Page 68 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
His mother had been there, sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch. She hadn't spoken a word, just watched the slow, brutal unravelling of father and son.
Simon's tone shifted, suddenly smooth, almost conciliatory. "Helga is a good match, Crispin. Powerful family, clean reputation. You're too emotional to see it now, but in time-"
"Oh, I see it just fine," Crispin cut in. "You want me to marry Helga and keep Aria tucked away like some after-hours indulgence? Like you do with Lauren?"
There was an audible intake of breath from his mother. Crispin turned and met her wide eyes. For a second, regret flickered in his chest, but only for her pain, not for what he'd said.
He looked back at his father and saw the flicker of something he had never seen before. The pride of years past had vanished, replaced by a glare full of venom and rage.
"I'm sorry, Mum," Crispin said quietly. "Sorry that you have to put up with this from the man who should cherish you. You've always have known what was going on right under your nose, yet you just prefer to bury your head in the sand. I know you love me and think you know what is best for me, but I can barely look at you after the way you have treated Aria. "
He reached for his coat. "You may be able to live like that, but I can't."
His mother had tried to talk to him the next morning. She always had a softness he didn't inherit. But this had become a cold war between him and his father. And now there were whispers of shares being bought up behind his back. He wasn't stupid; he'd heard the rustle of rebellion.
Later that night, a knock sounded at his apartment door. Reluctantly, he opened it.
"Say what you want to say, Dorian," he muttered, making no attempt to hide his disgust. "Then, fuck off."
Dorian stood awkwardly on the threshold. "Can I come in first?"
Crispin hesitated before stepping aside.
They sat with the distance of strangers who once called each other brothers. Wordlessly, Crispin poured him a peg.
Dorian fidgeted for a long moment. Then finally, the words tumbled out. "I've been a complete arse," Dorian said, a tumbler of whisky in his hand. "And if Aria makes you happy, then I want to stand by you. I don't want to lose you, mate."
Crispin hadn't said anything, just stared at the bottle between them.
"I said things...cruel things," Dorian continued. "To her. About her. I am ashamed. She had done nothing to deserve that. I talked to Ophelia, and she-" he stopped for a second before continuing. "She looked at me like I was something the cat dragged in. I haven't felt that small since I was nine."
Crispin took a long drink, the whisky searing down his throat.
"She's like a grandmother to me," Dorian whispered. "I can't stomach knowing I let her down."
Crispin's jaw tightened. "You let me down."
Dorian nodded. "I know."
Crispin looked up sharply. "Aria came here as a refugee, Dorian. She dropped out of school to raise her sister. You and I...we wouldn't have survived what she did. And we sit in our towers judging her."
Dorian bowed his head. "I told your mum about the two of you when it all first started."
Of course he had.
"Didn't mean to mess things up," Dorian added. "Road to perdition's paved with good intentions and all. I am sorry; truly, I am."
They stared at the amber swirl like it might offer absolution. For a long time, neither said a word.
Then Dorian exhaled, swirling the amber in his glass. "I've been hearing things..."
Crispin didn't look up. "Don't we all?"
"No, I mean, about your father. Quiet buyouts. Minor shareholders getting very generous offers for their votes."
Crispin's eyes flicked to him, and for the first time that evening, a cold smile curved his mouth.
"Let him," Crispin said, his voice dangerously soft. "He can do his best. I've worked in this company for fifteen years. I know every corridor, every off-the-books clause, every blind spot."
