Chapter 3: The Brother Who Was Buried
For six years, I had carried my brother's death like a scar beneath my skin.
I had learned how to speak about him without breaking.
How to look at his photograph without staring too long.
How to stand beside his grave without asking questions that had no answers.
But the moment I saw the image on Marco's tablet, every piece of that carefully built wall collapsed.
Because the man standing in my mother's conservatory was not a memory.
Not a dream.
Not a ghost created by grief.
It was Ewan.
My brother.
Alive.
I took the tablet from Marco's hand.
My fingers moved across the screen, enlarging the image.
The quality was poor.
The lighting was terrible.
But I knew him.
I knew the shape of his shoulders.
The way he stood slightly tilted when he was thinking.
The small scar above his left eyebrow from when he fell off his bicycle at twelve years old.
A scar I had watched appear.
A scar I had touched a thousand times when we were children.
"Play it again.""
Marco pressed the screen.
The footage moved.
A figure entered the conservatory at 12:41 a.m.
He looked around.
Then he stood beside my mother's chair.
Thirty minutes later, Celeste entered.
Then Anna.
Then everything happened.
I watched the scene over and over.
The man never turned fully toward the camera.
Like he knew exactly where it was.
Like he knew how to avoid being seen.
I looked at Marco.
"How did you find this?""
His expression was serious.
"Because someone forgot one thing.""
"What?""
"They updated the mansion security system two years ago.""
I waited.
"Everyone thought the old cameras were disconnected.""
"And?""
Marco glanced at the screen.
"They weren't.""
The room became silent.
Someone had been watching my house.
Someone had been moving through my mother's home.
Someone who should have been dead.
Anna slowly sat up.
Her face had lost all color.
"You shouldn't have seen him.""
I turned toward her.
"You knew.""
She looked down.
"Yes.""
The anger came quickly.
Not loud.
Not violent.
The kind of anger that sits deep and burns.
"You knew my brother was alive, and you said nothing.""
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I was trying to protect him.""
"From who?""
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"From who, Anna?""
She looked at me.
And whispered:
"From you.""
The words hit harder than I expected.
I stared at her.
"From me?""
"You are Lucian Moretti.""
Her voice trembled.
"You are powerful. You are feared. You have spent your entire life solving problems by destroying whatever stands in your way.""
I said nothing.
Because part of me hated hearing it.
And another part knew she wasn't wrong.
She continued.
"Ewan believed if you knew he was alive, you would go after the people who hurt him.""
"Of course I would.""
"That's why he stayed away.""
My jaw tightened.
"You expect me to believe my brother hid for six years because he was protecting me?""
Anna looked at me sadly.
"He hid because he knew you would choose revenge before truth.""
I left the medical wing without saying another word.
I needed air.
I needed distance.
I needed something that made sense.
Nothing did.
The mansion that had always felt like a fortress suddenly felt like a trap.
Every hallway held a secret.
Every photograph felt like a lie.
I walked into my father's old office.
I had avoided this room for years.
Not because I couldn't enter.
Because every object inside reminded me of the man I had lost.
My father's desk.
His leather chair.
His old watch sitting inside the glass case.
The room still smelled like him.
Cedar.
Smoke.
And expensive cologne.
I opened the drawers.
Nothing.
I searched the shelves.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A scratch on the wooden floor near the bookshelf.
Fresh.
I moved closer.
The bookshelf was slightly uneven.
I pushed it.
Nothing happened.
I pushed harder.
A hidden compartment opened behind it.
Inside was a small black box.
My father's box.
The one he had always kept close.
I had seen it my entire childhood.
But he never allowed anyone to touch it.
My heart began pounding.
I opened it.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
Letters.
And one envelope with my name written across the front.
Not my father's handwriting.
My brother's.
*Lucian.*
I sat down.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first line destroyed me.
If you are reading this, then something has happened that forced you to find the truth.
I kept reading.
I wanted to tell you myself.
I tried.
More times than I can count.
I stopped.
Because I could almost hear his voice.
The annoying younger brother who always walked into my room without knocking.
The boy who stole food from my plate and laughed when I got angry.
The man who believed everyone deserved a second chance.
I continued.
The night of the fire was not an accident.
My breathing changed.
Father discovered someone inside the organization was selling information. He thought he knew who it was. He was wrong.
I turned the page.
The fire was meant to erase evidence. I was meant to die with it.
Another page.
But someone saved me.
I looked down.
The next sentence made my blood freeze.
The person who saved me was Celeste Vandermark.
I read the letter three times.
Celeste.
Again.
Always Celeste.
The woman I thought was the beginning of my future was connected to the darkest moment of my past.
But the letter did not say she betrayed him.
It said she saved him.
My head was spinning.
I grabbed the remaining papers.
There were financial records.
Photos.
Names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Elias Moretti.
My father's closest adviser.
A man who had worked beside my family for twenty-five years.
A man I trusted.
A man who attended my brother's funeral.
I stared at the documents.
Then I heard footsteps outside.
I closed the box.
Too late.
The door opened.
Celeste stood there.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Her eyes went immediately to the box.
Then to the letter in my hand.
She knew.
She knew exactly what I had found.
"You weren't supposed to find that.""
The sentence was quiet.
Almost defeated.
I stood slowly.
"You knew.""
Celeste closed the door behind her.
"Yes.""
The answer was so simple it made me angrier.
"How long?""
She looked away.
"Since the night of the fire.""
My hands tightened.
"Since the night my brother died?""
Her eyes returned to mine.
"Since the night everyone thought he died.""
I stepped closer.
"You watched me bury an empty coffin.""
"I watched you survive losing him.""
"You lied to me.""
Her expression broke.
"I protected him.""
"You protected him from his own brother?""
"Yes.""
The honesty stopped me.
For a second, I didn't know what to say.
Celeste took a breath.
"Ewan was injured. Terrified. He knew someone wanted him dead. He knew the person responsible had enough power to destroy anyone who searched for him.""
"Who?""
She hesitated.
And I knew.
The hesitation told me everything.
"Who, Celeste?""
She looked at me.
Then said the name.
"Elias.""
The room went cold.
I thought of every meeting.
Every conversation.
Every time Elias stood beside me and told me he was sorry about Ewan.
Every time he looked me in the eye.
And lied.
My phone suddenly rang.
The sound cut through the silence.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Who is this?""
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a voice.
Older.
Familiar.
A voice I had spent six years trying to forget.
"Lucian.""
I stopped breathing.
Celeste's face changed.
Because she recognized the voice too.
"Ewan?""
A pause.
Then my brother spoke.
"Don't trust her.""
My eyes moved toward Celeste.
"What?""
The voice on the phone became urgent.
"Lucian, listen to me. You need to leave the house right now.""
"Where are you?""
"There's no time.""
A sound came from his side.
A door opening.
Someone shouting.
Then Ewan whispered the words that froze my blood.
"The woman you think saved me...""
May you like
The line crackled.
"...is the reason I disappeared.""
