the bloodline shockwave
The quiet of the storm was deafening.
Lucas stood in the dark base of the lighthouse, the rain echoing against the stone walls outside, his eyes locked onto the black-and-white photograph in his hand.
His fingers brushed against the cracked glass over the image of Sarah Carter—the woman who looked so strikingly like Anna.
Anna wasn't an outsider. She wasn't a dock worker's daughter. And she wasn't Arthur Vance's child.
She was a Blackwood.
Which meant Anna was Lucas’s half-sister.
A sickening wave of realization washed over Lucas, making his hands tremble for the first time in his life. The entire foundation of his past, his feelings, and his daughter’s existence shattered into a million sharp, suffocating pieces.
"Lucas?"
Anna’s soft voice broke through his spiral. She stood at the doorway of the lighthouse, holding Emma’s tiny hand, looking at him with deep concern.
"Lucas, what's wrong?" she asked, stepping back into the warm light of his flashlight. "Is Marcus coming?"
Lucas quickly shoved the photograph back into his inner coat pocket, closing his eyes briefly to regain his cold, immovable mask. When he opened them, his face was unreadable.
"No," Lucas said, his voice clipped and flat. "Marcus is unconscious. We're leaving."
He walked past her without meeting her eyes, picking up Emma in a swift, mechanical motion and leading them toward the interceptor boat.
Anna noticed the sudden, icy shift in his demeanor. "Lucas... what was in that box?"
"Nothing," Lucas said bluntly, stepping onto the boat deck and placing Emma safely inside the cabin. "Get in, Anna."
The journey back across the dark bay was silent. The storm was finally beginning to weaken, leaving behind a dull grey fog that hung heavy over the Boston harbor.
Anna sat in the leather passenger seat, watching Lucas as he steered the boat toward Pier 14. His jaw was set so tight a muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked distant—farther away than he had ever been, even during the fifteen years they were apart.
"Lucas, talk to me," Anna pleaded gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "You saved us. We're safe now. Why do you look like you just lost everything?"
Lucas didn't turn his head. He kept his eyes locked on the foggy shoreline ahead. "We're not safe yet, Anna. Not until I figure out what my father did."
"Your father is dead," she said softly. "He can't hurt us anymore."
He's still hurting us from the grave, Lucas thought darkly, his chest burning with silent agony.
An hour later, they arrived back at the Blackwood Estate.
The morning sun was beginning to peek through the heavy grey clouds, painting the grand mansion in cold shades of gold and blue.
Harold met them at the front entrance, a bandage wrapped tightly around his forehead. Behind him, two trusted security guards were clearing the broken glass from the grand foyer.
"Sir," Harold said, stepping forward with a crisp nod. "The perimeter is secure. Julian Mercer is locked in the cellar under heavy guard."
Lucas handed Emma down to Harold. "Take Emma upstairs to the master guest suite. Put four guards on her door. No one enters without my personal authorization."
"Understood, sir," Harold said, taking the sleepy little girl gently into his arms.
"Come with me, Anna," Lucas said, turning toward his private study.
Anna followed him into the study. The room had been roughly cleaned, though the shattered chandelier was gone, leaving a gaping dark hole in the plaster ceiling.
Lucas walked behind his mahogany desk. He pulled the framed photograph from his coat and laid it face down on the wood.
"Where did you get your last name, Anna?" Lucas asked, standing tall, his voice devoid of warmth.
Anna paused, surprised by the question. "Carter? It was my mother's maiden name. Sarah Carter. She raised me alone in New Hampshire until she passed away when I was twelve."
Lucas felt a sharp pain in his chest. "Did she ever tell you who your father was?"
"No," Anna said softly, her eyes filling with old memories. "She never spoke about him. She just told me he was a powerful man in Boston who didn't want us."
"Did she ever mention Victor Blackwood?" Lucas pressed, his eyes searching her face for any sign of deception.
"Only once," Anna said, frowning. "When I was ten, a heavy envelope arrived with cash every month. The return address was always a postal box owned by Blackwood Holdings. When I met you fifteen years ago at the harbor docks... I thought it was just a coincidence."
Lucas let out a slow, agonizing breath.
Anna hadn't lied to him. She truly didn't know.
Victor Blackwood had kept his secret daughter hidden in the countryside, sending her money from behind the scenes, while allowing his son to fall in love with her years later without ever telling them the truth.
Victor’s cruelty wasn't just about power—it was a twisted game of total control over everyone around him.
"Lucas..." Anna said, taking a step toward the desk, sensing the heavy weight crushing him. "What is going on? What aren't you telling me?"
Lucas looked down at the face-down frame on his desk. He reached out to turn it over, to show her the truth that would destroy her world just as it had destroyed his.
Before his fingers touched the frame, his desk phone rang sharply.
It was the private line—the encrypted number known only to three people in the world.
Lucas picked up the receiver. "Speak."
A high-pitched, electronic voice echoed through the speaker, cold and metallic.
"Congratulations on surviving the night, Lucas," the voice rasped out. "You defeated Victoria. You captured Julian. You stopped Marcus."
Lucas’s body went rigid. "Who is this?"
"I am the person who built the maze you are currently running in," the voice chuckled softly. "Check the drawer of your father's desk, Lucas. The bottom right compartment."
Lucas pulled open the heavy bottom drawer. Inside, resting on top of old files, was a sleek, silver USB drive that hadn't been there two hours ago.
"What is this?" Lucas demanded into the receiver.
"That is the DNA report for Emma Carter," the electronic voice replied smoothly. "You think you know who her father is. You think you know what Victor did. But your father was smarter than you ever gave him credit for."
"Explain," Lucas spat, his knuckles turning white on the phone.
May you like
"Anna Carter isn't Victor's daughter, Lucas," the voice whispered, dropping a final, shocking truth into the room. "Anna Carter was adopted. And the girl you call Emma... isn't your daughter either."
The line went dead with a loud click.
