Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Then somehow this fragile-looking girl with a defective heart has me second-guessing everything. Not only because she caught me off guard, but because I swear she can see right through me. I shrug off Aries’s designer jacket—identical to the one currently hanging in his closet—and throw it onto a chair. My skin itches beneath the expensive clothes.
They feel wrong, like they’re made of fiberglass instead of fabric. I hate wearing his identity and pretending to be him. What I hate or don’t hate doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is that the disguise is working. The Mill House staff believed I was him. His asshole friends believe that I’m him. Everyone at that fucking party believed I was him.
I need to know if she’s going to figure it out. Then I’ll have to decide what I’ll do with her. I pace the length of my planning wall, eyes scanning the hundreds of photos, notes, and surveillance logs I’ve collected on Aries. My fingers trace the timeline I’ve created of his life—the life that should have been mine, too.
The suit feels like a costume now, too tight across my shoulders. I rip off the tie and unbutton the top buttons. That’s better. I can finally breathe. Now back to Lilian.
Was it something I said? Some reference I missed?
I’ve studied this prick for years. I know what brand of toothpaste he uses, what side of the bed he sleeps on, and how many thrusts it takes him to come with those vapid socialites he fucks. I know him better than he knows himself.
But this fucking girl…she comes out of nowhere with the power to obliterate it all. Should I have touched her more hesitantly? In a more brotherly way?
Suddenly, I’m second-guessing everything.
What exactly is their relationship?
I grab the dossier I’ve compiled on her. It’s thinner than the others. Lilian Hayes. Stepsister. Heart condition since birth. Used by the family for sympathy at charity events. Supposed to be the weak link, the afterthought.
My research indicated she and Aries barely interacted. That wasn’t true, not at all. A faulty mistake and huge error on my part. Granted, in the few months of surveillance I did, I never saw them exchange more than ten words at a time.
I pull up the footage on my laptop—hacked security feeds from the Hayes mansion showing Aries and Lilian passing like ghosts in the hallways. Nothing in their body language suggested any kind of closeness. That’s why I didn’t waste much time studying their dynamic. Tactical error.
Fuck. I pop my neck, trying to release the tension I always carry there. It’s a remnant from years of looking over my shoulder in that hellhole they sent me to. The asylum. Institute. Prison. Whatever euphemism makes the family sleep better at night.
I click through more surveillance photos. Lilian at doctor appointments. Lilian at social functions. She was their showpiece. Fragile enough to earn pity, beautiful enough to inspire envy, and hollow enough not to complain. In the few photos I had of them together, Aries stood like a shadow beside her—present but unconnected. The kind of distance that doesn’t come from space, but from intention.
I pause and glare at the image in front of me. Lilian is watching Aries from a doorway as he works at his desk. It appears he’s unaware of her presence. Interesting. I scan her features and notice subtle hunger reflecting in her eyes.
There it fucking is.
I slam the laptop shut. If she can ruin years of planning with one dance, then I need to know as much as I can about her before I eliminate her from the equation. I refuse to let all my hard work go to shit, even if I missed a couple of things.
The security door to the holding area beeps as I swipe the key card. Solid construction, reinforced steel. Soundproof. One of the perks of taking over an abandoned pharmaceutical storage facility is that it was built to keep the good shit secure.
Now it’s keeping my dear brother secure instead.
“Dinnertime, golden boy,” I announce, my voice echoing throughout the concrete room.
Aries sits against the wall of his cell, knees drawn up, watching me with eyes identical to my own. He’s thinner than when I grabbed him months ago. Good. Physical weakness leads to mental weakness.
“You look like shit,” I tell him, sliding the tray through the floor-level opening.
He doesn’t move toward the food. “You’re wearing my clothes.” He doesn’t mention my addition of the ski mask.
Smart observation. Not smart enough.
“Not anymore.” I unbutton the dress shirt, stripping it off and tossing it through the hole onto the floor of his cell. Partially in his cold ravioli dinner. “Had a little chat with your stepsister tonight.”
That gets his attention. He visibly tenses, eyes sharpening despite his exhaustion.
“Okay?” he says, voice steady despite the fear I can practically smell on him. “She has nothing to do with any of this.”