Page 83 of The Reckoning
The memory of her between us sends heat through my veins, but it’s quickly doused by the cold reality seeping in with the pre-dawn light. Last night, drunk on lust and adrenaline, it seemed so simple. So right. The three of us against the world, forging something new from the ashes of all we’d destroyed.
As consciousness fully claims me, so does clarity. And with it, suffocating guilt.
I carefully extract myself from the tangle of limbs, pausing when Lilian stirs. She murmurs something unintelligible before turning into Arson’s chest, seeking his warmth. The sight of them together—my brother’s arm instinctively tightening around her even in sleep—makes my stomach twist with an emotion I can’t name.
Is it jealousy? Regret? Or something deeper and more corrosive?
Standing in the half light, I study them. My brother’s face, so identical to mine yet marked by years of torment I escaped. The scars are visible even in the dim light—physical manifestations of what our family did to him.
What I allowed to happen.
Beside him, Lilian looks impossibly fragile, her blond hair spilling across the pillow, dark lashes fanned against pale cheeks. Both of them are victims of my silence, my cowardice, and what will soon be my betrayal.
I know what I have to do. What I’ve known since I woke up with the weight of my sins pressing against my chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.
I dress silently, each movement deliberate. The decision crystallizes with every passing second. There’s no other way. No chance for any of us to have a real future while we’re running, hiding, and pretending the past can be buried.
Some debts can only be paid with a sacrifice.
I scribble a note—a lie about getting supplies—and leave it on the desk. One last mercy. Let them sleep a little longer before their world implodes.Again.
The drive to my family’s estate takes forty minutes, each mile adding another layer to the armor I’m building around my heart. By the time I reach the wrought-iron gates, I’m numb. Hollow inside and out. The guard recognizes me immediately, buzzing me through with a deferential nod.
It’s barely seven a.m., but I know Father will be in his study. He’s always been an early riser, attacking the day like an enemy to be conquered. Patricia, too, will be awake, probably reviewing her social calendar over coffee on the terrace. The predictability of their routines used to suffocate me. Now it’s the only certainty I can cling to.
I park in front of the mansion, not bothering with the garage. I won’t be staying long.
The housekeeper opens the door before I can even knock, surprise flickering across her features.
“Mr. Aries! We weren’t expecting you today.” I know she sees the differences in my body and in my face, but she doesn’t comment.
“Is my father in his study?” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. Detached.
“Yes, sir. Shall I share your arrival with him?”
“No worries. I’ll go up myself.”
The house feels cavernous around me, echoing with ghosts of a childhood fractured by lies. I climb the grand staircase, each step heavier than the last. The portrait at the landing catches my eye—the family portrait taken the year after Arson was sent away.
My father, Patricia, Lilian, and me. Smiling as if nothing was missing. As if two whole people—my mother and Arson— hadn’t been erased from our lives.
I pause outside Father’s study, hand hovering over the ornate brass handle. Once I open this door, there’s no going back. After today, everything changes, everything ends.
It needs to end.Has to.The lies. The running. The pretending.
I push the door open without knocking. Father looks up from his desk, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, irritation flashing across his features at the interruption. It softens slightly when he sees me, but the wariness remains. We haven’t spoken since my graduation, since I walked away without committing to the position he’d arranged at Hayes Pharmaceuticals. To be fair, I didn’t have a choice once Arson took me captive. Not that I would have anyway.
“Aries.” His voice is cool, measured. “This is unexpected.”
“We need to talk.” I close the door behind me, the soft click somehow more final than a slam.
He removes his glasses, setting them carefully on the polished mahogany desk. “I assumed you’d call when you were ready to discuss your future with the company. Since you decided against going out of the country to handle the business I assigned you, I assumed you were falling back into old habits of dodging your responsibilities after months of actually being a son I can be proud of. So what do you want now, son? Money? To dig you out of something.” He shakes his head in disgust. “I thought you were finally turning into the man I trained you to be.”
“This isn’t about the company.” I remain standing, hands clenched at my sides. Fists tight at the thought of Arson turning out to be the son he really wanted. Even if it was only the perfect act. “It’s about Arson.”
The name lands like a grenade in the pristine office. Father’s expression doesn’t change, but I see it in his eyes—a flicker of shock, quickly masked by practiced indifference.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
