Luca Hartley was not what Elena expected.
He wasn't fragile. He wasn't quiet. He wasn't haunted—not outwardly. He was sharp, articulate, and already making waves in the scientific community with his research on ocean preservation.
And he looked exactly like Matthew.
They found him at the local conservancy office, hunched over tidal data, headphones in, tapping out notes with practiced focus. It took him a second to notice them.
Then: "Can I help you?"
Elena stepped forward, her voice steady but tight. "My name is Elena Hartley. My grandmother was Margaret Hartley. I think we might be related."
Luca blinked, confused. "Okay…"
She took a breath. "Your father—Matthew West. I think he was my uncle. And your mother… was my grandmother."
The air shifted.
He stood slowly. "I think you have the wrong person."
Rowan stepped forward. "You were adopted, right?"
Luca hesitated. "That's private."
"I know," Rowan said gently. "But I'm Matthew's younger brother. I have proof. His sketchbook. The painting. The letter."
Luca's breath hitched.
"I always knew," he said after a moment. "That I didn't belong the way they said I did. I asked questions. I was told my birth records were lost in a flood. That I was chosen."
His voice cracked. "But I was someone's secret."
Elena placed the painting on the table gently. "You were someone's love."
Luca's hand trembled as he reached for it.
And then his eyes changed. Sharpened.
"This was in the paper," he whispered. "Years ago. The original was never found. But this is it. The missing piece."
Rowan stepped closer. "Someone covered it up. Lied. Maybe even pushed Matthew into the sea to stop him from running away."
Luca stared at the image again.
Then he whispered: "I think I know who."
---
They sat in the office long after the sun dipped low, piecing together fragments of old letters, rumors, and family lines. And one name kept surfacing.
Jonas Callow.
A wealthy gallery owner and patron who had quietly acquired Margaret Hartley's estate in the months after her disappearance. He'd also sponsored Luca's scholarship. Been there "for the family."
"He was my godfather," Luca said bitterly. "Always said I reminded him of someone."
"He didn't want the story to come out," Elena muttered. "Because it would ruin everything. The estate. The reputation. The gallery."
Rowan's voice was a low storm. "And he was willing to kill for it."
---
That night, Rowan didn't leave Elena's side.
Not when she closed her grandmother's journals.
Not when she whispered that she didn't know how to forgive a family built on silence.
Not when she broke down on the floor, finally letting go of years of confusion, shame, and guilt that was never hers to carry.
He simply held her.
No words.
Just arms.
Just presence.
Just the quiet promise of a man who had finally chosen to stay.
---
Outside, Evermare slept.
But inside, three broken bloodlines were beginning to mend—through truth, through pain, and through the quiet, aching power of love that refused to be buried anymore.