I had delved into Claude's past.
The day everything had changed. No, not changed... shattered. It was an end disguised as a beginning.
Pietro had summoned him to his office, that vast room where every piece of furniture seemed to scream wealth and power. The stained-glass windows cast a deceptively warm light, while the walls, adorned with stern ancestral portraits, seemed to judge him in silence. Claude stood tall, despite the lingering pain that still wracked his battered body. He had learned to conceal suffering, as a good servant should.
Pietro stood near the massive desk, a glass of wine in hand, an enigmatic smile on his face. That smile… Claude had always found it unsettling. It never boded well.
"Come closer," Pietro had said, his tone falsely benevolent.
Claude had obeyed, his heart pounding, unsure why he had been summoned.
"Claude, you know, I've been watching you. I see something in you that others don't have. A resilience… a spark."
Those words had surprised Claude. For a moment, he had thought of a promotion or a reward. Perhaps his years of hard work would finally be recognized.
But Pietro had continued, his smile widening, as if savoring a secret kept for too long.
"Do you know why you're special? Why I've always given you… a certain attention?"
Claude had shaken his head, bewildered.
Pietro had set the wine glass on the desk and stepped closer. His eyes, so similar to Claude's, gleamed with an odd light.
"Because you are my son, Claude."
Those words had struck like thunder. Claude had staggered, his mind refusing to accept what he had just heard.
"Your… son?" he had murmured, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.
"Yes, my boy, my son. Your existence is a miracle."
Pietro had placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to be paternal but which, to Claude, felt unbearably cold.
"Your mother was a remarkable woman," Pietro had continued. "A servant, yes, but with a beauty and grace that couldn't be ignored. Unfortunately, she had no choice."
Claude had felt a sudden nausea. Those words were like daggers.
"No…"
Pietro had gone on, relentless, as if savoring every syllable.
"You are my treasure, Claude. My other children… failures, sterile or incapable of carrying my legacy. But you, you are different. You survived."
Tears had begun to blur Claude's vision. His mother. The woman who had sacrificed so much for him, his father, who had endured the unimaginable to give them a chance at survival, and his younger brother. Was this the secret she had carried in silence?
Pietro had tightened his grip, ignoring the tremors running through Claude's body.
"As my son, you have a role to play. You must stay here, in Vallombre. Assist my research. Your future is here, with me. And in return, I will ensure your family is protected. It's a fair deal, isn't it?"
Claude hadn't answered. His fists were clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He had wanted to scream, to strike, to flee. But he was trapped. By Pietro's words. By the promise of safety for his family. By this revelation that had shattered everything he thought he knew about himself.
And in that room, under the mocking gazes of the portraits, Claude had realized he was lost.