LUCIEN’S POV

Andrea wasn’t my son.

He was my brother.

My half-brother.

From the man I’d hated my whole life. The man I’d killed. The man who was somehow still alive.

The room felt like it was closing in, walls pressing closer, air turning stale. My hands shook at my sides, fists clenching and unclenching like they needed something to crush.

Naomi sat there on the floor, tears streaming down her face, looking small and broken—but I didn’t buy it. Not for a second. This woman had lied to me and almost shattered everything I had with Adele.

“So you knew,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “You knew I wasn’t...