Julian stood by the doorway like a storm ready to strike. His eyes swept the room—letters scattered across the desk, the cracked-open riddle from Marcus, the tension dripping off the walls. His jaw tightened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was cold.
“You think this is a game?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re digging through things you don’t understand,” he said, stepping inside. “Reading letters, unlocking rooms, acting like you belong here.”
“I do belong here,” I snapped. “Your grandfather made sure of that.”
Julian let out a bitter laugh. “No. You’re a fraud.”
The word stung like a slap.
“You think being written into a will makes you a Lachlan? That this house is yours just because George signed your name on a piece of paper?”
I stood up straight. “You don’t get to tell me
