Sebastian, you Bastard
The scent of expensive scotch, usually a comforting aroma of control for Charles Hawthorne, now mingled with the acrid edge of desperation in his private study. It was a subtle shift, imperceptible to anyone but him, but it was there. Two days since the first part ofThe Chronicle’sdamnable exposé.
Miles entered the study with measured steps, his expression carefully neutral as he approached the mahogany desk.
“The digital forensics team has completed their analysis, sir,” Miles reported. “Ms. Sinclair and your son were thorough. No traceable communications, no recoverable documents. Even the financial records we believe she accessed—there’s no digital trail leading back to her.”
Charles set down his glass with deliberate care. “So we have nothing concrete.”
“Only implications, sir. The byline was anonymous, and Sebastian’s involvement is… probable, but there’s no hard proof.”
“Hearsay,” Charles said flatly. “Useful for whispers, useless for destruction.”
He’d underestimated her—and Sebastian. The threat to expose an affair, to paint Harper Sinclair as a compromised journalist sleeping with her source, had been a scalpel. Effective for precision work, for targeted reputational ruin. But with the entirety of his empire under siege from her pen, a scalpelwas no longer sufficient.
He needed a bomb.
Charles sat with the practiced stillness of a man who had long ago mastered the art of patience, yet inside, cold fury warred with strategic calculation. His crisp shirt remained immaculate despite the late hour, his cufflinks catching the lamplight as he contemplated the sealed folder before him. The label read simply:SEBASTIAN. His contingency. His leverage. His son.
Beside it lay an old photograph—James Philip and Madeline Hawthorne, née Rousseau, captured in a moment of unguarded intimacy. Their smiles spoke of something too close, too real for the carefully choreographed world they’d inhabited. A world he had meticulously controlled.
“The journalist is pressing on,” Hawthorne said at last, his eyes never leaving the photograph. “Her kind believes they’re untouchable once their righteous crusade begins.” He tapped the folder. “It’s time to change the narrative entirely. Create a storm so vast her little exposé becomes a footnote—buried by a larger, more profound scandal.”
“The information regarding Sebastian’s parentage?” Miles confirmed.
“Precisely.” Hawthorne’s voice carried grim satisfaction. “She thinks she’s exposing financial irregularities. Let’s show the world a true secret, one that shakes the Crown itself. Her connection to Sebastian will then be seen in an entirely new, more scandalous light. Not just an ambitious reporter, but one entangled with the hidden, illegitimate son of a king.”
He paused, considering the chess board in his mind. “They’re all getting too close. The brothers. The reformers. The journalist. Sebastian was a useful shield for a time, a way to monitor the currents. Now, he’s the weapon.”
With deliberate care, he opened the folder. The contents spread before him: birth certificates, medical records, a draft press release. Headline mock-ups. One proclaimed:THE SECRET SON: Palace Insider Reveals Hidden Heir. Another screamed:ROYAL AFFAIR EXPOSED: Illegitimate Son of Late King Linked to New Administration.
Charles ran his finger along the edge of a page as if testingthe sharpness of a blade.
“Sentiment is a weakness I don’t have the luxury of indulging,” he said, more to himself than to Miles. “Let them scramble. Let the world question bloodlines, legitimacy, loyalty. The palace will panic. The crown will falter. And in the ensuing chaos, who will care about some misallocated funds when the very lineage of the monarchy is in question?”
He closed the folder with finality and handed it to Miles. “ContactThe Gilded Mirror. Anonymously, of course. Frame it as a leak from a former palace aide. Something tasteful, scandalous, and impossible to ignore. Ensure it drops before Sinclair can publish her next installment.”
“And Sebastian?” Miles asked quietly.
Hawthorne paused. For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes—a ghost of regret, perhaps, or memory. Then his expression reset itself, cold and impenetrable.
“Sebastian will learn what his freedom, and his choice of alliances, truly costs.”
* * *
In the early morning quiet of the palace, fog curled against the windows like searching fingers. The press office hummed with its usual pre-dawn activity—aides shuffling papers, answering emails, preparing for another day of carefully managed information flow.
Then someone gasped.
“Pull upThe Gilded Mirror,” the aide said, urgent and pale. “Now.”
A flurry of clicks followed. A page loaded. And there it was:
BREAKING: Illegitimate Son of Late King James Philip Identified as Palace Insider. Sebastian Hawthorne linked to royal bloodline in decades-old affair scandal. Sources say the palace has known for years.
The room fell into absolute silence. No one breathed. Then, as if a spell had been broken, phones began to ring—fast, relentless, unstoppable.
The storm had begun.