Chapter 9 The Final Reckoning

# Chapter 9: The Final Reckoning

Dorian pulled away from the kiss just as Evelyn's silhouette appeared at the far end of the corridor. In one hand she clutched a folder of documents; in the other, something metallic caught the emergency lights.

"How touching," she called, her voice eerily calm. "The scarred beast and his captive bride, finding love in their shared misfortune."

"It's over, Evelyn," Dorian said, positioning himself partially in front of me. "Security is on the way."

"Security has been diverted to a situation on the ground floor." Her smile was visible even in the dim light. "One of the benefits of twenty years' loyalty from the staff—they still respond to my orders."

She moved closer, the metallic object now clearly visible: a small revolver, vintage but undoubtedly functional.

"Evelyn," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "think about what you're doing. This won't fix anything."

"On the contrary, Lila dear. Some problems have very simple solutions." She gestured with the gun. "Back into the study, both of you. We're going to have a long-overdue family discussion."

With few options, we complied, emerging from the hidden door into the ransacked study. Papers and broken glass littered the floor, the destruction even more apparent in full light.

"Sit," Evelyn commanded, motioning to the sofa against the wall. As we obeyed, she perched on the edge of the desk, the gun never wavering from us. "Do you know why I've always preferred this penthouse to Blackwood Hall, despite its inferior pedigree?"

"The security vulnerabilities?" Dorian suggested dryly.

She smiled, seemingly appreciative of his composure. "The view, actually. One can see the river where your parents' boat exploded. A fitting reminder of how quickly fortunes can change."

I felt Dorian stiffen beside me. "My parents died in a car accident."

"That's the official story, yes." Evelyn opened the folder she'd been carrying. "But like so many Blackwood stories, it's a convenient fiction."

"What are you talking about?" Dorian's voice had roughened with tension.

"Your father was planning to restructure the company—divest from the defense contracts that were our most profitable division, shift focus to environmental technologies." Her lip curled in disgust. "Bleeding-heart idealism that would have destroyed generations of work. When reason failed to dissuade him, other measures became necessary."

The implication hung in the air, monstrous and unthinkable. Dorian's face had gone pale, the scars standing out in stark relief.

"You killed them," he whispered.

"I saved the company," she corrected. "Their boat's fuel line was compromised. A tragic accident, the investigators concluded—with some gentle persuasion from Blackwood lawyers."

I reached for Dorian's hand, finding it ice-cold. "You're admitting to murder, Evelyn."

"I'm explaining family history to my nephew, who seems to have forgotten his responsibilities." She turned her attention back to Dorian. "Everything I've done—everything—has been to preserve what your grandfather built. What your father nearly destroyed with his weakness."

"And what does that have to do with Lila?" Dorian asked, his voice dangerously controlled. "Why try to kill her?"

"Because she's the final loose end in a plan decades in the making." Evelyn withdrew a photograph from her folder—an old image of a striking blonde woman standing beside a younger Richard Kensington. "Recognize her?"

Dorian frowned. "That's not Lila's mother."

"No. That's Elaine Blackwood—your mother—in her graduate school days." Evelyn's smile was vicious. "With her lover, Richard Kensington."

The revelation hit like a physical blow. I stared at the photo, seeing the unmistakable resemblance between the woman and Dorian in the shape of their eyes, the curve of their smiles.

"That's impossible," Dorian said, but uncertainty had crept into his voice.

"Is it? Your father was overseas for months that year. Elaine was lonely, and Richard was... attentive." Evelyn slid another document across the desk—a birth certificate. "Look at the date, Dorian. Nine months after this photo."

I watched Dorian's face as he processed the implication. "You're saying Richard Kensington is my biological father?"

"DNA tests confirmed it years ago—tests I had conducted when you were hospitalized after the accident." Evelyn's expression softened fractionally. "Imagine my shock, discovering that the man who tried to kill you was your own father."

"If that's true," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady, "then why arrange our marriage? Why bring us together?"

"Poetic justice." Evelyn leveled the gun at me. "Richard stole my sister's virtue, impregnated her with a child my brother raised as his own. When he later tried to kill that child—his own son—to protect his financial secrets..." She shook her head. "The symmetry of having his daughter unknowingly marry her half-brother was too perfect to resist."

Horror washed over me as the full implication hit. "We're siblings?"

"Half-siblings," Evelyn corrected. "Which makes your little romance particularly disturbing, doesn't it?"

Dorian had gone completely still beside me, his expression unreadable. "If you've known this for years, why reveal it now?"

"Because you forced my hand. The board, the evidence, the police involvement—you've dismantled everything I've built." Her finger tightened on the trigger. "But I can still ensure the Blackwood legacy remains untainted by scandal. A murder-suicide between the troubled CEO and his estranged wife—tragic, but not entirely surprising given your history."

"You won't get away with this," I said, mind racing for a way out. "Caleb has copies of all the evidence against you."

"Evidence of financial crimes and accident manipulation, yes. But not of my greatest achievements." She gestured toward the window with her free hand. "No one ever questioned your parents' accident, Dorian. No one will question yours either."

"Except for me."

The new voice from the doorway made us all turn. Caleb stood there, phone raised, clearly recording. Behind him, several security officers and a man in a police uniform waited in the hallway.

"Touching speech, Ms. Blackwood. Mind repeating the part about murdering Dorian's parents for the record?"

Evelyn's face contorted with rage. She swung the gun toward Caleb, but before she could fire, Dorian lunged across the space between them. The gun discharged with a deafening crack in the confined room. I screamed as Dorian staggered, his shoulder blooming red.

Security rushed in, disarming Evelyn and restraining her as she shrieked about family loyalty and betrayal. I ran to Dorian, who had collapsed against the desk, one hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder.

"Dorian! Oh God, are you okay?" I tore a piece of fabric from my blouse to press against the wound.

"Been better," he managed through gritted teeth. "But it's not my first injury."

As paramedics rushed in and took over, I turned to Caleb, who was speaking with the police officer. "How did you know to come back?"

"When I couldn't reach either of you after the board meeting, I got worried. Then I saw the security alert on the building's system—advantage of having friends in IT." He squeezed my shoulder. "Are you okay? I heard what Evelyn said..."

"I don't know," I admitted, watching as paramedics stabilized Dorian for transport. "If it's true..."

"It's not," Caleb said firmly. "Evelyn was lying."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I had your father's DNA tested against Dorian's sample from the hospital." He pulled out his phone, showing me an email. "Results came back this morning—no match. I was coming to tell you when all this happened."

Relief washed over me so intensely I nearly collapsed. "She made it all up? But why?"

"Last-ditch attempt to drive a wedge between you. Classic Evelyn—if she can't control the situation, she'll destroy it." Caleb's expression darkened. "She knew you two were getting too close, becoming a unified front against her."

As the paramedics prepared to move Dorian, I hurried to his side. His face was pale from blood loss, but his eyes were clear as they found mine.

"Did you hear?" I asked, taking his uninjured hand.

"That we're not siblings? Yes." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Surprisingly relieved about that."

I laughed despite the tears threatening. "Me too."

"Ms. Kensington," a paramedic interrupted, "we need to transport him now."

"Go with them," Caleb urged. "I'll handle things here with the police."

In the ambulance, holding Dorian's hand as the city streaked by outside, I finally allowed myself to process everything that had happened. Evelyn's manipulation had been more extensive than either of us had imagined—fabricating DNA results, inventing a scandalous history between our parents, all to maintain her control.

"What are you thinking?" Dorian asked, his voice weak but steady.

"That Evelyn was right about one thing—we do have a strange story."

"Hit-and-run victim marries the woman who didn't actually hit him, only to discover his aunt orchestrated their entire relationship?" He winced as the ambulance hit a pothole. "Hallmark should get on that."

I smiled, stroking the back of his hand. "When this is over, when you're healed..."

"When I'm healed?"

"I think we should start over. A real beginning, without manipulation or revenge or family secrets."

His eyes held mine, vulnerability and hope mingling in their depths. "I'd like that."

At the hospital, they rushed Dorian into surgery to remove the bullet. I paced the waiting room, alternating between anxiety over his condition and processing the revelations of the day. Caleb arrived an hour later, bringing coffee and updates.

"Evelyn's in custody," he said, handing me a cup. "They found evidence in her penthouse office linking her to both the fire at Blackwood Hall and your parents' accident, Dorian's parents, I mean."

"Will the charges stick?"

"With her recorded confession and the physical evidence? Absolutely." He sat beside me, his expression softening. "How are you holding up?"

"Processing," I admitted. "Everything I thought I knew about my marriage, about Dorian's motivations... it was all filtered through Evelyn's manipulations."

"Not everything," Caleb said gently. "The connection between you two? That's real. I've seen how he looks at you, Li. That's not manipulation."

Before I could respond, a surgeon approached in scrubs. "Mrs. Blackwood? Your husband is out of surgery. The bullet missed any major vessels, and we've repaired the damage. He's asking for you."

I found Dorian in recovery, pale but alert. His shoulder was heavily bandaged, an IV dripping pain medication into his arm. When he saw me, his face relaxed into a smile that transformed his features—both the scarred and unscarred sides.

"There you are," he murmured, reaching for my hand. "I was beginning to think you'd run off now that you're not obligated to stay with the monster."

"You're not a monster," I said firmly, sitting on the edge of his bed. "You never were."

"No?" His eyes searched mine. "Even when I married you for revenge? When I took pleasure in your family's downfall?"

"We've both made mistakes. But that's not who we are now." I squeezed his hand. "The question is, who do we want to be going forward?"

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "When I was in surgery, floating in that space between consciousness and darkness, I had absolute clarity about one thing." His eyes met mine, startlingly vulnerable without masks or pretense. "I love you, Lila. Not because of our history or in spite of it, but because of who you are—your strength, your compassion, the way you fought for truth even when it was painful."

The declaration hung between us, honest and unadorned. In that sterile hospital room, with the steady beep of monitors marking time, I finally allowed myself to acknowledge what had been growing inside me since the night of the masquerade.

"I love you too," I whispered, the truth of it washing through me like a cleansing wave. "I think part of me has since you danced with me at the ball, when I saw the man behind the mask."

His smile was radiant despite his pallor. He tugged gently on my hand, drawing me closer until our foreheads touched.

"Then maybe," he murmured, "this is our real beginning."

Outside the hospital window, night had fallen over the city, stars emerging in the darkening sky. Whatever challenges awaited us—the legal aftermath of Evelyn's crimes, rebuilding Blackwood Industries, healing the wounds of our shared past—we would face them together, no longer captives of revenge but partners in redemption.