.
It never has been.
Sit down."
Bastian didn't sit.
But he didn't move toward the door either.
Bianca crossed to her son and put both hands on his arm.
She spoke low, fast, close to his ear.
Whatever she said, Bastian's expression shifted from fury to something colder.
He nodded once.
He picked up his chair and sat back down.
Alaric looked at the man standing near the door — one of the household staff, who had appeared silently during the commotion.
"Bring him in."
The man left.
The room waited.
Serena reached out and touched Alaric's arm.
"You should have told me," she said quietly.
"About all of this."
"I know." He covered her hand with his.
"I'm sorry."
It was the first time anyone in the room had apologized for anything, and the simplicity of it made two of the older women look away.
The door opened.
Marco Voss was not what the room expected.
He was not young — mid-forties, with gray at his temples and the kind of stillness that comes from years of knowing when to speak and when not to.
He wore a dark jacket and no tie.
He stopped just inside the doorway and looked around the room until he found Faye.
He didn't look at Bastian.
He didn't look at Bianca.
He found Faye and he stayed there.
"Mrs.
Vane," he said.
"Don't call me that." Her voice was flat.
"You know my name."
"Faye." He said it differently.
Quieter.
"You knew." She didn't move toward him.
"Before tonight.
You knew about the baby."
"I suspected.
I didn't know for certain until—"
"How long did you suspect?"
Marco glanced at Alaric.
Alaric gave him nothing.
"Four months," Marco said.
"Four months." Faye repeated it the way people repeat numbers they're trying to make real.
"And you said nothing."
"I didn't know how to reach you without going through Bastian."
"You could have found a way."
"Yes," he said.
"I could have.
I should have." He didn't dress it up.
"I was wrong."
Bastian laughed — a short, ugly sound.
"Now he grows a conscience."
Marco looked at Bastian for the first time.
Something passed between them — not warmth, not hatred exactly.
Something older and more complicated than either.
"You told her it was yours," Marco said.
"It should have been."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting from me."
Faye stepped between them.
Not to protect either one.
To stop looking at both of them.
She turned to Alaric.
"What happens now?"
"That depends on what you want," Alaric said.
"I want—" She stopped.
She pressed her lips together.
"I want to know what you expect from me.
From this." She gestured at the room, the table, the documents still spread across it.
"What is the point of all of this tonight?
Why now?
Why in front of everyone?"
Alaric looked at the assembled family.
Then back at his daughter-in-law.
"Because secrets in this family have a cost," he said.
"And the people who pay that cost are always the ones who were never told the truth in the first place." He looked at Serena.
Then at Faye.
"I'm done letting that happen."
Bianca's voice came from the far end of the table, low and controlled and dangerous.
"You've made your point, Alaric.
Now send him away and we handle this privately."
"No."
"This is family business—"
"Faye is family.
Serena is family." His voice didn't rise.
"Marco's child is family.
What is not family is the lie Bastian has been living for the past eight months." He looked at his son.
"And I will not protect it any further."
Bastian's hand moved under the table.
Serena saw it.
Her eyes tracked down and back up.
So did Marco.
"Whatever you're reaching for," Marco said quietly, "I'd put it back."
Bastian's hand went still.
The room held its breath.
Then Faye said, "I want a DNA test.
Official.
Witnessed.
And I want Bastian out of our bedroom tonight."
May you like
Nobody argued.
Not even Bianca.
