My Brother, My Redemption

Celia harbored a forbidden crush on her brother Lex, a secret that destroyed her life.

Locked in a hidden prison camp on the border of Switzerland, she suffered abuse, illness and despair, even losing her voice.

Lex, trapped by threats and lies, spent half a year in agony before discovering the terrible truth.

He avenged her and ended the evil reign of his father.

Yet they learned they were not blood relatives. Faced with Celia’s deep trauma and lingering fear, Lex chooses to wait patiently.

Can love mend the scars left by hell?

It rained all day.

I knelt in the mud, watching the casket sink into the earth. Lex tugged at my arm. "Get up." I didn't move. He yanked harder, hauling me to my feet until my entire weight collapsed against him. I couldn't stop shivering.

"Lex," I choked out.

He just tightened his grip around me and said nothing.

The crowd thinned out. Looking up, I spotted Harold lingering by the wrought-iron gates. He wore a sharp black overcoat, not a single hair out of place, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. A woman stood next to him in a slate-gray dress. Their shoulders were close. Almost touching.

Harold was holding a black umbrella over her.

I stared at his hand gripping the handle. I had never seen him hold an umbrella for Mom.

"Who is that?" I asked.

Lex followed my gaze. His voice was dead flat. "Dad says she's a distant cousin. Grace Moore. She’s staying with us for a while."

A distant cousin. I had never heard of her in my life.

Pulling away in the car, I glanced through the rain-streaked window. Harold was leaning in, whispering something to the woman. She turned her head and offered a faint smile. It was a beautiful face—the kind that demanded a second glance.

Mom’s dying words suddenly rushed back to me, the way her frail fingers had dug into my wrist. "Watch out for your father."

I thought the sickness had clouded her mind then. Now, I realized she meant exactly what she said.

Back at the Wentworth estate, a fresh bouquet of lilies sat in the living room. Mom's favorite.

Harold descended the sweeping staircase, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. "Cecilia, go take a hot shower. Don't catch a cold."

He jerked his chin toward the far end of the hall. "Grace is taking the downstairs guest room. I’ll have the staff clear out your mother's bedroom. Don't go in there for now."

My throat seized up. "You’re packing up Mom's room?"

"Things need to be organized." Harold took a slow sip. His gaze swept past my face without landing.

Lex stepped forward. "Dad, we buried her today."

Harold looked at him. I knew that look. It was the same deadpan stare he gave me when I failed to bring home a perfect report card as a kid. Not anger. Just a chilling: You aren't worth my time.

"Did I say something wrong?" Harold set his glass on the banister. "We have a guest in the house. What does it look like, your sister bawling her eyes out?"

"A guest?" I leaned out from behind Lex. "Mom just went into the ground and we already have a guest?"

The air in the room iced over.

Harold locked eyes with me. For the first time, a spark of heat flared in his gaze.

"Are you questioning me?"

Lex tugged my sleeve. "Let it go."

Grace drifted out from the hallway. She had changed into a tailored, light-colored loungewear set, cradling a steaming mug of tea. Her tone was sickeningly gentle, like cooing to a toddler. "The child is upset. It’s entirely understandable."

She offered me the cup. I didn't take it.

I studied her face. Under the warm, amber glow of the living room chandeliers, her features were even clearer than they had been at the cemetery. Exquisitely honed. She had the aura of old money, not some desperate relative seeking shelter. Worse, the way she glided through the space—she moved like the lady of the house.

"Thanks." Lex intercepted the tea and grabbed my arm. "We're going upstairs."

Grace's voice trailed after us. "Goodnight, children."

That word children sent a sharp chill down my spine. She wasn't a Wentworth. What gave her the right to call us that?

Back in my room, I shut the door and slid down the heavy wood until I hit the floor.

"Who is that woman?" I asked.

Lex crouched in front of me. He was quiet for a long moment. "Dad says she's a distant relative from his side."

"Do you believe that?"

He didn't answer.

I pushed myself up and stepped over to the window. The driveway floodlights were still blazing. The driver-side door of Harold's car was wide open. Grace stood right by it, and Harold was leaning halfway out of the seat. The distance between them was practically nonexistent.

He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The gesture was feather-light. Effortless. Like he had done it a thousand times.

I turned away and yanked the curtains shut. It was the first day my mother was in the ground, and this house already belonged to someone else.