Marcus shrugged, a cold smile touching his lips.

“I did what was necessary to survive,” he said.

“If you let Lydia freeze the transfer tomorrow, you sign our financial death warrant.”

He looked at Aunt Caroline, his eyes calculating.

“Think about it, Caroline,” he said softly.

“Do you want to spend your remaining years in a rented apartment in town, living on charity?”

Aunt Caroline flinched as if he had struck her.

“No,” she whispered.

“Then tell our dear niece to hand over the gatehouse keys,” Marcus said.

He turned his gaze toward me, his hand outstretched.

“Give me the key, Clara.”

My hand was already in my pocket, my fingers curled around the cold brass.

The key belonged to my grandmother, passed down to me with a warning.

*Do not let him have it,* she had told me on her deathbed.

*There are things in the gatehouse he must never find.*

Now, I understood why Marcus wanted it so badly.

“I don’t have it,” I lied.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed, his patience clearly exhausted.

“Don’t play games with me,” he said.