A/N: The gif above is how I imagine Calista, a.k.a Gram. Angela Bassett slays always. 💪🏾

I take a seat on the unmade bed, staring at the cluttered hotel room. Benson grabs a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He offers one to me before leaning against the wall, his shoulders sagged as he exhales.

"What happened ten years ago?" I get straight to the point. It's late, and I don't want to be here longer than I have to. "Alyx told me—"

"You talked to Alyx?" His eyes go wide at the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name.

"I had to. Your family wouldn't entertain the conversation," I spit back.

"That's the Beauforts for you," he mutters, exchanging his water for a beer. "They like to keep up appearances. Me? I'm a blemish on the family name. If they pretend I don't exist, they can pretend their lives are perfect."

I shake my head, uninterested in his woe-is-me speech. "I may not know the full story, but I at least know this: you're not a victim. You did something to my mother, and when people found out, they reacted. That's on you, not them."

Smirking, he says, "You remind me so much of—"

"My mom," I cut him off, rolling my eyes. "I know. People tell me all the time."

"Actually, I was going to say Gemma," he corrects me. "She was fearless. She always spoke her mind."

"She still does," I tell him, "but I'm not brave like her."

"Don't sell yourself short, Evangeline." He cracks open his beer and takes a gulp. "You're braver than you think."

I let out a heavy sigh. I just want him to spill his secrets, not feed me compliments. It's difficult to hate someone who makes you feel special.

"But anyway," he goes on, "your mom and I, we had a... complicated relationship. We started sneaking around the summer before I left for college. I was eighteen, and she was sixteen. I'd been in love with her since we were kids, and more than anything, I wanted her to be mine, but she didn't want anyone to find out about us."

"Why? Because she was embarrassed?" I toss back, hoping my jab stings a little.

Ignoring me, he continues, "Because she knew Gemma wouldn't react well. Those two had a strange friendship. They were best friends, but they were complete opposites. Raelyn didn't want to upset her."

"I think Aunt Gemma would have come around."

"That wasn't the only issue. Raelyn had a boyfriend. He was some punk kid who went to school with her."

I bite my lip, stifling a laugh. "So you guys were part of some Twilight-esque love triangle?" Shaking my head, I add, "I'm guessing she chose Edward over you, Jacob?"

He frowns. "That she did."

"I still don't see the issue. What happened that made your entire family turn against you?" I question him.

"Be patient. I'm getting there," he says. "Before I left for college, Raelyn and I ended whatever relationship we had. We didn't keep in touch, and while I was away, I almost forgot about my feelings for her. However, when I returned home for Christmas break, I learned that she was four months pregnant."

"With me," I whisper. "She had me at the end of her junior year."

"Bingo! I confronted her, of course, but she insisted that the baby wasn't mine. Foolishly, I believed her."

"If she lied, then how did you become Public Enemy Number One?"

"You can blame your Uncle Bowie for that," Benson says his name with so much contempt that it causes the hair on my arms to rise.

"Wh-what did Uncle Bowie do?" I ask, afraid of the answer.

"I guess it isn't his fault," Benson relents. "Bowie is... troubled. He spun a web of lies so elaborate that I think he actually believed the things he was saying."

I wrap my arms around myself. This person he's describing doesn't sound like my uncle at all. Bowie has always been good to me. When I was younger, he didn't just treat me like his niece; he treated me like a daughter. I don't think there's a bad bone in his body.

"He got Gemma in on it, too. Together, they cost me my girlfriend, my relationship with my parents, and the chance to be a father to my daughters," Benson finishes. There's a flicker of sadness in his brown eyes that I can't ignore.

Is it possible that there's some truth to this crazy tale?

"I don't know if I believe you," I reply. "What could they have possibly said that was so awful?"

After a moment of agonizing silence, he whispers, "They... they said I took advantage of your mother. They said I assaulted her, and that you were the result of—"

"Rape," I murmur.

Around me, the room spins. If my aunt and uncle lied about that, regardless of their motivation or underlying "troubles," then I don't think I could ever speak to them again. Sexual assault isn't something I take lightly. The fact that anyone could fabricate such a story makes my skin crawl.

But if they were telling the truth, then my father is a rapist, and that makes me a....

Don't even think about it, Vange.

"Why would Bowie make that up? And how would he know that I was yours and not her boyfriend's?" I demand, rising to my feet as the tears start to fall. "If it was all a lie, why didn't you fight harder? Why didn't you fight for me?"

I collapse against him as a broken sob escapes my lips. He places his now empty beer bottle on top of the fridge and wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging me to his chest. His grip is loose at first, but he gradually tightens it.

"It's okay, Evangeline," he murmurs. "You're okay. I'm here now."

<>*<>*<>*<>*<>

"Thanks for dropping me off," I mumble, staring out the window at the house that awaits me. It's well past midnight, and if I checked my phone, I'm sure I'd see half a dozen calls and texts from my grandparents. For that very reason, I turned off the device as soon as I left the diner with Benson.

"It's no problem. Are you going to be alright?"

"No, but I'll live."

"Evangeline—"

"Listen, I'm not saying I believe you," I interject, turning to face him, "but there must be some version of the truth in your twisted tale. No one else has told me anything, so for that, you get brownie points."

He chuckles. "Thank you, I think?"

"There's one thing I still don't understand." I glance out the window once again. "Why did Uncle Bowie concoct such an intricate story? Even 'troubled' people have their motives."

"If I had to guess, it was because he was in love with Raelyn, too," Benson answers. "Maybe even more than I was."

I place my palm on my throbbing temple. This is too much drama for me.

"When she... when she killed herself, I think Bowie wanted someone to blame," he goes on. "He was a wreck. He literally stormed out during her funeral like a madman after cussing Gemma out."

"Today isn't about you, Gemma," a lean, light-haired man cuts in. For a brief moment, his blue eyes meet mine, but he quickly looks away. "Today is about Raelyn, and the fact that we all failed her.

"Oh, my god," I murmur. "That was him in my dream."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." I grab my purse off the floor, readying myself to go inside. "Thanks again. I'll see you around... Benson."

"I hope so." He flashes a charming smile as I get out of the car. I watch him drive away, my heart heavy as I go over the details of his story in my head.

He can't be telling the truth. My uncle isn't the type of guy that would ruin someone's life over a girl. And my aunt is an investigative reporter, for god's sake. She wouldn't go along with his story unless there was concrete evidence that my mother was assaulted.

Maybe Benson is lying about all of it. Maybe something completely different happened, and he made up this morbid narrative on a whim just to satisfy my curiosity.

I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop the fresh wave of tears that threatens to fall. I don't want to cry anymore. All I want is to go to sleep.

I unlock the side door and exhale an audible sigh of relief when I'm greeted by an empty kitchen. Quietly, I take off my shoes and tiptoe upstairs.

"Evangeline Rose Porter! Where on earth have you been?"

Oh, fuck.

Gram is standing in her bedroom doorway, her hands on her hips as she shoots daggers at me with her eyes. Her mouth is set in a straight line—no hint of a smile to be found.

Beads of nervous sweat creep down my forehead. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Do I tell her the truth, that I've been with her estranged son for the past three hours, or do I make up a lie?

"Well, are you going to answer me?" she demands. "I called, I texted, I even sent your grandpa out to look for you!"

"Sorry, my phone died. I was with Kira. We went to the movies," I bluff.

"Now I know that's not true, because I called Kira. She said she hadn't seen you in hours. Then she called Rem, who said the exact same thing."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Um, I—"

"And before you let another lie leave your mouth, you should know that Kira and Rem were so concerned that they offered to join your grandpa's search party. Gemma and Bowie are out there, too."

"Why not just call the cops, too?" I hiss, running my fingers through my hair.

"Trust me, that was my next step." Her face softens ever so slightly, her angry scowl transforming into a worried frown. "Vange, baby, what the hell is going on? This isn't like you."

Before I can respond, I hear a commotion downstairs. Five familiar voices echo through the house.

"It sounds like they're back," Gram says softly. Louder, she yells, "Guys, she's here! She just got home."

My face is hot with embarrassment. I don't want to face them, at least not yet, and especially not all at once. I don't have the emotional energy to deal with an intervention right now.

Grandpa runs up the stairs first—yes, runs—and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me in a tight hug. Rem follows, his breathing fast and eyes bloodshot. He pulls me into his embrace and then kisses me hard, as if forgetting that my entire family is in the room.

"I was so worried," he whispers, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead to mine.

"I'm sorry," is all I manage to say in reply. The panic in his chocolate brown eyes breaks my heart in half. I never should have turned my phone off.

I never should have met my father in secret.

"Evangeline, I'm going to ask you one more time," Gram says through clenched teeth. "Where were you tonight?"

Might as well be honest, Vange.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for a long night. "I was at a hotel," I confess, "with Benson."

Thoughts? Feelings? Predictions? 😉 This chapter was hard to write because I had to explore the psyche of my villain. Not an easy task.

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate all of you! Don't forget to tap that little star⭐️⭐️