Chapter 7: The Serpent's Smile

The air in the penthouse remained icy after the phone call incident. Caius's suspicion was a tangible force, a constant, silent accusation. Lynn kept to himself, the brief flicker of rebellion from his secret notebook buried under a fresh layer of fear and resentment. He was being punished for a moment of normalcy, and the injustice of it burned.

A few days later, James laid out another suit, this one even more formal and restrictive than the one for the gala. "Mr. Evans requires your presence this evening," James said, his tone carefully neutral, but Lynn sensed a hint of something else—wariness. "A private family gathering."

Family. The word sent a new kind of dread through Lynn. This wasn't a public spectacle; this was being brought into the lion's den. A "punishment" indeed—to be paraded before the very people Caius came from, a living testament to his power and, Lynn suspected, his obsession.

The gathering was held in a different, even more opulent property—a grand townhouse that felt old and heavy with money and secrets. The atmosphere was different from the gala. Here, the glances were sharper, less curious, more calculating. These people weren't impressed by Caius's wealth; they were part of it. They were assessing a new variable in their ecosystem.

Lynn stayed close to Caius's side, playing his part with a quiet, detached air. He felt like a specimen under a microscope. Then, a man approached them. He was handsome, with a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked a few years younger than Caius, but there was a similarity in their features, a shared coldness in the gaze.

"Caius," the man said, his voice smooth and pleasant. "Good to see you." He then turned his full attention to Lynn, the smile widening. "And you must be Lynn. I've heard so much." He extended a hand. "I'm Marcus. Caius's cousin."

Lynn shook his hand, forcing a polite smile. Marcus's grip was firm, his skin cool. His eyes, however, were doing the same thing Caius's had done that first night: scanning Lynn's face with an intense, almost hungry curiosity. But where Caius's gaze had been about possession and a strange grief, Marcus's felt more like he was solving a puzzle.

"It's a pleasure," Lynn murmured, dropping his gaze, trying to appear as uninteresting as possible.

"The pleasure is mine," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone, though it was still loud enough for Caius to hear. "Lynn... that's an interesting name. A strong name." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, but with a weight that made Lynn's blood run cold, "It reminds me of someone... from the past. A man with the same surname. Quite a tragic story, if I recall correctly. Your father, perhaps?"

Lynn's heart stopped. He felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn't control the sharp, involuntary intake of breath. His father. No one ever mentioned his father. His death was a dark, painful void that no one outside his immediate family had ever seemed to care about. How did Marcus know? What did he mean by "tragic story"?

He managed to keep his body still, but he knew his eyes had given him away. He could feel the shock and sudden, sharp pain reflected in them. He quickly looked down again, his mind racing. He knows. He knows about my father. What does he know?

Caius, who had been listening with a stony expression, finally spoke, his voice like a whip crack. "Marcus," he said, a clear warning in the single word.

Marcus held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, his smile never faltering. "My apologies. I didn't mean to bring up unpleasant memories. Just making conversation." He gave Lynn a final, lingering look that was anything but apologetic. It was a look that said, I know something you don't. Then he nodded to Caius and melted back into the crowd.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Lynn. He was physically present, but his mind was elsewhere, churning with chaos. Marcus's words echoed in his head. "Tragic story." The way he said it... it wasn't just sympathy. It felt like an implication. A hint that there was more to his father's death than he'd ever been told.

All the tiny, confusing moments of near-softness he'd felt towards Caius—the late-night vigil, the warm milk, the awkward acceptance of his thanks—were instantly incinerated in the white-hot fire of this new suspicion. If Marcus, Caius's own cousin, knew something "tragic" about his father's death, and if that tragedy was connected to the Evans family... then what did that make Caius? The man who had taken him in, who looked at him with grief for another? Was his interest in Lynn not just about a missing brother, but also about guilt? About covering up a crime?

The hatred that had been simmering beneath the surface now boiled over. It was no longer just about his own captivity; it was about his father. The man he had loved and lost. The pieces of a puzzle he never knew existed were falling into place, and the picture they formed was monstrous. He glanced at Caius, who was standing rigidly beside him, his jaw tight. Caius had shut Marcus down quickly. Was it to protect Lynn from unpleasant memories? Or was it to protect a secret?

That night, back in the penthouse, Lynn didn't sleep. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Marcus's smiling face and loaded words etched behind his eyes. The comfortable, confusing ambiguity was gone. The path ahead was suddenly, terribly clear. He had to find out the truth about his father. And if that truth led back to Caius Evans, then any hesitation, any softening, would be a betrayal of his own blood.

The ember of defiance was now a raging fire. He wasn't just a prisoner seeking escape anymore. He was a son seeking vengeance. And Marcus Evans had just handed him the first clue.