Chapter 68: Tangled Bloodlines

The silence in the room was suffocating.

I stared down at the DNA report, my hands trembling as the implications unraveled inside my mind like a bomb detonating in slow motion. The file said it plainly: a female child was born from Victor Caldwell and Olivia Sinclair. Identity redacted.

Dominic stood frozen beside me, the file still open in his hands, but his entire body had gone rigid.

I backed away, pulse racing.

“This—this has to be a mistake,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “It’s probably someone else. I mean… it could’ve been another child. Someone who died. Maybe it’s not—”

“Elena,” Dominic said, his voice tight, low, like it was strangling him. “You were born the year after my father vanished from public life. Right after Olivia disappeared.”

“No.” I shook my head, stepping further away, the cold wall biting my back. “Don’t. Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

He slammed the file shut. “We don’t know anything for sure. Not yet.”

“But if it’s true,” I choked, “if I’m his daughter, that means—”

“It means our marriage,” he finished grimly, “was a cover-up for something far more twisted than political gain.”

The room started to tilt.

I pressed my palm to the cold brick, trying to steady myself. My skin felt like it was crawling, my blood turning into ice.

This couldn’t be happening.

It couldn’t be true.

I looked at Dominic, desperate. “You said you investigated everything about my family. Did you know about this? Did you ever suspect—”

“No.” His voice was fierce. “Elena, I would never—God, I would never have touched you if I thought—”

His jaw clenched, and I saw something raw flicker in his eyes. Pain. Rage. Guilt.

The heat between us—the obsession, the defiance, the magnetic pull we’d both denied for so long—was suddenly drenched in poison.

Because if the blood in my veins was Caldwell blood…

Then Dominic and I were more than enemies.

We were blood.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I tore out of the vault, storming up the stairs, breath ragged. The mansion’s decaying walls blurred around me as I fled into the open foyer.

The storm outside cracked against the windows, lightning illuminating the torn painting of Olivia.

She had loved Victor.

And now it was my inheritance.

Her past.

Her tragedy.

Her cursed bloodline.

Dominic caught up to me, breathless. “Elena, wait—”

I turned on him. “What if it’s true? What if we’re—Jesus, Dominic! We kissed. We slept together. We’re engaged.”

“We’re not actually siblings,” he argued. “We don’t know the truth. Not yet.”

“But the possibility alone—” My voice broke. “It changes everything.”

He came closer, lowering his voice. “What if this was planted? What if this was designed to stop us from getting closer to the truth? You said it yourself—we’re getting too close.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears.

Was this just another manipulation?

Another calculated move in the long game of power, secrets, and betrayal?

Liam appeared in the doorway, holding a leather-bound book. “You’ll want to see this.”

He tossed it onto a dusty table between us. Dominic opened it, flipping through worn pages until he froze on a journal entry.

April 17.

I’ve made arrangements. Olivia is pregnant. She wants to keep the child. If Richard finds out, he’ll kill her—or worse, use the child as leverage. I’ve asked Charles to falsify the birth certificate. The baby will be born as a Sinclair. It’s the only way to keep her safe.

“Charles,” I whispered. “Charles Barron. My godfather. He delivered me.”

Dominic looked at me, stunned. “He’s the one who falsified the DNA reports. He would’ve known everything.”

My head spun.

“He’s still alive,” I murmured. “He’s still close to my father.”

Dominic slammed the journal shut. “Then we go to him.”

“No,” I said quickly. “If my father finds out what we know—he’ll shut everything down.”

A pause.

“Then we don’t go through the front door,” Dominic said, jaw set. “We infiltrate. Tonight.”

I nodded, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my heart.

Because I had to know.

Even if the truth shattered me.

Even if Dominic and I were never allowed to touch again.

Even if the past had already doomed us.

Later that night…

Charles Barron lived in an estate too polished to be suspicious—ironically, the kind that screamed innocence.

Dominic and I dressed in black, slipping past security through the back gardens, cutting through hedges until we reached the service entrance.

Inside, the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Dominic moved like a predator—silent, lethal. I followed behind him, nerves dancing like fire across my skin.

We found Charles in his office, sitting by the fire with a glass of scotch and a photo album on his lap.

He didn’t look surprised to see us.

“Elena,” he greeted. “Dominic. You’re early.”

“Early?” I echoed, confused.

He smiled. “I assumed you’d be back. Eventually. Your mother always said you were too curious for your own good.”

My hands curled into fists. “Did you falsify my records? Is Victor Caldwell my father?”

He sighed and set the glass down. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“I’d burn everything,” I said coldly. “Including you.”

His smile faded.

“The truth is complicated,” he said after a moment. “Yes, Victor is your biological father. Olivia kept it from everyone except me. And yes, I changed your birth certificate at her request. She didn’t want the world using you as a weapon.”

My stomach twisted.

“And the arranged marriage?” Dominic asked. “Was that part of the plan?”

Charles shook his head. “That wasn’t me. That was your father, Dominic. And Senator Sinclair. They wanted power. Legacy. What better way than merging two bloodlines… unknowingly?”

Dominic took a slow step forward. “So they knew?”

Charles looked up. “Victor didn’t. Not until it was too late. But your father, Dominic… he knew. He orchestrated it anyway. That’s the tragedy of it.”

I stumbled back, the floor cold beneath my feet.

My entire life had been a lie.

And Dominic—my enemy, my lover, my almost-husband—was the one truth that might’ve never been meant to exist.

Dominic reached for me, his voice shaking. “We’re not brother and sister. That’s what matters. You were never raised as mine. You are not mine by blood in any way that matters.”

But his voice was laced with agony.

Because even if it wasn’t incest by definition…

It was still a betrayal.

Of biology. Of fate. Of love.

Charles stood. “There’s more. There’s someone else pulling strings. Someone who wanted Olivia gone. Someone who wants you gone, Elena.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Who?”

The door burst open before he could answer.

Gunshots.

Charles fell, blood soaking through his shirt.

Dominic pulled me to the ground, shielding me.

And from the doorway, a figure stepped into the firelight—

Senator Richard Sinclair.

My father.

Gun smoking in his hand.