Page 16 of When Hearts Surrender

There’d be life.

My chest clenches, the abyss threatening to swallow me whole. It’s a dream that can only come true in my mind.

In another life.

But in this one, I’ll fix everything I broke—the stock price, the press. I won’t fail this time.

I’m not broken.

Chapter 5

Two weeks of trappingmyself in my art studio on the fourth floor of the estate, listening to the classic arias playing from our vintage phonograph and ignoring my siblings’ calls, did nothing to dull the sense of doom lurking inside me. The only times I’ve ventured outside were for urgent meetings at Fleur.

It’s one thing to know my role, but another thing to actually go through with it.

Rain patters against the tall lattice windows. A few showers in May are nothing unusual, but this spring seems exceptionally dreary—a never-ending parade of charcoal, graphite, and blacks.

There’s a permanent chill in the air, the cold burrowing deep into my bones.

I don’t have the heater on. There’s no need for it when it’s only me living in the estate now, with my siblings having settled in their own apartments either at The Orchid or elsewhere in the city.

I suppose I could move, but an inexplicable yearning chains me here, this enormous building filled with ghosts and sorrows, but that also holds so much beautiful, haunting history. This estate has been in our family for centuries, passing down from the eldest son to the next, just like the way my ancestors have done it with the dukedom and entail in England.

My phone chimes and I set down my paintbrush and swipe at the screen.

Charles

We’re at the gentlemen’s club in The Orchid. Rex is drunk already. Come, Maxwell. Save me from him.

Rex

Audio message: “F-Fuck y-you, tattle-taler, pants on fire.”

Ethan

If you can’t handle your alcohol, why are you drinking? You sound like you’re five.

I smirk, staring at the exchange from my family and friends in our chat group.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a private message.

Ryland

Something’s going on with you. I can feel it. Don’t bullshit me. You told me to rely on you and the family when I was going through my shit. Why can’t you do the same?

A weight presses down on my chest. Damn twin-sense. Even if I haven’t seen him in the recent weeks, Ryland knows. I helped him out when he was in the pits before he got his act together and went after Millie, the love of his life, and now, he’s expecting the same from me. As he should.

My fingers pause over the screen as I mull over what to type, and another message pops up.

Dad

The meeting for the negotiations is set for next month. I’ve met with the family and they are proceeding with the match.

A muscle twitches on my forehead as I set down the phone back on the side table.

I can’t breathe.

Grabbing my paintbrush again, I stare at my art on the canvas, another attempt at purging a restlessness inside me. It’s a silhouette of a woman in our rose garden—the same painting I’ve attempted many times over the years. Her face is blank as always, a vague outline I can’t bring myself to fill in because somehow, I know I can’t do her justice.

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