Chapter 96: The Internal Poison

I couldn't stop thinking about the word. Fire. It was a simple enough word, but in the context of my father’s life, it felt like a physical weight sitting in the middle of my chest. I spent the next morning sitting at the small desk in my room, staring out at the gardens. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Sebastian’s whisper.

I waited until I heard the heavy front door slam, signaling that Ivan and Dmitri had left for the office. Only then did I open my laptop. My hands were shaking as I typed the words into the search bar. Ascendant Arts.

At first, nothing came up. There were dozens of companies with similar names—marketing firms, graphic design studios, even a dance school. I scrolled through pages of results, my heart sinking. Maybe Sebastian had lied to me. Maybe he just wanted to watch me scramble for ghosts.

Then I tried searching for my father’s name alongside the company. That’s when the first link appeared. It was an old news archive from twenty years ago. The headline was small, buried in the local business section: Startup "Ascendant Arts" Faces Total Loss in Warehouse Blaze.

I clicked it. The page took forever to load. When it finally opened, there was a grainy black-and-white photo of a building engulfed in flames. The caption listed the owner as Thomas Moretti. My father.

"Leo? Are you in there?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I slammed the laptop shut just as the door opened. It was Arthur. He was carrying a tray with a glass of juice and some toast. He looked at me, his eyes moving from my face to the closed computer.

"You’re up early," Arthur said. He set the tray down on the nightstand. "I thought you might want to sleep in after the gala."

"I couldn't sleep," I said. I tried to keep my breathing even. "I’ve had a headache since I woke up."

Arthur walked over to the window and adjusted the curtains. "The twins were worried about you this morning. Ivan almost stayed behind, but Dmitri convinced him that you just needed some space."

"Is that what they call it now? Space?" I leaned back in my chair. "Arthur, why did you look at me like that last night? When I mentioned the company?"

Arthur stopped moving. He didn't turn around. "I told you, Leo. It’s a name from a time that brought no one any happiness. Your father was a dreamer, but he was not a businessman. He made mistakes."

"Was the fire a mistake?" I asked.

Arthur finally turned to face me. His expression was unreadable. "Fires happen for many reasons. Faulty wiring. Old buildings. Bad luck. You shouldn't spend your youth looking for tragedy in the past. You have a future now. A very bright one, if you choose to take it."

"I just want to know who he was," I said. "Is that so wrong?"

"Sometimes the people we love aren't the people we imagine them to be," Arthur replied quietly. "Eat your breakfast, Leo. The twins will be home for dinner tonight, and they expect you to be in a better mood."

He left the room, and the silence he left behind felt even louder than before. I didn't eat the toast. I opened the laptop again and read the article. There wasn't much information. The cause of the fire was listed as 'undetermined.' No one was hurt, but the company’s assets were completely destroyed. A week later, my father had signed his first contract with the Volkov family.

The coincidence was too much. It felt like a trap.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. The dining room was vast, and the sound of silverware clinking against plates was the only noise for the first ten minutes. Ivan sat at the head of the table, looking over a stack of papers, while Dmitri watched me.

"You’ve been quiet today," Dmitri said. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Arthur says you spent the whole day in your room. Are you feeling okay?"

"Just tired," I said. I took a sip of water. "I was thinking about the gala. About the people I met."

"Finch is a parasite," Ivan said without looking up from his papers. "I hope you aren't wasting your energy thinking about him."

"I wasn't," I lied. "I was actually thinking about the old neighborhood. About the stories my dad used to tell me. Did he ever talk to you guys about his old office? Before he started working for your father?"

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Ivan’s pen stopped moving. Dmitri’s smile didn't disappear, but it became fixed, like it was painted on.

"Why would he talk about that?" Ivan asked. He finally looked up. His blue eyes were sharp, searching mine. "It was a failure. Your father wasn't proud of his early years."

"Everyone has to start somewhere," I said, trying to sound casual. "I just wondered if he ever mentioned what happened to it. He told me once that he lost everything in a single night."

Dmitri reached over and patted my hand. His skin was warm, but the gesture felt like a warning. "He lost his way, Leo. That’s all. Our father gave him a purpose. He gave him a seat at the table. That’s the only part of the story that matters."

"But what about the fire?" I asked. I couldn't help myself. The word just slipped out.

Ivan pushed his chair back. The screech of the wood against the floor made me flinch. He stood up and walked around the table until he was standing directly behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

"Leo," Ivan said. His voice was low and steady, but there was a vibration in it that made my skin crawl. "We love you. We have done everything to make sure you are safe and happy here. But you have to stop listening to the whispers of men who want to destroy this family."

"I’m just asking a question, Ivan," I said, my voice shaking.

"It’s a dangerous question," Ivan replied. He leaned down, his face close to mine. "The past is a graveyard. If you keep digging, you’re going to find things that will make you wish you had stayed on the surface. Do you understand me?"

"You're hurting my shoulders," I whispered.

He let go immediately. He looked at his hands as if he didn't realize he had been squeezing that hard. "I’m sorry. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Sebastian Finch doesn't care about you. He’s using you to get to us."

"I know," I said. I didn't believe him, but I knew I had to stop pushing.

"Good," Dmitri said, his voice cheerful again, though the tension in his shoulders remained. "Now, let’s talk about something else. We’re thinking of taking the boat out this weekend. Just the three of us. No business, no galas. What do you think?"

"That sounds great," I said.

I spent the rest of the dinner nodding and smiling, playing the part of the grateful brother. But inside, the poison was spreading. I knew they were lying. I knew Arthur was hiding something. And I knew that if I wanted the truth, I couldn't ask for it. I had to steal it.

When I finally went back to my room that night, I didn't open the laptop. I laid in the dark and stared at the ceiling. The word 'fire' kept echoing in my head. They hadn't denied it. They had just told me to stop looking.

That was the biggest mistake they could have made. Because now

, I wasn't just curious. I was certain.