The name hit him like a blow.
This wasn’t chance.
“Did your mother have a mark like yours?” he asked quietly.
Clara nodded. “In the same place. She always hid it. Said people stared.”
Victor shut his eyes.
For years, he had convinced himself his sister chose to vanish—that she rejected his life, his success, his need to control everything. He had buried the guilt beneath wealth and expansion.
And now her children stood at his gates—hungry, without a home, and afraid.
“She said you were her brother,” Clara added carefully, without blame. “She said you were very important. Very busy. She told us not to bother you.”
The words cut deeper than any accusation Victor had ever faced.
Slowly, he reached forward and unlocked the gate.
“Come inside,” he said, his voice unsteady in a way it hadn’t been in years. “Both of you. You don’t need to work. You don’t need to prove anything. You’re safe here.”
Clara stared at him, disbelief and exhaustion battling across her face.
“Sir… I—”
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