Chapter Two-hundred Fifty-Two: The Ice Prince and Ice Princess

Chapter 252

The Ice Prince and Ice Princess

The purple bubble holding Tristan, Celeste, Fabien, and Deimos floated up. A bubble holding an unconscious Lena floated in. Jaxon scrambled to his feet.

Jaxon: “Don’t you DARE touch her!”

He bellowed. Narcisse smacked him across his face so hard that he crashed to the floor. Jaxon yelped and sobbed when he was hit.

Narcisse: “Jiro, my boy, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I call the shots.”

He said evenly, glancing at Tristan.

Tristan: “What do you think you’re doing, Narcisse?!”

He rasped and pounded on the purple bubble.

Narcisse: “Tristan, you do remember Seashell Cove, right?”

He smirked. Tristan froze, and Jaxon embraced himself. Celeste looked away.

Tristan: “...How do you know about that? Did you force him to tell you?!”

He bellowed. Narcisse clicked his tongue.

Narcisse: “No, my naughty little nephew… I couldn’t get Jiro to talk, so I took the liberty of borrowing the notes of that old biddy from Megalos Tower.”

He waved her notes around and then placed his hand on Jaxon’s shoulder. Jaxon jolted when Narcisse touched him. Tristan’s jaw tightened.

Narcisse: “Jiro, what happened at Seashell Cove… was tragic… and it was absolutely your fault…”

He smiled. Jaxon’s bottom lip trembled. He knelt on the floor. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as he slumped further, his shoulders shaking with silent, rhythmic sobs. The weight of Narcisse's words seemed to physically crush him, grounding any remnants of defiance into the cold floor. He clutched his chest, gasping for air between the jagged breaths of a broken man, as the memories of Seashell Cove flickered like dying embers in his mind.

Tristan: “NO, JAXON! It wasn’t your fault!”

He screamed, pounding against the bubble, which shimmered every time something struck its surface.

Narcisse: “Yes, it was, Tristan… And if he doesn’t want another incident like that, he will do as I say.”

He grinned. Tristan panted rapidly and clutched his chest. Tears welled in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut as he bowed his head and pounded on the bubble.

Tristan: “NO! JAXON, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS!”

He wailed. Deimos held Tristan close.

Celeste: “He’s going to believe Narcisse… and this is why I was done with him.”

She muttered.

Narcisse: “Jiro, listen to your ex. She knows it’s your fault Chelsea died.”

He smiled.

Tristan: “SHE NEVER SAID THAT, YOU BASTARD!”

He screamed through hot tears. The bubble holding Lena started to shrink.

Narcisse: “Look at that, Jiro…”

Jaxon sobbed loudly.

Narcisse: “LOOK AT THAT!”

He bellowed, grabbed his head, and yanked him to look at Lena. Jaxon heaved and panted.

Narcisse: “Look, Jiro! It’s shrinking! Quit wasting my time, boy! If you keep crying like a baby, she will be crushed to death, and another purple flower will wilt.”

He threw him down.

Narcisse: “Because of your utter carelessness.”

Jaxon’s chest tightened as if bound by iron bands, his lungs refusing to expand. He clutched his chest, gasping for air in shallow, futile hitches that left him lightheaded and reeling. His mental walls disintegrated under the sheer force of the psychological torment. He was unable to process the reality of the shrinking bubble or the immediate threat to Lena; he was trapped in the past, paralyzed by a crushing tide of survivor’s guilt that convinced him Chelsea’s death was his fault alone.

Unable to watch, Tristan buried his face in Deimos’ chest as the glass of the hyperbaric chamber slid open after Narcisse pressed a button. Deimos wrapped his arms around him tightly. Fabien locked his gaze on the body inside with severe burns on the skin.

Celeste: “That’s what Deimos and I saw when we first came here.”

She whispered to Fabien.

Narcisse: “I tried to recruit Deimos for this, but he’s about as useless as his loony brother who can’t spell simple words.”

He rolled his eyes. Deimos bared his teeth.

Deimos: “FUCK YOU! I will rip you to shreds for what you put Tristan through!”

He rasped and held Tristan close, caressing his hair.

Narcisse: “I noticed you took notes from my house as well, Deimos. Did you enjoy reading them? I suppose you can read a little, unlike your brother, who is quite a case.”

He remarked with a scoff.

Deimos: “What the hell are you talking about?!”

He snapped fiercely.

Narcisse sighed and shook his head in disappointment.

Narcisse: “I’ve always had to explain everything to you, boy.”

He said, gesturing dramatically.

Narcisse: “Honestly, what does Tristan even see in someone like you?”

Deimos: “He sees A LOT! He loves me and VALUES me!”

He thundered back.

Deimos: “You don’t love anyone but yourself! That’s why your parents named you Narcisse!”

Fabien snorted at the comeback. He couldn’t help but think that Deimos occasionally delivered stupid lines, much like Lazaros did.

Narcisse, meanwhile, stared at Deimos in disbelief.

Narcisse: “...Are you really that thick-headed?”

He muttered, rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue.

Narcisse: “Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised considering who I’m talking to.”

He let out an exhausted breath.

Narcisse folded his arms over his chest.

Narcisse: “They were on Project Ghisyn.”

He reminded him. Tristan raised his head to lock his angry, tearful gaze on his uncle.

Deimos: “Yeah, I asked you why you had those, and you told me Bastien was one of those babies.”

He huffed. Narcisse threw his head back and gave a harsh bark of laughter. He grinned evilly at him.

Narcisse: “And you believed that?!”

Tristan’s heart hammered in his chest.

Deimos: “Yeah! You hid him away from his family!”

He fired back. Narcisse laughed hard. Deimos gaped mutely at him. Narcisse’s laughter slowed down.

Narcisse: “Deimos, you silly, silly fool…”

Deimos furrowed his eyebrows.

Deimos: “You’re fucking lucky you have this bubble, coward, because I would tear you apart!”

He hissed through clenched teeth.

Narcisse pointedly gestured toward Jaxon, whose fists were clenched tight against the carpet.

Narcisse: “This is precisely the reason you cheated on my nephew… and with him, no less.”

The statement brought a sudden hush over Deimos. Holding Tristan tightly against him.

Deimos: “...I made a mistake. My love belongs to Tristan, and what I did is something I will always regret.”

A sharp burst of laughter erupted from Narcisse.

Narcisse: “Will you never see the truth, Deimos?!”

He yelled, throwing his arms wide open.

Narcisse: “Sébastien was absolutely NOT a product of that experiment!”

Deimos froze in place. Within his protective embrace, Tristan’s gaze darted around as a violent tremor shook his entire body.

Narcisse: “He lacks the strength! We set out to engineer nothing less than GOD-TIER Etheressums!”

He roared.

Narcisse: “The result of that project is your little prince Tristan! Tristan is a Project Ghisyn baby! He was one of the most successful babies from that project, having powerful ice powers from the day he was born!”

He announced, throwing his head back as he laughed maniacally. Tristan heaved and panted, cupping his mouth.

Narcisse’s laughter seemed to stretch and warp, echoing off the walls of the bubble until it became a physical weight pressing down on Tristan’s skull. Project Ghisyn. A laboratory experiment. Not a person, but a product.

The words hit him with more force than any blow he had ever received. The world began to tilt on its axis.

Tristan’s knees gave out, his refined posture shattering in an instant as he collapsed into a heap against the translucent violet barrier. He clawed at his own throat, his fingers digging into his skin as if he could physically rip the panic out of his airways. His lungs weren’t working; every breath felt like inhaling crushed glass, sharp and agonizing, leaving his chest burning with a terrifying, hollow emptiness.

The composure that defined him—the icy, calculated grace of a lawyer who navigated the most treacherous social landscapes—evaporated. His vision tunneled, the edges of the room blurring into a smear of gray and shadow, leaving only the distorted, gloating face of his uncle in the center of his shattered world. He tried to speak, to call for Deimos, but his vocal cords were frozen, locked tight by the terror flooding his nervous system.

He clutched his chest, his knuckles turning white, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird desperate to escape a cage. His ice, usually so obedient and precise, responded to his spiraling terror; the air around him grew unnaturally frigid, and tiny, jagged shards of frost began to creep along the inside of the bubble.

I am a lie, he thought, his mind racing through the fragments of his life—his childhood, his power, his very existence—all recontextualized into a horrific, fabricated history.

Deimos’ voice, raw and panicked, broke through the static in his ears.

Deimos: “Tristan! Look at me! Tristan, breathe!”

Celeste: “Tristan?!”

Fabien: “Hey, man, are you okay?”

But the sound was muffled, as if they were speaking from beneath deep water. Tristan curled tighter into himself, his entire body seized by violent, uncontrollable tremors. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the reality of what Narcisse had revealed, but the darkness behind his eyelids was even worse, filled with the terrifying, cold truth of who he really was. He was no longer Tristan Trémaux, the capable, composed man who could command a courtroom; he was just an experiment, a weapon, a “success story” of Ghisyn.

He didn’t just feel panic; he felt the total annihilation of his identity, and as he heaved for air, the ice inside the bubble began to thicken, blurring the world until everything was just a cold, terrifying white.

Fabien and Celeste looked at the ice forming in the bubble.

Fabien: “Oh, fuck me sideways.”

He muttered.

Narcisse: “Whatever. Maybe Tristan will kill his friends and loser boyfriend.”

He smirked and turned to Jaxon.

Jaxon: “Let them go!”

He cried.

Narcisse: “Heal her. Heal her NOW!”

He bellowed, pointing a demanding finger at her. Jaxon got up on shaky legs, his breath coming in ragged pants. Panic flared within him as he watched the ice rapidly crystallize inside Narcisse’s bubble, while Lena’s bubble continued to close in on itself. Caught in a wave of helplessness, he wept openly, standing over the form below as her striking green eyes fixed onto his.

Jaxon took a deep, shuddering breath, his hands trembling as he reached out toward the still, shriveled form. He didn't just reach out; he poured the entirety of his grief and his desperate need to save her into the gesture. As his fingers splayed, a brilliant, pulsating red glow erupted from his palms, enveloping the charred skin in a warm, searing light. He focused every ounce of his will on the damaged tissue.

Under the influence of the red energy, the transformation was visceral and immediate: dead skin sloughed away to reveal the raw, tender pink of new flesh beneath, which then rapidly knit together, smoothing into unblemished, healthy skin. Muscles, nerves, and veins reconnected. The horrific scars dissolving until she was perfectly whole once more.

The bubble holding Tristan, Celeste, and Fabien burst open with Fabien holding his hands out to form a green bubble. Narcisse turned to them with a sneer. He then gasped in delight when he turned to the hyperbaric chamber.

Charlotte Trémaux stepped out of the hyperbaric chamber. Narcisse draped a pale blue silk dressing gown over her shoulders. She was like a winter frost carved into human form—striking, immaculate, and utterly unyielding.

A waterfall of voluminous, ice-white hair swept down past her waist in pale, shimmering waves, framing a face defined by sharp intellect and cool composure. Her piercing green eyes narrowed in quiet, calculating thought.

She locked her glare on Tristan who was kneeling on the floor. Tristan slowly raised his head to lock his gaze on her and his eyes widened.

Charlotte: “...Tristan…”

Narcisse: “Isn’t he beautiful, Charlotte? He looks like you.”

He beamed. The sight of her was not a reunion; it was an indictment.

As Charlotte stepped from the chamber—immaculate, cold, and possessing the same sharp, predatory gaze that Narcisse wielded so easily—the last remnants of Tristan’s reality shattered. His breath hitched, a jagged, broken sound that seemed too loud in the sudden, suffocating quiet of the room. Every instinct he possessed as a lawyer, every layer of icy composure he had meticulously constructed over a lifetime, crumbled into ash.

He didn’t just feel fear; he felt the sickening click of a puzzle piece falling into place. She was the architect of the “success” he had just learned was a prison sentence. Her eyes, identical to his own, felt like mirrors reflecting a monster he had never asked to be.

His heart, already battered by his earlier panic, now hammered against his ribs with a frantic, irregular rhythm like a trapped creature realizing there was no escape. The air around him, previously freezing with his own defense mechanism.

He stared up at her, paralyzed. The man who could stare down witnesses and command silence in a courtroom and be everyone’s mentor and guidance was gone, replaced by a terrified child facing the woman who tormented him. He felt small, exposed, and utterly hollowed out. His hands, resting on the floor, trembled violently; he couldn't look away, yet every fiber of his being screamed to run from the woman who had tormented him and his father for years.

Charlotte raised her hand, launching a sharp arrow of ice directly at Tristan.

Deimos: “TRISTAN!”

He roared. Fabien quickly stepped in front of Tristan, raising his hands to conjure a protective green bubble. The ice arrow collided with the barrier and shattered into pieces.

Charlotte gasped and cupped her mouth.

Charlotte: “...Julien?!”

Fabien gaped at her.

Fabien: “Huh?”

Narcisse bared his teeth as he raised a quizzical eyebrow toward her. Without warning, Deimos surged forward and smashed a heavy punch directly into his jaw. Narcisse let out a scream as a spray of blood splattered across the wall.

Deimos: “I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

He bellowed. As Narcisse slammed against the wall and crashed to the floor, Lena’s bubble popped. Jaxon lunged out and caught her on time before she hit the floor.

Charlotte marched to Fabien.

Charlotte: “Julien, c’est toi?!”

Fabien backed away.

Fabien: “Non! C’est mon oncle! Il a disparu il y a des années!”

He replied. Celeste stood in front of Fabien. Charlotte created an ice block and slammed her into the wall.

Fabien: “CELESTE!”

He screamed and ran for her. Celeste groaned and her fist went through the block of ice. Charlotte glared at her.

Charlotte: “Insolent girl…”

An arrow of ice shot from her hands toward her target. Fabien quickly threw himself in front of Celeste, raising a protective green bubble that caused the icicle to shatter on impact.

Charlotte glared at Celeste with hurt and jealousy that Fabien was protecting her. Deimos carried Tristan in his arms.

Deimos: “We gotta get out of here!”

He commanded. Charlotte slashed her hand through the air shooting icicles at him. Deimos flew up.

Deimos: “GUYS! COME ON!”

He bellowed. Jaxon scooped Lena up in his arms.

Celeste lifted the hyperbaric chamber over her head and threw it at Charlotte. She put up an ice dome over herself where the chamber collided with a violent, metallic screech that echoed like a death knell through the room.

The reinforced steel of the medical vessel buckled and groaned under the sheer force of the impact, its structural integrity failing as it crumpled against the unyielding glacial wall. Shards of glass and jagged metal fragments exploded outward in a lethal spray, raining down upon the cold floor. A concussive shockwave rippled from the point of contact, shattering the record player and other objects and sending a cloud of frost and debris swirling into the air.

Deimos flew out with Tristan in his arms, Jaxon followed carrying Lena and Celeste and Fabien ran upstairs. They ran outside, past the cemetery, past the garden until they reached the gates where Trevor waited for them.

Deimos: “Okay, Trevor, teleport us back now!”

Trevor nodded and grabbed the group and they teleported away.

Charlotte stepped out of the room where she was held for so many years and went up the stairs. When she reached the main floor, nothing changed after so many years.

Narcisse staggered up, cupping his sore jaw. Charlotte went into the living room, gazing sadly at the photographs of her father, his hunting expeditions, and pictures of her and her family throughout the years.

Charlotte: “Papa…”

She traced her fingers over a photograph of him with Narcisse kneeling beside a hippo Narcisse had killed. She turned to her brother.

Charlotte: “What did I miss?”

She asked him.

Narcisse: “Tristan is a lawyer… He owns his law office.”

He swallowed hard.

Narcisse: “And Victor is cheating on us with some fat man.”

He choked. She examined her wedding photo with her and Victor and Narcisse as the best man.

Charlotte: “Dr. Alfred Horowitz promised me he would be powerful. He did nothing. He’s as useless as his father.”

She sneered. Narcisse pursed his lips.

Narcisse: “Give him time, my dear sister. Tristan is very powerful. This is why Deimos cheated on him.”

He smiled.

Charlotte: “I don’t believe you. He was always weak because of Victor.”

She hissed.

Narcisse: “Charlotte, Victor is cheating on us with a fat man.”

He reiterated. Charlotte turned to him.

Charlotte: “Good for him. I don’t care. He can have whoever he wants.”

She said coldly.

Narcisse: “Well, I want him.”

He said as his jaw tightened. Charlotte smirked.

Charlotte: “You always did. Well, he’s yours.”

Narcisse clenched his teeth.

Narcisse: “You mean ours.”

Charlotte stared at him.

Charlotte: “He’s yours. I don’t want him.”

She said coldly and turned around. Narcisse inhaled sharply as he bared his teeth.

He recalled when he and his father would hunt, he would always claim sole victory instead of shared victory, and he always hated that.

Narcisse: “Oh, and Julien is dead.”

He grinned. Charlotte froze, recalling seeing his body burnt to ashes on her sweet 16th.

Charlotte: “I SAW HIM BEFORE ME!”

She screamed and slashed her hand, casting a sheet of ice on the floor.

Narcisse: “Just a lookalike, my dear sister.”

Charlotte: “How would you know that? No one knew about Julien, not even Papa.”

She sneered at him. Narcisse drew a long breath.

Narcisse: “You know our groundskeeper, André, was a busybody and he had pyrokinesis.”

He smiled. Charlotte embraced herself.

Charlotte: “If Papa knew how it would have broken my heart, he wouldn’t have allowed it!”

She embraced herself.

Charlotte: “André burned someone else.”

She nodded. Narcisse glared hotly at her. He knew what she was trying to do and he wasn’t going to fall for her. He had to collect himself.

Narcisse: “Why would he ignore you for so many years? If he was a human, wouldn’t he have aged?”

He grinned. Charlotte looked away. Is Julien really dead?! Who did I just see?! She wondered.

Charlotte went up to her bedroom. Everything was the same as it was before the house fire.

Narcisse: “Would you like some tea before you go to bed?”

He asked gently.

Charlotte: “Yes.”

She nodded. Narcisse locked his gaze on her and left her alone. Charlotte opened her drawer to see her lingerie neatly folded and lifted out several pairs of panties before she found the brass compass with her old initials “C.B.” that Julien had given her for her 16th birthday. She held it close to her chest. She thought about the encounter. Julien never told me about his family or his siblings, she thought.

~

Trevor teleported Jaxon to Jordi’s house and to Lena’s room. Jaxon gently set her down on the bed, tucked her in, and looked sadly at her. He turned to Trevor and nodded. They teleported out of the house.

~

Draped in his silk dragon robe, Jaxon stepped out from the shower with his naked body exposed. Noah stepped into the living room and raised his eyebrows upon seeing Jaxon, but regained his composure, reminding himself he was used to this by now.

Jaxon sat at the bar. He grabbed a crumpled pack of cigarettes and his Zippo. He tapped a cigarette loose, sliding it between his lips, then flicked the Zippo with his thumb. A sharp, metallic clack echoed in the quiet space, followed by a soft whoosh as the flame flared to life. He dipped his head, catching the orange ember on the tip of the tobacco, then snapped the lid shut with a crisp metallic click. He took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke curl up into the dim air before exhaling, the tension of the night dissipating with every gray plume.

Noah stood before him and surveyed him for a moment. He placed ice cubes in an old-fashioned glass and poured him some Jack Daniel's whiskey. Jaxon took a long swing and clasped his hands over his eyes.

Noah: “Trevor teleport you back?”

Jaxon: “...Yes.”

He sobbed.

Jaxon: “I ruin everything I touch. I’m a mess.”

He wept.

Jaxon: “Seashell Cove fucked me over badly, and this is somehow… worse… I broke the one person who could have helped me come out of this. The one person who believed in me when everyone else hates me.’

Tears dripped down his cheeks.

Jaxon: “I didn’t want Seashell Cove to happen again, but I think I made something worse.”

Noah didn’t rush to fill the silence. He watched the amber liquid settle in the glass before he spoke, his voice low and devoid of judgment.

Noah: “You’re spiraling again, Jaxon. Stop.”

He reached over, his hand coming to rest firmly on Jaxon’s shoulder, a grounding weight that cut through the haze of Jaxon’s panic.

Noah: “You did what you thought was necessary.”

Jaxon let out a jagged, hitching breath, his hands finally dropping from his face to grip the edge of the bar until his knuckles turned white. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and haunted. Noah offered a small, grim smile, the kind born of shared trauma rather than happiness.

~

Deimos sat on Tristan’s bed as he slept. Tristan wore his silver silk pajamas while Deimos wore a gray tank top and dark plaid pajama pants. Oliver and Francis curled up by him. He heaved a deep sigh and rose to go downstairs to order a pizza for himself.

When he was downstairs, he was surprised to see Monica down there with a basket of goodies.

Monica: “I made some blueberry muffins for Tristan… and you.”

She said genially. Deimos looked away.

Monica: “I figured you both could use this.”

Deimos: “I don’t know what to do, Monica… Tristan’s mother is alive because her fuckin’ weirdo brother, Narcisse, held her in some tube and blackmailed Jaxon into healing her.”

He drew a long breath. Monica knit her eyebrows, and the two sat at the island.

Deimos: “First, he lost Sylvia… and now this. How the fuck will he come back from this?”

He asked, clasping his hands over his temples.

Deimos: “Tristan is always there for me when my life is a mess—and it’s often a fucking mess—but how can I help him during this?! I can barely help myself!”

He admitted as he knitted his eyebrows.

Monica looked at Deimos with a steady, grounding gaze, her thumb gently brushing across his knuckles. The sympathy in her expression wasn't pity—it was a quiet, shared understanding of the weight he was carrying.

Monica: “Deimos, listen to me.”

She said, her voice soft but firm enough to cut through his spiral of doubt.

Monica: “You don't have to fix everything for him. You think being a boyfriend means you have to be the one to hold the world together so it doesn’t crush him, but that's not how it works.”

She leaned in slightly, earnest.

Monica: “Tristan is usually everyone’s mentor and there to solve your problems, but right now, his whole reality is being dismantled. He doesn’t need you to solve the impossible. He needs you to be the constant thing that doesn’t change. When the world is shifting under his feet, he needs to know that you are still the same, that your love for him is genuine and sincere.”

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Deimos gazed intently at her.

Monica: “You’re already doing it, Deimos. You’re the one who pulled him through the fight. You’re the one he trusts. Just keep doing that. Be the hero he needs now.”

Deimos let out a long, ragged exhale, the kind that seemed to carry the last few hours of terror out of his lungs. He looked down at his own hands, then back at Monica, the frantic energy in his chest finally beginning to settle into something quieter, more purposeful.

He stood up, his movements deliberate. The desperation that had been driving him—the need to solve, to fight, to fix—was replaced by a singular, steady resolve.

He looked toward the stairs, toward Tristan’s room.

Deimos: “I’m going upstairs… I just... I need to be there when he wakes up.”

He offered Monica a small, genuine smile—the first one that had reached his eyes in days. Deimos: “Thank you, Monica. You really saved me tonight.”

He said sincerely. Monica smiled at him, proud of how much he had grown.

~

Leaning back with his bare feet resting on the coffee table, Fabien enjoyed a cold beer from the side table while smoking a cigarette as he and Celeste unwound in their living room. Celeste nestled closely against him, draping her arm over his frame. Fabien responded by kissing the top of her head, gently running his fingers through her hair.

Celeste: “How do you feel?”

Fabien: “Good, but… uh, that was something.”

He laughed nervously and inhaled a long drag. He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it curl into the air, and flicked ashes into the ashtray.

Celeste: “How is Tristan gonna be?”

She frowned.

Fabien: “He’s gonna be down for a bit, but I know him. He’ll be back. He’s not Jiro.”

He nodded.

Celeste: “You’re right.”

Inhaling the wonderful cedarwood scent of his cologne, she buried her head into the crook of his neck.

Celeste: “So, uh, Fab? Who’s Julien?”

She looked up at him with her violet eyes. Fabien paused.

Fabien: “My uncle. He went missing before I was born.”

He replied.

Celeste: “Your father’s brother or your mother’s brother?”

Fabien: “My mother’s brother.”

He said tersely. He took a gulp of beer.

Fabien: “Well, he wasn’t ‘missing’... He… ran away and never came back.”

He set the beer on the table and crushed his cigarette in his ashtray.

Fabien: “He was two years older than my mother. I don’t know when he ran away, but uh, it was before I was born and before my parents got married.”

He pursed his lips.

Celeste: “When did your parents get married?”

Fabien raked his fingers through his hair.

Fabien: “Sometime in 1962, and they had me in 1964.”

Celeste: “Any brothers or sisters?”

Fabien shook his head.

Fabien: “Father didn’t want the one son he had. Why would he want another?”

He laughed bitterly.

Celeste: “Did your mother talk about Julien much?”

Fabien shook his head.

Fabien: “Not really. He was just the rebellious kid that ran away.”

He stated and laughed a bit.

Fabien: “But if he was involved with Charlotte and Narcisse, I think he’s dead now.”

He laughed a humorless laugh.

~

Ichiro stood outside, listening to their conversation. Obviously, any attempts to turn his precious Blair into a richonoid are failing, so I’m going to try another angle, he thought. I think I will give that nuisance of a private detective a call and arrange a date, he grinned.