12. Oliver

We navigate the familiar yet foreboding corridors toward Father”s private quarters, me stalking ahead, Irene skittering behind, suddenly afraid and small.

Father sits by the window in his wheelchair, his silhouette sharp against the muted sky outside. He doesn”t turn to acknowledge us as we enter; his gaze remains fixed on some distant point beyond the glass pane.

”Daddy,” Irene begins tentatively.

He waves a hand dismissively. ”Irene, let me talk to Oliver. I know why he’s here. You need to wait outside.” He musters a half-smile. “Please, my darling girl?” She goes to him, kisses his forehead and leaves the room. Then he turns to me.

Father”s eyes, once a sharp hawkish amber are now dulled by pain and medication. But there”s still something there—a flicker of the man in his prime who commanded any room with a glance.

I don’t give him time for denials.

”You knew about Mother”s...other life. And you knew what she was preparing Irene to handle.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but I can”t help it. This man has always had a way of stripping me down to raw nerves.

He doesn”t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze drifts from the window to settle on me with an expression that seems a bit like regret. His lips part slightly, and for a moment, I wonder if he”ll dismiss me with a wave of his hand, too.

When he speaks, his voice is no more than a breathy whisper. ”Your mother was many things.… It doesn”t matter that we never loved each other. I admired her more than even she knew,” he begins.

My chest tightens at the admission, and I lean forward, hungry for answers that have eluded me for too long. ”Just tell me, what exactly was she preparing Irene for?”

He looks past me then, as if the answers lie in the fading photographs on the wall or the shadows dancing across the floor. ”Marian convinced me that the fate of our company, our family legacy depended on certain rites. If we enacted those rites, prosperity would follow,” he says slowly. ”I loved the fight, you know, the wheeling and dealing of business. I loved the feel of making money, of devastating my opponents. It gave me life, this company I made. So I indulged her beliefs, her weird “witchy” ways. It seemed harmless and easy to ignore, if nothing else. Then when Jason left, she grew even more devoted to her…hobbies.”

”It was all supposed to be Jason”s,” Father continues after a pause filled with unspoken sorrow. ”But he didn’t want any of it.…” His voice trails off, lost in memories that seem to cause him pain just by their recollection.

I stand motionless, processing his words. Jason—the brother who vanished into the night without a backward glance—was meant for something greater. I’ve always known I was second best. Maybe Irene was always expendable, too?

”Mom’s ‘hobby’ is tearing her apart,” I say.

Father nods weakly, and there”s an apology in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment of the chaos he’s left in his wake. ”She shouldn”t be alone in this.”

And suddenly, it clicks—the folder conveniently left where Sophia and I would find it wasn”t Irene’s doing; it was Father’s way of reaching out from the shadows of his illness.

”You did this,” I accuse gently. ”You got the evidence to me without Irene knowing. And you sent the message to me to go to the Court of Ravens. After you left the table at dinner that night, raving like a lunatic, I might add.”

He doesn”t deny it; instead, he meets my gaze with a clarity that surprises me. ”What’s a little harmless acting between family members? You needed to see... to understand what”s at stake.”

The confrontation is cathartic. After years of being told I wasn”t ready or capable, now here he is laying bare the family secrets before me. But instead of bringing peace or resolution, each revelation only deepens my turmoil.

My mother”s hidden life—a mystic—preparing my sister for... what? To communicate with the dead? To guide our family using wisdom from beyond that is just manipulation by very real members of a fake cult. It’s an incredible con game, if true. And one that probably involves more than just our family.

But my family is what I care about most. Here’s Father—frail and fading—still thinking he can play puppet master from behind closed curtains. I wonder if he knew about Sophia all along, too. I wonder if he and his “good friend” Kray were in cahoots? The old guard…fucking around with the new guard?

A mix of anger at being kept in the dark and fear for what this means for us all churns inside me. It feels like standing on shifting ground; every truth I thought solid dissolves beneath my feet.

As though Father is reading my thoughts, his voice takes on a pleading tone. ”I turned my back on all of it, after your mother died, hoping it would fade with her. But Irene insisted on keeping the Gala going,” Father admits, his voice frail but heavy with a truth he”s kept buried for years. ”Something about doing it for Jason. They must have had their hooks in her long before.”

Father snorts in derision. ”The irony is Jason wanted nothing to do with us. The night he left, he was full of curses and denials. He vowed to bring me down, and why? Because I wasn”t the father he wished me to be? Well, he wasn”t the son I wanted him to be, either. When he died last year, I thought Irene would finally let go. But you can see, she”s worse than ever. It”s time for you to end this.”

”Me? End the Shadow Covenant.” I wave the folder at him in anger. ”This is a conspiracy that you”ve been aiding and abetting for years. And you want me to solve it? You and the rest of this family have been sitting on a throne of lies. And you want me to hold it all together? You never gave me the time of day, Father. Why should I do this?”

“For the simple reason that it’s in your blood. You are a Faulkner, aren’t you?”

I”m shaking with disbelief at the arrogance of his request and with fear of what it means. Father likely hoped that Mother took this mess to her grave. But he never really saw any of us for the children we were. We were just disappointing investments.

And Irene, she”s been bearing it alone because Father chose to look away.

He chose to bury his head in the sand rather than face the reality that our family was entwined with something dark—something far beyond the boardrooms and power plays I grew up believing defined us.

All this time, Father knew—knew and did nothing.

Anger surges through me, a burning tide against both him and myself. Why didn”t he trust me? Why wasn”t I brought into this circle of secrets? Was I deemed too weak, too reckless?

I clench my fists at my sides, trying to contain the tumultuous emotions threatening to spill over. This isn”t just about Irene or Mother or even Father; it”s about me—my place in this family and what”s been expected of me without my knowing.

Father watches me with those dimmed eyes that have seen too much and said too little. There”s regret there now, a deep sorrow for paths not taken and words not spoken. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly in the air between us.

”Oliver,” he says, and there”s a plea in that single word—a plea for understanding or forgiveness.

But how can I offer either when my world is tilting on its axis?

”Irene is stronger than you know,” he continues. ”She”s been holding this family together.” He trails off with a cough that rattles his frail body.

”While you die? While you let her carry the burden alone? You allowed Mom”s grief to become a cult, a delusion that has shackled Irene to something outside the law! Who did you think would finally go down for these crimes?” I shake the folder at him. “There’s fraud in here, blackmail, and maybe even murder. This is what was done. And you knew, all along.”

Father sinks back against his chair, his energy spent by the effort of confession.

I want to rage at him for his weakness, for leaving his children to fend for themselves in a world we weren’t fully aware of. But as I look at him—this man who was once larger than life—I realize that he’s just as lost as we are. Nobody knows their way. No one in my family, at least.

I need air; I need space from this room and its revelations. My legs carry me toward the door on autopilot.

As I reach for the handle, Father speaks again, his voice so low I almost miss it over the storm in my head. ”At the Gala, you will be needed,” he whispers. ”I told you before, the Shadow Covenant will come for blood. That hasn’t changed.”

I don”t turn back as I step out into the hallway. Not even Father”s confession can undo what’s been done. It can’t unburden Irene or rewrite our family’s history. It can’t bring Jason back from the dead. My brother may have escaped this legacy—but not for long and not with his life.

What do I do now? There’s only one single thing I am certain of.

Sophia is my fated mate. And it”s to her that I must run.