Victoria's POV
The champagne tasted like lies.
I stood by the window, watching snow fall on the gardens where Elias used to hide from our mother's piano lessons. Twenty years gone, and I could still hear him laughing behind the hedges. Still see his grey eyes peeking through the leaves.
"Victoria, darling, you look pale." Mother appeared at my elbow, her perfume choking me. "Are you feeling well?"
I wasn't. I hadn't felt well since Father announced this ridiculous party. Sixty years old, he said. Time to celebrate. Time to show everyone the Ashbourne family still mattered.
Time to pretend we weren't monsters.
"I'm fine," I lied. The same lie I'd been telling for twenty years.
The ballroom glittered with people I didn't care about. Business partners. Politicians. Old money and new money, all mixing together like oil and water. Father held court by the fireplace, his silver hair catching the light. He looked distinguished. Powerful. Not like a man who murdered his own son.
Thomas touched my shoulder. "You should mingle. People are noticing."
My older brother always noticed things like that. What people thought. What people saw. He'd built his whole life around appearances.
"Let them notice," I said.
His jaw tightened. "Don't make a scene. Not tonight."
I wanted to laugh. A scene? What could I possibly do that would compare to what we'd already done? But Thomas didn't like thinking about that night. He'd locked it away somewhere deep inside, where guilt couldn't reach him.
I wasn't that strong.
The clock struck nine. The doors to the ballroom stood open, letting in cold air from the entrance hall. I watched Father raise his glass, ready to make some speech about family and legacy and all the other words he used to hide the rot underneath.
Then the front door opened.
At first, no one noticed. The music kept playing. People kept talking. But I felt it. A change in the air, like the moment before lightning strikes.
A man walked in from the darkness.
He wore a dark coat covered in melting snow. His hair was black, touched with grey at the temples. He moved slowly, like someone walking through a dream. Or a nightmare.
When he stepped into the light, I saw his face.
My wine glass slipped from my fingers. It shattered on the marble floor, the sound cutting through the music like a scream.
Everyone turned. Everyone stared.
The man had our eyes. The Ashbourne grey, like storm clouds over the moor. He had our father's sharp jawline and our mother's elegant hands. He looked exactly like the portraits we'd burned. Exactly like the brother we'd buried.
"Hello, Father," he said. His voice was quiet but it filled the entire room. "I've come home."
Mother made a sound I'd never heard before. A animal sound, raw and terrified. Her champagne flute fell, shattering next to mine. Father grabbed the mantelpiece, his knuckles white.
Thomas moved first. He crossed the room in three strides, putting himself between the stranger and our parents.
"I don't know who you are," Thomas said, his voice hard. "But you need to leave. Now."
The man looked at Thomas like he was studying an insect. "Don't you recognize me, brother?"
"My brother is dead."
"Am I?" The man tilted his head. "Then who buried me? Who lit the fire? Who held me down while I screamed?"
The room went silent. Even the musicians had stopped playing. A hundred guests stood frozen, watching our family come apart.
Father found his voice. "Security! Remove this man immediately!"
But the stranger smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "You don't want to do that, Father. Not when I know about the accounts in the Cayman Islands. Not when I know what you did to the Peterson family to steal their land. Not when I know exactly how you built your empire on blood and lies."
Father's face turned grey. "Who told you…"
"No one told me." The man stepped closer. Snow melted off his coat, forming puddles on the floor. "I remember. I remember everything. Every secret. Every sin. Every deal you made in the dark."
Mother swayed on her feet. I caught her before she fell, her body shaking against mine.
"This is impossible," she whispered. "You're dead. We buried you. You're dead."
"Death is negotiable, Mother. You of all people should know that."
I looked into his eyes then. Really looked. And I saw something that made my blood freeze. Something ancient and hungry, looking out from behind my brother's face.
This wasn't Elias. It wore him like a coat, but underneath was something else. Something that had crawled up from whatever dark place my parents had sent him to.
The guests started backing away. They sensed it too. The wrongness. The danger.
"Everyone out," Thomas ordered. "The party is over."
People fled. They couldn't leave fast enough, pushing past each other to reach the doors. Within minutes, the ballroom emptied. Only our family remained, facing the thing that claimed to be our brother.
"What do you want?" Father asked.
The stranger smiled again. "I want what was taken from me. I want the truth. I want justice."
He looked at each of us in turn. When his eyes met mine, I saw a flicker of something. Recognition?
Sadness? It vanished before I could be sure.
"But first," he said, "I want to come home."