Chapter 8

{Julian’s POV}

I slammed the door to the study hard enough the damn hinges groaned. The chandelier above me rattled. Fitting. Everything in this godforsaken house felt ready to shatter; including me.

“That bastard,” I snarled. “That manipulative, senile old bastard.”

“Oh, darling, don’t sugarcoat it,” my mother, Debra, technically, said as she breezed in behind me, pearls bouncing against her collarbone. “Tell us how you really feel.”

I turned on her, jaw tight. “He gave it to a stranger, Mother. Not just the fortune. Everything. He threw away Lachlan's legacy like it was yesterday’s wine.”

“Well.” She picked up a decanter from the liquor cart like we weren’t in crisis. “You’ve always said he loved a good twist ending.”

“You think this is funny?”

Behind her, Aaron waltzed in like he was arriving at a party and not the goddamn apocalypse. “Well, I do love a good soap opera,” he said brightly.

“And I have to say, we’re delivering on all fronts. Inheritance scandal? Check. Illegitimate heiress? Check. Murderous stares? Check. Honestly, all we’re missing is a dramatic slap and a love child.”

“Not helping, Aaron,” I growled.

“Of course not,” he said with a wink. “But I’m not exactly hurting, either. You heard the man, still getting two hundred dollars on my birthday paid for.”

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing like a man trying not to put his fist through centuries-old plaster.

Marcus entered next, leaned against the doorframe, arms folded like usual. “You didn’t see it coming?”

I stopped cold. “Excuse me?”

“You know how he was,” Marcus said. “He never gave anything without a catch. “This” he gestured vaguely toward the east wing where the bombshell was still probably trying to remember how to breathe—“was always the plan. Or a plan. George never played straight.”

“Exactly,” Luca chimed in from behind him, fingers flicking through a pack of cigarettes he wouldn’t light in the house. “Old man had a thing for puzzles. Always did. Give a little, test your loyalty. Pull the rug. Repeat.”

I stared at all of them. My brothers. My blood. Shrugging like this was expected.

“I spent years trying to prove myself to him,” I said, voice low, vibrating with fury. “Took meetings he wouldn’t. Learned the business inside out. Gave up everything else, just to be taken seriously. To earn it.”

“Julian—” Debra started.

“I’m not done,” I snapped. “I cleaned up his messes. I stood by when he tore through board members like they were disposable. I defended him in public when he didn’t deserve it. And for what?”

“A slap in the face,” Marcus said quietly.

“No,” I said. “A knife in the back.”

Debra finally set her glass down, tone softening. “Darling, you know how your grandfather was. This—this girl—she’s a move. A piece in a much bigger game. She’s a fraud,” she says without preamble. “There’s no way George left it to her without being manipulated. We need to contest it.”

“We can’t.” Marcus sighs. “Did you not hear the part about disincentives? Anyone who contests her inheritance loses everything.”

She glares. “George was many things, but he wasn’t irrational. Someone got to him.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter. “He knew what he was doing. Every word of that will was a calculated blow.”

“To punish us?” she asks sharply. “To shame this family?”

“To shame me,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

The silence that follows is long. And loud.

Debra sits on the edge of a chair like she might combust. “We can dig into her past. Find something. A drug arrest. A forged identity. There’s no way a man like George leaves everything to someone like her without..”

“She doesn’t even know him,” I muttered. “She admitted that. How the hell do you give your entire estate to someone who didn’t even exist in your life six months ago?”

Aaron threw himself dramatically into an armchair. “Maybe she did. Maybe it’s another secret. Another scandal. God knows we’re due for one.”

I glared at him. “You think this is funny?”

“I think this is Lachlan,” he replied. “I think George never made a move without a motive. You think he handed over the entire fortune without having her right where he wants her?”

Luca flicked the lighter on, then off again. “I’m with him. He didn’t write her name on that will to punish you. He did it because she’s part of something. She has a purpose. And we’re not seeing it yet.”

“She’s a liability,” I said flatly. “She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t even know how to spell Lachlan.”

“Neither do half our board members,” Aaron pointed out.

I ignored him. My blood was boiling. My chest was tight. That girl… that Hailey Vale… she stood there like she’d walked into the wrong casting call and still decided to audition anyway. No pearls. No poise. Just anger and sharp comebacks and a pair of jeans that probably cost less than my watch strap.

And somehow, she was the one George trusted with everything?

Debra stiffened. “He didn’t.”

“She’s staying here for a year,” I muttered, voice like acid. “Twelve months. Breathing the same air. Sleeping in his house. His room.”

“She’s not staying in the east wing,” I mutter. “I’ll have her moved.”

“You can’t,” Luca says simply. “You don’t own the house.”

“She’s not staying near me,” I snapped.

Aaron smirks. “You're afraid of the stripper, Jules?”

“I’m not afraid,” I say. “I just don’t want her anywhere near me.”

“Well,” Marcus says, heading toward the door, “maybe don’t growl at her next time like you’re deciding between murder or marriage.”

“This is the biggest insult in Lachlan's history?” I growled.

“We play the game,” Marcus said. “Like George always wanted.”

I laughed bitterly. “I’ve been playing the game since I was twelve.”

Aaron stretched his legs out. “Then maybe it’s time we changed the rules.”

I looked at him.

He shrugged. “What? I like her.”

“You like everyone,” Luca muttered.

“False. I hate Agnes.”

“Fair.”

Debra sat down slowly, watching me with that look she used to give me as a boy when I got a scraped knee and refused to cry.

“She’s in the house now,” she said. “And George left her the map. But he didn’t tell her what it led to.”

“And what if she finds out?” I asked.

“Then we do what Lachlans do,” Marcus said. “We adapt. We survive.”

I clenched my jaw. No. I wasn’t adapting. I wasn’t surviving.

I was reclaiming what was mine.

And if Hailey Vale wanted to play queen of the castle?

Then she’d better be ready for war.