Violet’s POV
The suitcase weighs more than it did this afternoon.
I drag it down the hallway of my childhood apartment, wheels catching on the Persian runner my mother paid too much for.
Walter vanished the moment we stepped through the lobby—too important to help with luggage, too busy to acknowledge the sister he'd just spent hours trapped beside on a plane.
Some things never change.
My bedroom looks exactly as I left it. Ivory walls, designer furniture, curtains that cost more than most people's rent. I collapse onto the bed and Egyptian cotton sheets engulf me like a silk ocean.
Relief floods through my body so completely I almost laugh.
Real pillows. Climate control. A mattress that doesn't feel like it was stuffed with hay and regret. After weeks of ranch bedding that scratched and smelled faintly of horse, this feels obscenely luxurious.
Civilization. God, I missed civilization.
My phone buzzes against my hip. Then again. Then three more times in rapid succession.
Paige's name appears first: Made it home safe? Miss you already.
Then Adison's: Let me know you arrived okay. Text anytime.
Something warm unfurls in my chest. Unexpected. Almost uncomfortable in its tenderness.
They're checking on me. Actually checking on me—not because they want something, not because they're obligated to. They just... care.
I type quick reassurances to both, my thumbs moving faster than my thoughts. But I linger on Adison's name. Remember the panic in her eyes when I left my room at the ranch. The way she'd looked at me like I might actually be worth trusting.
I'll find out. Whatever he's hiding—whatever this secret is—I'll uncover it.
The promise pulses beneath my skin like something alive.
I need answers. And I need them now.
Voices drift from the living room. Low. Intimate. The particular tone my mother and Walter use when they think they're alone—co-conspirators sharing secrets that never include me.
I slip off the bed, bare feet silent on hardwood floors. The hallway stretches ahead, shadows pooling in the night light.
My back presses against the wall. I hold my breath.
"The trip was productive." Walter's voice carries that calculated satisfaction I know too well. Measured. Strategic. "More productive than anticipated, actually."
"Tell me." My mother's tone sharpens with interest. "What did you learn about the situation?"
"Adison is pregnant." He says it casually, like he's commenting on the weather. "By the rancher. Jake Sullivan."
Silence. Then my mother's sharp intake of breath. "You're certain?"
"Completely." Walter pauses, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "But that's not the most interesting discovery I made."
"There's more?"
"The documents I retrieved from your apartment last week." A drawer opens. Papers shuffle. "Old personal records. Things that should have stayed buried maybe. But as you can see, I even left them here to discuss with you."
My mother's voice tightens. "Walter, what are you talking about?"
"I found a DNA test among the papers." His voice sharpens with triumph, a blade finally unsheathed. "Mine and Richard Ward's. Positive."
The silence that follows stretches like a held breath. Like the moment before an explosion.
"That's—" My mother's composure cracks. "I never expected anyone to discover that."
"Clearly." Walter's tone turns cold. Clinical. "Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you planning to let me live my entire life not knowing who my real father is?"
"It was complicated." My mother's voice wavers in a way I've never heard before. "You have to understand—"
"Then explain it."
The command lands hard. Absolute.
Another stretch of silence. Then my mother speaks, her words tumbling out like they've been caged for decades.
"Your father and I had a terrible fight." She sounds small. Defeated. "Twenty-four years ago. We'd only been married almost a year, and he was always working, always traveling. I felt invisible."
"So you what? Found someone else?"
"There was a party." Her voice drops to barely a whisper. "Richard was there. Before Elena. Before any of it."
The floor tilts beneath my feet.
"One reckless night." My mother continues, each word landing like a stone. "I never told anyone. Not your father—not Mike. Not Richard. I convinced myself it didn't matter because you looked enough like Mike that no one questioned it."
"But I'm not his son." Walter's voice has gone flat. Empty. "I'm Richard Ward's son."
"Yes."
The single word hangs in the air like a verdict.
My brother is Richard Ward's son.
My brother and I have different fathers.
Walter—the golden child, the success story, the one who could never disappoint—isn't even a Snyder. He's a Ward. Half-sibling to the woman he's been circling like prey today.
Everything I thought I knew about my family cracks apart and reforms into something monstrous.
"This is why you always favored me." Walter's voice has changed. Something dark moving beneath the surface. "Guilt."
"I loved you because you're my son."
"You loved me because I reminded you of him." The accusation cuts sharp. "Of Richard. Of whatever you felt that night."
"Walter—"
"Does Adison know?" The question comes out cold. Calculating. "Does she know her father had a son before her? That her precious inheritance should be split?"
"No one knows." My mother's voice turns desperate. "And it needs to stay that way. Richard never found out. Mike never suspected. This secret dies with us."
"Perhaps." Walter's tone shifts into something I don't recognize. Something dangerous. "Or perhaps secrets like this have value. The right information, deployed at the right moment..."
"What are you planning?"
He doesn't answer directly. "Richard's company should have been mine by birthright. Instead, he left everything to a daughter who doesn't even want it."
My legs give out.
I slide down the wall, hands pressed against my mouth to muffle any sound. The carpet catches me, and I sit there in the shadows, my entire understanding of my family shattered into pieces I don't know how to reassemble.
My brother and I have different fathers.
And Walter intends to use that truth as a weapon.