Chapter 3 - The Weight of Blood
“Why didn't you tell me this the day you found out?” I asked, my back still turned, staring out at the manicured lawns.
“Because you’re Bennett Hale,” Clara answered plainly. “If I had walked up to your office and handed you a DNA test, your men would have dropped me in a shallow grave in the Pine Barrens before sunset. You don't trust anyone. You think every problem in the world can be solved with a bullet or a bribe.”
Mother reached out, her frail hand resting on Clara’s arm. “She’s right, Bennett. You’ve let this empire make a monster out of you. You buy nurses, you buy doctors, you buy silence—but you haven't felt a single genuine human connection in a decade.”
I whipped around, the anger flaring hot and fast in my chest. “I built this family safety! I keep the wolves away from this house!”
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“No,” Mother whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You built a cage, Bennett. And now that I’m dying, you’re realizing you’re locked inside it all by yourself.”
The words hit me harder than a physical blow. I looked at the two of them—the mother who had raised me in a world of luxury and paranoia, and the half-sister who had quietly entered our lives not with a weapon, but with a towel, an electric razor, and a cup of tea.
