The wind at the old train station was cruel and unforgiving.
Penelope pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders as she stepped onto the platform. It was almost noon. The place was deserted, save for a few pigeons and the distant sound of a train horn, echoing like the voice of a ghost.
She checked her phone. No new messages.
Then she saw him.
A man, tall and lean, leaned against a rusted pillar, face shadowed by a baseball cap.
He turned when he saw her.
Older—late thirties, maybe. But his eyes…
They were the same eyes she'd seen in her reflection her entire life.
"I knew you'd come," he said.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice firmer than she felt.
"I'm your half-brother."
Penelope stared. "That's impossible."
He stepped closer, his voice grave. "Not impossible. Just buried."
She couldn't breathe.
He handed her a letter. The handwriting was elegant. Flowing.
"It's from Aria," he said. "Your mother. She wrote it before she died. She wanted you to know the truth if anything ever happened to her."
Penelope's hands trembled as she took the paper. She opened it slowly. Her mother's words came to life like ghosts whispering from the past:
> My darling Penelope,
If you're reading this, it means I failed to protect you from the world I tried so hard to escape. You come from a legacy—dark, powerful, and dangerous. Your father was never the man they told you. And Marc… he's more involved than you think. Trust your instincts. Follow your heart.
Always.
Love,
Aria.
Penelope stared at the paper, her heart thunderous. "Marc knew this."
"Yes," her half-brother said, voice low. "But he didn't tell you the whole truth. Because he's not just some guy who fell in love with you."
She looked up sharply.
"What is he?"
"A man who once worked for the people who tried to destroy our family. He was investigating the Thornes when he met you. You were a target. Until you weren't."
---
Back at the Café…
Veronica sat across from Scott at their usual window booth. She stirred her coffee, avoiding his eyes.
"I need to ask you something," she said finally. "And I need you to be honest."
Scott leaned forward. "Always."
"Why me?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I've spent my whole life being the girl who gets left behind. Boys fall for Penelope. Always Penelope. And you—at first—I thought you were the same. But now…"
She trailed off, voice cracking.
Scott reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "Veronica, listen to me. I never saw you as second to anyone. Not for a second."
She laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say now."
"No," he said firmly. "You want the truth? The first time I saw you was at that pool party freshman year. You wore a red dress that didn't match your drink, and you said the moon looked like it was sulking. I remembered everything."
Veronica blinked, tears rising.
"I liked you then," he continued. "But you were wild. Untouchable. And Penelope? She was safe. She was what everyone else wanted, so I thought maybe I should too."
"Wow," Veronica muttered. "You really know how to sweet talk a girl."
He squeezed her hand. "I was a coward. And I broke your heart—maybe not then, but later. But now, if you let me, I want to prove I'm not that boy anymore."
She held his gaze for a long moment.
"Majesty," she whispered, her nickname for him now ironic and intimate, "you've got one chance."
He smiled. "Then I won't waste it."
---
At Marc's Apartment…
Marc sat alone in his dim-lit living room, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand.
He knew this moment would come.
The reckoning.
His phone buzzed.
Penelope.
> We need to talk. In person. Now.
---
Half an Hour Later…
Penelope walked into Marc's apartment without knocking.
He rose to his feet, heart pounding, knowing—she knew.
"I met him," she said. "My brother."
Marc's throat tightened. "Then you know everything?"
"I know enough to ask you again," she said, eyes wet with fury. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He walked toward her slowly, vulnerable for the first time. "Because I fell in love with you before I knew who you were. And when I found out, I didn't know how to stop."
She swallowed. "You used to work for them."
"I did," he confessed. "I was an intern—young, ambitious, stupid. I didn't know what they were doing until it was too late. And by the time I found out… your mother was dead."
Penelope's eyes flared. "So you lied to me for what? A thesis? A promotion?"
"For you!" he roared, voice breaking. "I was trying to find out who killed Aria. That's why I came close. That's why I came to the school. But I stayed because of you. Everything else stopped mattering."
Tears spilled from her eyes.
He stepped closer. "You said you weren't running anymore. Don't start now."
"I don't know who to trust," she whispered.
"Then trust the way I kiss you."
She shook her head, lips trembling. "That's not enough."
Marc closed the gap, slowly, tentatively.
He touched her face, and she didn't pull away.
Then he kissed her.
It was nothing like the rooftop. This kiss was pain and apology, hope and hunger. A desperate plea. A vow.
When they pulled apart, she whispered, "If I let myself love you, Marc… don't ever lie to me again."
"I swear," he said, forehead resting against hers, "on everything that made me human."
And in that silence, she believed him.
Even if she shouldn't have.