CHAPTER 18: NO MORE SECRETS

POV: JAXON

I stared at the photograph on my phone until my anger settled into something colder.

 Someone had taken that picture from inside Anastasia’s room. That meant whoever had sent it hadn’t just breached the compound, they had been close enough to watch her sleep.

I locked the phone and looked at her. She was standing beside me, arms wrapped around herself, still shaken by what she’d seen.

“No more,” I said.

“What?” Her eyes lifted.

“No more half-truths.”

She studied my face. I meant it. I had spent days trying to protect her by controlling what she knew, but every secret had only left her more exposed. Clara had done the same thing for twenty-seven years, and now we were standing in the middle of the consequences. I wasn’t going to repeat it.

“There’s something you need to know about the name Devereaux.”

She went still. I pulled out a chair.

“Sit.”

She sat. I remained standing for a moment before finally sitting opposite her.

“Victor Devereaux is one of the most powerful criminal figures in Britain.”

Her expression tightened.

“The man in the photograph.”

“Yes.”

“My father?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer disappointed her, but she nodded.

“I need you to understand that. We have evidence connecting your mother to him, and we have evidence that someone has spent years searching for you. But we don’t have proof that Victor is your father.”

She looked down at her hands.

“Then why does everyone keep acting like he is?”

“Because the pieces are starting to fit.” I said I reached for the torn photograph. “Your mother was with Victor. His name was inside the box. Someone removed the document carrying his name during the blackout. Then we find records showing someone has been searching for you for years.” I paused. Letting the weight go settle in.

“And now someone is sending us photographs of you.”

Her face paled. “What kind of man is he?” 

“Powerful. Connected. Careful.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I understood. She needed to know what kind of person might have been responsible for the fear that had followed her mother.

“He’s built an empire around people who owe him favors and people who are afraid to cross him.”

Her eyes hardened. “Did my mother know what he was?”

“I don’t know.”

“She must have.”

“I don’t know, Anastasia.”

Her voice broke. “She knew he was dangerous. She knew someone was looking for me. She knew enough to hide me for twenty-seven years.” She pushed back from the table and stood up. “How could she do that to me?”

I stood with her. “Because she thought it would keep you alive.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.” She turned away pressing her hands against her face. “But what about me? What about the child who kept asking where her father was? What about the girl who wondered if she had done something wrong?”

I had no answer.

I spent my whole life thinking there was something wrong with me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Maybe he just didn’t want me.”

I stepped closer. “Don’t do that.”

She looked at me, tears glistening in her eyes. “Do what?”

“Blame yourself for someone else’s choices.”

“You don’t know what he chose.”

“No,” I held her gaze, keeping my voice steady. “But I know what you didn’t choose.”

She fell silent. I moved beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off me, but I didn't push. For once, I didn’t tell her what to do. I didn’t tell her to stop crying, and I didn’t give her false promises about safety when I couldn't guarantee it. I simply stayed.

After a long while, she whispered, “I hate that I still want to know who he is.”

“You have every right to know.”

“And if he’s really my father?”

“We deal with that when we know.”

She looked up at me. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

“Then that’s his loss.”

A tiny, broken laugh escaped her chest. “You make everything sound simple.”

“It isn’t,” I looked back at the table where the phone lay dark. “That’s why we’re going to find the truth before anyone else can use it against you.”

She nodded slowly. Then her gaze dropped to my hand resting on the back of the chair. “Why are you still here?”

The question caught me off guard. “Where else would I be?”

“After everything that’s happened.”

I knew what she was really asking. Why stay when protecting her had brought war to my gates? Why keep standing between her and a ghost with an army?

I didn’t have the courage to give her the full answer—the one that was beginning to scare me more than the threats outside. So I gave her the only piece I could put into words.

“Because I promised your mother.”

Her expression softened. “And because?”

I looked at her, the unspoken truth heavy in the small space between us. I didn't say it. Not yet.

Before either of us could speak, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway and the door opened. Rafe stepped inside, his face grim.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Rafe said, closing the door behind him.

I turned toward him. “What?”

He looked at Anastasia, his expression dead serious. “If we want to know whether Victor Devereaux is actually her father, we need more than photographs and old records.”

Anastasia straightened up, wiping her eyes. “What do we need?”

Rafe hesitated for a second before laying it out. “A DNA test.”

Silence filled the room.

I looked at Anastasia. For twenty-seven years, she’d lived without knowing where she came from. Now we were one test away from an answer that would shatter whatever was left of her old life.

And if the result confirmed our worst fears, the Devereaux name wouldn’t just be a threat looming over her.

It would be her blood.