Celia Clairmont is called back to her hometown after tragedy strikes, only to discover that her family is being targeted when she arrives. With the clock ticking, Celia must help get to the bottom of it before she ends up a victim herself.
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. There was really no need to open it, because I already knew what the contents inside would say. The newspaper clipping on my coffee table caught my eye, and I had to contain the overwhelming sense of rage I felt as I looked at it.
Clairmont Tragedies End in Flames
On the front page, stood a photo of the three smiling Clairmont grandchildren. It wasn't fair. There were three in the photo, when there should have been four. There would have been four, if not for that parasite Alastor Clairmont. He had three children, but he turned his back on his eldest, and he turned his back on me. I had just as much right to the Clairmont fortune as anyone else did. My mother had just as much right to the fortune as Alexander Clairmont did. Everyone painted Isabelle Clairmont to be a monster for trying to murder her own family, but I understood it. Alastor Clairmont had no concern for anyone but himself, and she was sick of it. I applauded her for doing what everyone else was afraid to do.
The media portrayed the Clairmont's as the hero's of their own story, but I saw them for what they truly were: they were the villains.
Alastor Clairmont liked to speak a lot about family when he was alive, about the importance of it all. How ironic it was. He turned his back on his family, on his own flesh and blood, and disowned his own daughter for being the result of an affair he chose to have. His three grandchildren were painted as saints, but me? I was nobody. As far as anyone was concerned, I never even existed. My mother never existed to them. My mother was a baby who couldn't control the fact that she was born, yet Alastor Clairmont treated her like a dirty secret to be kept under wraps, and no one did a thing about it. Not her sister or her brother, and not even their children, who grew up to take over something that belonged to me as well. It was my blood right, and I was tired of pretending like it wasn't.
Celia Clairmont's smiling face taunted me from the papers. I'd been reading up on the latest news, keeping tabs on them like I usually did. Celia had been the victim of an attack at her own charity gala, where someone had tried to kill her. Some dark part of me resented the person on the other end for missing. I never would have missed if I had the shot. I would kill every last one of them if I had the chance.
I intended to.
The Clairmont's needed to pay. I deserved reparations for all the trouble their family had caused me. For the life that their selfishness had taken from me. I was determined to tell the world all of it, because that was what my mother wanted. I owed her that much.
That was what she told me on her deathbed, as she withered away because I didn't have the money to pay for the surgery she needed. But you know who did have the money? Alastor Clairmont. But he didn't give it to me. Not even when I called him, despite my pride telling me not to, but I was desperate at that point. I needed the help, but he was intent on doing nothing. He was content with letting his daughter die, because as far as he was concerned, she was nothing to him, and neither was I. So much for the importance of family, old man.
It was his fault she was dead. But none of them were any better. They were all the same.
I saw the articles, and the interviews with the Clairmont's. They tried to pretend like they were innocent, but they were far from it. Celia was a fashion designer in New York, while Sebastian took over Alastor Clairmont's company. Nathanial was the black sheep of the family, but he was still one of them. He had the money, and he had the name.
Me? I had nothing.
Which also meant I had nothing to lose.
I opened the envelope.
I skimmed the contents of the paper inside, my eyes landing on the four words I knew were there.
Biological grandfather: Alastor Clairmont.
My mother had waited until she had fallen ill about six years ago to tell me about her family, or I guess they were technically my family, too. She didn't know much about them herself since she was raised by her mother after Alastor Clairmont had thrown her out and forced her to keep his infidelity under wraps. He promised to make her life miserable if she ever thought of saying a word about it, and she was too afraid to risk it. At the time, she had her own daughter to think about. It was a miracle that my mother even survived as long as she did after her diagnosis, but I cherished every single one of those last moments with her.
I pulled a lighter from my pocket and brought it close to the end of the paper, watching as it slowly became engulfed by a flame. I watched as the paper slowly turned to ash as I let it fall from my hands and into the trash can, and a small smile made its way up my face. I was going to make it all burn to the ground, and I wasn't going to have a regret about it. I was going to make every last one of them pay, and make them sorry for ever pretending I didn't exist. Their house had already burnt down, but I was determined to burn their whole legacy to the ground, and them right along with it.
They wanted to forget me? Fine. I'd give them something to remember me by.
Better watch out, cousin dearest. My gaze landed on the wall, where I'd gathered photos of my family throughout the years. Celia's face smiled back at me, and I glowered at it. You're first.
Celia Clairmont wouldn't know what hit her.
By the time I was through with them, the whole world would know my name. They'd never doubt me for a second. I was going to tell the world everything, and the Clairmont empire would burn to the ground. There would be nothing left of it when I was through with them.
