Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
“What time?” I ask, knowing I’m beaten, at least in this round.
“Four o’clock,” she says, triumph evident in her tone. “Don’t be late. And Lilian? I expect a full explanation when you arrive.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. I set the phone down carefully, as if it might explode if handled too roughly.
“Well?” Aries prompts when I remain silent.
“She wants me to come home today,” I say, still staring at the phone. “The family doctor is coming to check me over. Apparently, it’s a medical emergency.”
“You’re not going,” Arson states flatly, no room for discussion in his tone.
“I have to,” I counter, finally looking up at him. “If I don’t show up, she’ll call in the cavalry. Private investigators, police, whatever it takes. She’ll find me, and by extension, both of you.”
“Let her try,” he scoffs, but there’s uncertainty beneath the bravado. He knows as well as I do that Patricia Hayes doesn’t make empty threats or halfhearted attempts. When she wants something found, it gets found.
“It’s not just that,” I continue, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the morning warmth. “The doctor she mentioned—Dr. Winters—he’s been overseeing my ‘condition’ for years. Prescribing medications I’m not sure I need, running tests with results I never see.”
“The same doctor who diagnosed your heart condition in the first place?” Aries asks, his hand finally settling on my shoulder, a warm weight that steadies me.
I nod, swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat. “The same one who’s been working with the Hayes Enterprises.”
The implications hang heavy in the air between us. If my suspicions are correct, if the files I found in the attic are to be believed, then my entire medical history could be fabricated. My heart condition exaggerated or even entirely invented as some kind of control mechanism.
Or worse—as some kind of experiment.
“What time did she say?” Aries asks, his voice taking on that measured quality that means he’s already forming a plan.
“Four o’clock,” I reply.
He nods, exchanging a look with Arson that contains more communication than they’ve managed in weeks of captivity and confrontation.
“That gives us time to prepare,” he says. “To figure out what they might be planning and how to counter it.”
“You’re not seriously considering letting her go?” Arson demands, leaning forward across the table.
“I’m considering all options,” Aries responds, surprisingly calm in the face of his twin’s intensity. “Including using this as an opportunity to gather information. To find out what they know and what they’re planning.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Arson insists, looking at me now, genuine concern replacing his usual calculated assessment. “You’ve seen what these people are capable of. What they’ve done to both of us.”
The fear rises in my chest, sudden and overwhelming, not just for myself, but for what might happen if I’m forced back into the Hayes fold. If they decide I know too much, have seen too much. If they decide to “treat” my condition more aggressively.
“I’m scared,” I admit, the words barely audible even to my own ears.
It’s a confession I rarely make, having been trained to hide vulnerability and project the strength expected of a Hayes woman. But here, with these two men who’ve seen me at my most raw, my most exposed, there seems little point in pretense.
To my surprise, it’s Arson who moves first, kneeling beside my chair so his eyes are level with mine. “They won’t touch you,” he says, voice soft but vibrating with conviction. “I won’t let them.”
“Neither will I,” Aries adds, his hand still on my shoulder, grip tightening slightly. “Whatever happens, whatever they’re planning—you won’t face it alone.”
It’s a moment of perfect accord between them, the first I’ve witnessed that isn’t built on mutual hatred or reluctant necessity. For this brief instant, they are united in purpose, in protection.
In caring for me.
The realization brings unexpected tears to my eyes, which I blink back hurriedly. “Thank you,” I whisper, looking between them. “Both of you.”
Arson reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face with uncharacteristic gentleness. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
Aries nods, the movement barely perceptible. “A united front,” he agrees, though the words seem to cost him something to say.
The moment stretches, fragile and precious in its unlikelihood. Three broken people, bound by secrets and desires and dangers, finding common ground in the face of a shared enemy.
It won’t last—can’t last, given the history between them, the betrayals are both fresh and ancient. But for now, in this warehouse kitchen, it feels like enough.
Like hope.
“Okay,” I say, straightening in my chair, drawing strength from their twin gazes. “Let’s make a plan.”
I reach for a napkin and a pen left on the table, sketching out a rough layout of the Hayes mansion from memory. “The house will be the easiest part—I know every inch of it, including all the secret passages Richard had built in during the renovation.”