Chapter 18 I Am the Madman's Sister

# Chapter 18: I Am the Madman's Sister

Dawn stretched into morning as Callum's confessions unfolded—a tapestry of manipulation so intricate, so calculated, that I found myself alternating between horror and reluctant admiration. The Monette legacy, it seemed, had never been about wine or finance or real estate. Those were merely vehicles for the true family business: power, cultivated and refined over generations like the rarest vintage.

"Project Monarch began as a simple idea," Callum explained, his voice hoarse from hours of talking. "Select for intelligence, ambition, beauty—the qualities that ensure success. My grandfather kept detailed records of potential matches, tracking genetic traits like a horse breeder."

"And your father continued the tradition?"

"With scientific advancements. DNA testing, genetic profiling." Callum poured himself another whiskey, his third since sunrise. "By the time control passed to me, it was a sophisticated program. Potential Monette spouses were identified generations in advance, their families subtly guided into our orbit."

"Like Valencia's family," I said, pieces falling into place. "You didn't meet by chance."

"No," he admitted. "Her grandfather and mine had an understanding. But when the time came..." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "She was even more perfect than the profiles predicted. Brilliant, beautiful, with a spine of steel beneath that elegant exterior."

"You sound like you actually loved her."

"I did," he said simply. "In my way."

"Your way," I repeated bitterly. "Possessive. Controlling. Treating her like a prized mare."

He didn't deny it. "When she couldn't conceive, it threatened decades of planning. Vincent was... an expedient solution. His genetic profile was nearly identical to mine, but without the fertility issues."

"So you pushed them together."

"I created opportunities. The affair itself was their choice." His eyes met mine. "Valencia was never supposed to get pregnant with another man—a man outside our carefully cultivated bloodlines. When she did, when she fled with you, it was the first time in generations that a Monette plan had truly failed."

I thought of my mother—Valencia, not Vivienne—hiding in Italy all these years, believing she had escaped. "But you found us eventually."

"Not until you were already an adult. By then..." He hesitated. "By then, it was clear that despite your irregular origins, you had developed exactly the qualities we sought. It was fascinating. Nature versus nurture playing out in real time."

"So you engineered my meeting with Gideon."

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"No," he said firmly. "That truly was coincidence. But when he brought you home..." He set down his glass, leaning forward. "I recognized Valencia in you immediately. And something more—a quality I couldn't quite identify. It wasn't until later that I understood."

"Understood what?"

"That you carried the Monette brilliance despite having no Monette blood. That somehow, the environment of secrecy, strategy, and survival your mother created had shaped you into the perfect embodiment of our family's ideals."

The irony was almost too much to bear. "So I became the culmination of your multigenerational breeding program by complete accident."

"Not accident. Adaptation." His eyes held mine with that magnetic intensity that still, despite everything, affected me physically. "The program evolved. You were proof that the right qualities could be cultivated, not just inherited."

"And that's why you pursued me? To study this fascinating specimen?"

"Initially," he admitted. "But then—"

The elevator chimed again, interrupting his confession. This time, it was Gideon who emerged, his expression hard, his movements stiff with barely contained fury.

"I just got a very interesting call from Silas," he announced without preamble. "Apparently our family is even more fucked up than I thought."

Callum sighed, the sound heavy with fatigue. "Your brother has always had a flair for drama."

"Is it true?" Gideon demanded, looking between us. "This 'breeding program'? The genetic manipulation of the Monette line? Was my mother chosen like a broodmare too?"

"Katherine was..." Callum paused, selecting his words carefully. "A suitable match. Her family had produced generations of successful financiers."

"Jesus Christ." Gideon raked a hand through his hair, his composure cracking. "And me? Was I bred for specific traits too? Selected and shaped to be your perfect heir?"

"You were always meant to lead the family," Callum said, which wasn't quite an answer.

Gideon laughed bitterly. "Until something better came along." He gestured toward me. "The perfect specimen, engineered by accident."

"Gideon," I began, but he cut me off.

"Don't." His eyes were wounded, angry. "Don't pretend you care now. You're just like him—calculating every move, seeing people as pieces on a chessboard."

The accusation stung, partly because I recognized its truth. I had become more like Callum than I cared to admit.

"I did love you," I said quietly. "In the beginning."

"Until my father offered you something more valuable than a husband—a kingdom." Gideon turned back to Callum. "And now what? You marry your son's ex-wife, install her as your successor, and sail off into the sunset? What happens to the rest of us—your failed experiments?"

Before Callum could answer, the elevator chimed yet again. This time, it was Miles Halberg—Valencia's attorney, whom I'd met briefly at our wedding.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said smoothly, stepping into the tense atmosphere with professional detachment. "Mrs. Monette asked me to deliver this personally." He handed me a sealed envelope. "She's checked out of her hotel and returned to Italy. She said you'd understand why."

My heart sank as I accepted the envelope. Of course she had fled again—confronted once more with the full horror of Callum's manipulations, what other choice did she have?

"Thank you, Miles," I said, setting the envelope aside unopened. "Please tell her I'll call her soon."

After the attorney departed, an uncomfortable silence settled over the three of us—father, son, and the woman caught between them. Gideon finally broke it.

"I want out," he declared. "Out of this company, this family, this... experiment. I'll sign whatever you want. Just let me go."

Callum's expression remained impassive, but I caught the slight tightening of his jaw—a tell I'd learned to recognize when something had truly affected him.

"If that's what you want," he said finally.

"It's not about want," Gideon replied. "It's about survival. This family destroys everyone it touches."

After he left, I opened Valencia's envelope. Inside was a handwritten note and another DNA report—this one from a lab I didn't recognize.

"My daughter," the note began, "I cannot bear to watch history repeat itself. The enclosed will explain everything. Your true father was a good man—kind, normal, without the Monette obsession with dynasty and control. You have choices I never had. Use them wisely."

The DNA report was dated just days ago. It compared three samples: mine, Valencia's, and a third labeled simply "S.M."

The results showed a 50% match between myself and Valencia, confirming she was indeed my mother. But the shocking revelation was the 25% match with S.M.—not a paternal match, but a half-sibling match.

S.M. Silas Monette.

I looked up at Callum, my mind racing. "Silas and I share a parent," I said slowly. "But not you. Which means..."

"Vincent," Callum supplied, no surprise in his expression. "Vincent was Silas's father too, not me. Katherine had an affair with my brother before we married."

"You knew?"

"I've always known. Just as I've always known that Vincent was your biological father, not the man Valencia claimed." His eyes held mine steadily. "DNA doesn't lie, Clarette. Whatever story Valencia has concocted about some 'good, normal man,' the truth is in your genetic code. You are Vincent's daughter. You are a Monette by blood, after all."

The room seemed to spin around me as I tried to process this latest revelation. "So I'm... Silas's half-sister?"

"Yes." Callum rose, moving toward me with that predatory grace that seemed undiminished by illness or age. "The madman's sister. And my wife."

The implications crashed over me in waves. If I truly was Vincent's daughter, then I had married my uncle—step-uncle, but still. And yet, no blood relation existed between us. The taboo was social, not biological.

More disturbing was the realization that I was, in fact, a Monette—carrying the very genetic legacy that Callum had spent his life cultivating and controlling.

"This changes nothing," I said finally, though we both knew it changed everything. "Your manipulations, your lies—"

"Were necessary," he finished for me, now standing close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. "To bring you home, where you belong. To complete the circle that began generations ago."

Despite myself, despite everything, I felt that familiar pull toward him—that dark gravity that had always existed between us. "And what circle is that?"

His hand came up to cup my face, his touch both gentle and possessive. "The joining of brilliance and vision. The creation of a dynasty that will outlast us both."

I should have pulled away. Should have been repulsed by his touch, his words, his entire twisted worldview. Instead, I found myself leaning into his hand, my body betraying my mind's revulsion.

"I hate you," I whispered, the words lacking conviction even to my own ears.

"I know," he replied, his lips brushing mine. "Hate me. Fight me. Destroy me if you must. But first, help me build something that will stand for centuries."

As his mouth claimed mine, I surrendered to the darkness we shared—a darkness that, I now understood, might be encoded in my very DNA.