Chapter 16 I Become You, Then Kill You
# Chapter 16: I Become You, Then Kill You
The DNA results confirmed what Valencia had suspected—I had no biological connection to either Callum or Vincent Monette. My father, according to the genetic markers, was likely of Mediterranean descent, matching Valencia's story of a brief love affair during her separation from Callum. The truth was both liberating and disorienting. I was not a Monette by blood, but I had become one in every other way that mattered.
In the weeks that followed, Callum and I established a new rhythm—professional partners by day, consuming each other by night. We moved through the corporate world as a united front, making decisions that shocked the industry with their boldness. Mergers, acquisitions, strategic divestments—we reshaped Monette Enterprises according to a vision that seemed to exist in the space between our minds.
Gideon maintained a frigid professionalism in the office, though I occasionally caught him watching me with a mixture of resentment and lingering desire. Odessa had disappeared from New York entirely—rumor had it she'd retreated to the Monette vineyard in France to await the birth of her child in privacy.
Valencia remained in Italy, though we spoke daily. I had promised to bring her home, to reintegrate her into the life she'd fled, but the timing never seemed right. There was always another deal to close, another crisis to manage, another night losing myself in Callum's arms as if we could somehow outrun the clock ticking down on his life.
One evening, as autumn painted Central Park in russet and gold, I returned to the penthouse to find Callum already there, staring out at the darkening sky. He turned as I entered, his expression uncharacteristically troubled.
"What's wrong?" I asked, setting down my briefcase.
"The treatment isn't working," he said without preamble. "The cancer has spread to my liver. Three months, maybe four."
I absorbed the news with external calm, though inside, something shifted—a foundation I hadn't realized I was standing on suddenly crumbling away.
"What does that mean for the transition plan?" I asked, defaulting to business because emotions felt too dangerous.
Callum smiled faintly. "Always practical. It means we accelerate. The board votes next week on the formal succession structure. Once that's settled, I'll step back entirely."
"And us?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He crossed to where I stood, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "That depends entirely on you, Clarette. I've made my position clear."
He had, indeed. Two nights ago, in the darkness of my bedroom, he had proposed again—not with the black diamond this time, but with words whispered against my skin. Marriage, legacy, a final consolidation of our complicated bond before time ran out.
I hadn't answered then. I wasn't sure I could answer now.
"I need time," I said, moving away from his touch. "Everything is happening so fast."
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"Time is the one thing I can't give you anymore." His voice held no self-pity, only pragmatism. "But I understand. Take what you need."
Later that night, as Callum slept beside me, I slipped out of bed and moved to the living room. I called the one person who might understand the storm of conflicting emotions within me.
"Mother," I said when Valencia answered, "I need your advice."
She listened without interruption as I explained everything—Callum's worsening condition, his proposal, my confusion about what I truly wanted.
"He's dying," I concluded, "and I don't know if I love him or hate him for what he's done to both of us."
Valencia was quiet for a long moment. "Perhaps you feel both. Perhaps that's the only way anyone has ever loved Callum Monette—with equal parts devotion and destruction."
"What would you do?" I asked. "If you were me?"
"I ran," she reminded me gently. "I chose freedom over power, love over legacy. But you are not me, Clarette. You never have been."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you have always been stronger than I was. Strong enough, perhaps, to do what I could not—to take what Callum built and make it truly yours, without losing yourself in the process."
After we hung up, I stood by the window for a long time, watching the city lights blur through unshed tears. When I finally returned to bed, Callum stirred, reaching for me instinctively.
"Where did you go?" he murmured, still half-asleep.
"To find my answer," I replied, curling against his warmth.
His arms tightened around me. "And did you?"
"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, I'll marry you."
---
The wedding was small, private—nothing like the spectacle of my marriage to Gideon. Just a judge, a few necessary witnesses, and Valencia, who had finally agreed to return to New York for the occasion. She watched with complex emotions as I pledged myself to the man she had fled decades ago.
Callum looked gaunt but commanding in his tailored suit, his illness hidden beneath layers of impeccable grooming and sheer force of will. When he slipped the ring on my finger—a platinum band set with sapphires rather than the black diamond—his hands were steady, his eyes never leaving mine.
"With this ring, I thee wed," he said, the traditional words carrying the weight of everything unsaid between us—the manipulation and deceit, the passion and understanding, the twisted path that had led us here.
The reception was held in the Monette Tower penthouse, the city spread out beneath us like a glittering offering. As champagne flowed and quiet conversations hummed around us, Gideon approached, his expression carefully neutral.
"Congratulations," he said stiffly. "I hope you'll be very happy together for however long that may be."
"Thank you for coming," I replied, meaning it. Despite everything, Gideon was part of this strange family we had created. "It means a lot to your father."
"I didn't come for him." His eyes held mine. "I came to make sure you know what you're doing. That this is really what you want."
Before I could answer, a commotion near the elevators drew our attention. Odessa had arrived, her pregnancy now in its final stages, her face flushed with exertion or emotion—perhaps both.
"I wasn't invited," she announced to the suddenly silent room, "but I thought the bride might want to see this."
She thrust a folder toward me. Inside was what appeared to be a medical report—a genetic screening for her unborn child.
"Read it," she urged, her eyes wild. "Read what your precious Callum has done."
I scanned the document, my blood running cold as I absorbed its implications. The child Odessa carried showed genetic markers consistent with close-relation breeding—cousin to cousin, or closer.
"That's not possible," I said, looking up at her. "Silas isn't related to you."
"No," she agreed bitterly. "But he is related to you. And so is Gideon. And so is Callum. Don't you see? We're all connected in this sick family experiment!"
Callum appeared at my side, his hand at the small of my back—steadying or controlling, I couldn't tell anymore.
"Odessa," he said calmly, "you're upset. Let's discuss this privately."
"No more privacy!" she cried. "No more secrets! Tell them, Callum. Tell them about Project Monarch. Tell them how you've been breeding the Monette line for generations, selecting partners, engineering matches, creating your perfect genetic legacy!"
A hushed murmur ran through the gathered guests. I turned to Callum, searching his face for denial.
"Is this true?" I asked quietly.
His expression remained impassive, but his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against my back. "Not in the hysterical way she's presenting it. Yes, I've been careful about the Monette genetic line. All great families are."
"Careful?" Odessa laughed, the sound verging on hysteria. "You manipulated all of us! You brought Clarette into the family knowing exactly who she was—or who you wanted her to be."
I looked between them, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "The DNA tests," I said slowly. "The ones that kept changing. You altered them."
"I revealed different aspects of the truth at different times," Callum corrected. "As you were ready to hear them."
"And what is the truth?" I demanded. "Am I related to the Monettes or not?"
"Not by blood," he admitted. "But by design? Yes. Your mother was chosen generations ago as part of the Monette genetic program. Her family line had traits we sought to incorporate—intelligence, beauty, ambition."
Valencia stepped forward, her face pale with shock. "You knew? All this time, you knew my family had been... selected?"
"Of course I knew," Callum replied. "Why do you think I married you in the first place?"
The room fell silent, the weight of his admission hanging in the air like poison. I stepped away from his touch, suddenly unable to bear the contact.
"Our entire relationship," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil within, "everything we've built—it was all part of your plan. Your experiment."
"Not everything," Callum insisted, reaching for me. "What's between us transcended any plan."
I evaded his grasp, cold clarity replacing confusion. "You made me love you," I whispered. "You made me become you. And now I understand why."
In that moment, looking into the eyes of the man I had married hours earlier, I realized the final truth: to truly possess the Monette legacy, I would have to destroy its creator.
