3. Lilian
Lilian
Lilian’s 18th Birthday
E ighteen. I made it to my eighteenth birthday. The girl with the defective heart who never should’ve lived past the age of one. I’m supposed to be happy and excited for this new chapter in my life, but that’s hard to do when it feels like something is missing. The party is perfect on the outside—just like everything else in my life. A shiny veneer so no one sees the truth underneath.
String lights drip from the trees like stars caught in spiderwebs. A jazz trio plays from the far end of the garden, their notes smooth and elegant, echoing off marble statues and manicured hedges. My mother and stepfather made the event as extravagant as possible—it might as well be one of my mother’s charity events. The tables are dressed in ivory linen and topped with expensive centerpieces. The mood is light, the sun finally having set.
All around me is conversation and laughter that never quite reaches anyone’s eyes.
Happy Birthday, Lilian.
I’m wearing a white lace dress that skims the tops of my thighs and clings to my curves like a second skin. My mother picked it out—a gift, she claimed.
Something to make me look innocent and untouched. That would be fine, if it didn’t make the older men at the party glance twice. My golden locks are twisted into soft curls and pinned with tiny pearl clips.
I look like a porcelain doll—delicate, breakable, something to look at but never touch.
People smile at me, staring like I’m a painting on display.
The innocent, albeit broken miracle. I can feel my mother’s watchful eye following me as I mingle with partygoers.
Everyone from our social circles are here—friends, family members, classmates I barely speak to, and sons of powerful men who were clearly coached to flirt with me.
Do I seem so desperate? Shit.
None of them matter to me because they aren’t him. Aries. My off-limits stepbrother. Since the day I showed up at the Mill House and confessed my feelings to him, our relationship, if you can even call it that, has become even more turbulent. He never comes home, and when he does, it’s because his attendance is demanded. The distance and coldness grow between us like a terrible poison.
I’m shocked he even showed up. His attendance is likely only because his father threatened him. I mean why else would he come? He’s been here two hours and hasn’t looked me in the eye once, or at least not directly.
I know he’s watching me—every glance, every stolen look is flames licking against my skin. He keeps measuring the distance between us, as he’s done since that night two years ago, always so in control.
Since then, I’ve lain awake so many nights, wondering what it might look like if he finally snapped and gave in to what we both wanted.
He can keep denying me, but I know it. I can feel it.
He’s a liar, and sometimes I tell myself I hate him to make the heartache hurt a little less. It’s a lie. I know hating him would make all of this easier, but even two years later, after everything he said, I’m still in love with him. Still tired of pretending I don’t see what lives behind his scowl, the pulse in his jaw, or the way his stare lingers a second too long.
He wants me, and he hates that he wants me.
That doesn’t make the heat in his gaze any less visceral.
My age is no longer an excuse. I’m finally eighteen, and still… I know it won’t be enough to change his mind.
My best friend Emery told me it was time to let my crush go. That I need to move on. I convinced myself that if I kissed another boy and didn’t think about him, then I would move on. As the minutes tick by, Aries’s gaze never wavers. It grates to the point of madness. I want to hurt him like he’s hurting me. Like he crushed me.
Adam, the son of one of my mother’s friends, approaches me. He’s cute in a frat boy kind of way. Maybe a kiss or two with him, why not?
“Want to get away for a little bit?” he whispers, leaning into my side.
I blink, and it takes me a moment to realize what exactly he means by get away .
This is my chance. Peering over my shoulder, I let my gaze drift over the party—tablecloths fluttering in the breeze, champagne glasses catching the twinkling light, conversations floating like perfume. Everyone is lost in conversation or preoccupied in some way. No one would notice if I disappeared for a few minutes.
No one except… him.
He is standing at the edge of the terrace, his drink still untouched in his hand, and his body language stiff and unmoving. He’s likely only counting the minutes until he can leave. Even from across the lawn, I feel the heat of his stare, burning into my flesh. He won’t stop me. Not when it would ruin his careful, bored facade. He can’t. And that moment of defiance, that chance to make him see me, see what I can do… I can’t let it slip through my fingers.
This time, I’m in control.
If he’s not going to come for me—if he’s not going to touch me—then why the hell shouldn’t I let someone else try?
I turn back to Adam with a smile. “Let’s go.”
Taking my hand into his, he guides me to the pool house like he has been there a hundred times before. The pool house is quiet, at least. The golden light from the outside sconces filters through the blinds, slicing across the floor in long, uneven strips, catching dust in the air and casting halos where there should’ve been shadows. It should feel romantic. Dreamy.
A perfect escape from the noise outside. But my skin crawls. Something about the way Adam shuts the door makes the air feel heavier. His smile shifts, slow and sure, the kind of smile reeking of confidence handed down by bloodlines and entitlement.
“This place is insane,” he says, stepping closer, his gaze dragging over every inch of me. “Private. The perfect escape.”
I give a strained smile. “It’s just a pool house.”
My stomach churns with the gleam I catch sight of in his eyes. What am I doing? Maybe I didn’t think this through enough. I want to hurt Aries, but not at the expense of hurting myself.
Adam takes my silence for acceptance and invades my space. His finger brushes a curl from my cheek, then slides down my arm, his hand circling my waist—bold, uninvited. But not unpleasant. Okay. I can do this...
I wanted to see if kissing someone else, if letting someone else touch me, would change my mind about Aries, but his touch feels wrong. I’m about to tell him we should go back to the party when he kisses me.
Wet. Rushed. All teeth and tongue.
His greedy hands grip my hips like he owns them, owns me, pulling me flush against his body, leaving me no escape.
This is wrong.
He tastes like champagne, and the heavy scent of his cologne threatens to choke me. And he’s not Aries.
The man haunting my thoughts, whose touch I ache for in the quiet, shameful moments behind locked doors. I realize then that no matter what I do, he’ll always be in the back of my mind. My body constantly yearns for something I can’t have.
When Adam’s hand slides up the back of my thigh and under my dress, I recoil instinctively. Pushing him away, I gasp. “Slow down.”
Why is he looking at me like I’ve grown a second head?
“Why? You followed me here, didn’t you? In that little lace dress—come on, Lilian. You want this. You want me.”
“No, I?—”
“Stop with the act. We all know why you’re wearing this. You want attention.” His hand skims higher. “And now you’re getting it.”
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back and shove at his chest again. He catches my arm and tightens his hold. “Relax,” he whispers, while his other hand fists the hem of my dress. “Let me make you feel good…”
My head spins, and all I can think is that I have to stop this.
Stop him. I’ve already allowed it to go too far. He gives the dress a hard yank, and the fabric rips. Icy panic trickles into my veins when his fingers press against my bare skin. He traps me between his tall frame and the wall.
“Let me go—” I whimper and fight against his hold, but he’s strong, so strong. I’ll never be able to escape him.
“Fuck, I love it when they fight. It turns me on so much more.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to sink into some dark place in my mind. But then something strange happens. One moment, his entire body weight is holding me in place, and the next, he’s gone.
My heart stutters inside my chest. Aries. I blink my eyes open, and a small gasp escapes me when I spot Aries pinning Adam to the adjacent wall, the drywall cracked from the impact of his body. Shit. I need to stop him before he does something stupid. If he hurts Adam, then I’ll have to explain everything to my mother.
I try to move, to open my mouth and speak, but nothing comes out. With his nose pressed against Adam’s, Aries speaks in a deadly calm tone. “If you ever touch her again. I will cut off your hands. Then you can explain to your mommy and daddy what happens when you touch things that aren’t yours. Got it?”
All Adam can do is nod, which must be good enough for Aries because he releases him and takes a step back. “Now. Get. The fuck. Out.”
Adam doesn’t need to be told twice and bolts, stumbling over himself to get away. The door bangs shut behind him, and now I’m alone with the one man who goes out of his way to ensure we’re not ever alone. A man who came to my rescue when he shouldn’t have. How dare he step in and play the hero? He’s no hero.
“I had it covered,” I tell him, my voice splintering with emotion.
Aries doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but stare at me.
After a heartbeat, he finally speaks. “Sure you did. Is that why your dress is ripped?” He gestures toward it. “Why you have tears in your eyes? Why you’re looking at me like I’m your fucking savior?”
I flinch, lips parting to respond, but nothing comes out. My brain is still stuttering through the past five minutes, still stuck on Adam’s weight and the sound of tearing lace.
Aries takes a step toward me, rage rolling off him. “Oh wait,” he says, low and biting, “you had it …right before he raped you? Right? ”
The words crack through the air like lightning, and I gasp from their impact. I’m ashamed, so ashamed, and while my lungs fight for breath, my skin burns as if he had slapped me. He didn’t have to say it like that. So crude. So hateful. Like my pain offends him.
“I’m not a fucking child, Aries,” I manage, barely.
His eyes never leave mine. “No. You’re worse.”
Worse? How am I worse? I want to slap him, to scream that he doesn’t know a thing about me, but I can’t because part of me doesn’t know if he’s wrong. Even now, I feel like a naive little girl.
“You don’t get to act like you care,” I whisper, chest rising and falling too fast. “You don’t get to come in here and act like I belong to you. Like you saved the day.”
He takes another step forward, closing the space between us in one breathless second. The air thickens, and I can feel the heat of his skin, the barely leashed violence coiled beneath. “I don’t get to…?” His voice cracks on the edge of fury and hunger. “Then tell me why I can’t stop watching you. Thinking about you. Tell me why you’re inside my head and under my skin. Why I want to fucking murder every guy who even thinks about touching you?”
The room is shrinking in on me. I hate how my body betrays me—tightening, trembling, aching for something I know I shouldn’t want and can’t have.
“I hate you,” I whisper, and I hate myself more for how weak it makes me sound.
A laugh escapes his lips, but there’s no humor behind it. Just pain and madness.
“No, you don’t,” he rasps. “You only wish you did.”
One second, he’s standing—his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists—and the next, he’s pressed against me, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to commit sacrilege. Something he’ll never come back from. His eyes snap open, and his gaze flickers as if he’s still trying to talk himself out of this. Like the guilt is clawing up his throat, and he’s swallowing it down anyway.
His fingers twitch at his sides, with hesitation. His breath hitches.
“I shouldn’t,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Fuck, I shouldn’t.”
He looks down at me—and what’s in his eyes isn’t just lust. It’s a sorrowful regret. The knowledge that he’s about to give in to a temptation he promised he never would.
The air around us thickens, like the whole world is holding its breath.
“Just once, I want to stop lying to myself. I want to pretend I can have you. I want to be selfish,” he confesses with a growl. His hazel eyes burn into mine. “Tell me to stop.”
What? No. I don’t want him to stop.
“Tell me this is wrong. Tell me I’m disgusting. Tell me I don’t deserve to see you like this. That I don’t deserve to taste you.”
I don’t dare speak because I can’t. I don’t want to.
“Of course you won’t,” he rasps. “Because you’re just as fucked as I am, Little Sister.”
He gently pushes me back and spreads my legs, inserting his thigh between mine, his hands sliding beneath my thighs to lift me until I’m pressed against the firm muscle there.
I grip onto the nearby couch, using it to hold me in place. “I’m going to hell for this,” he mutters, “but I’m taking you with me.”
Then his mouth is on mine, and everything else ceases to exist. With precision, his tongue swipes through my lips in one slow, deliberate stroke that punches a sound out of my throat.
I forget the couch and claw at his shoulders, anchoring myself as he groans against me— hungry, broken, wild.
“You don’t even know,” he murmurs, licking against my lips, my tongue, open-mouthed, wild, filthier now. “You don’t fucking know what I’ve thought about doing to you. Late at night, when I can’t sleep. In the goddamn shower, fists clenched, trying not to come from the thought of your mouth. Your thighs. Your fucking scent.”
“God—Aries—” I gasp, my voice shaking between each wet, heady kiss.
He groans louder, lips locking against mine, his thick thigh pressing hard between my legs, sending small rivulets of pleasure directly to my brain.
“This pussy,” he breathes, breaking away again. “I’ve dreamed about it. Imagined what it would taste like, how it would sound when you came on my tongue. I’ve thought about ruining you with my mouth until you cry. Until you beg. Until your legs can’t fucking hold you.”
I whimper and rub against him, feral for more, for anything he’s willing to give me.
“Please—” I’m so far gone I don’t know if there is any saving me from this man.
“Oh, you want to beg?” he growls, breath ragged. He lets out a broken laugh that sounds like it hurts. “Then beg. I’ll drag it out of you. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply. His tongue slides into my mouth again— slow, filthy, with no restraint or hesitation. Like he’s been starving for this. Like he wants to taste the part of me no one else ever has. Or ever will.
I cry out, hips jolting, breaking the kiss when I toss my head back. My thighs quiver around his thigh, and I can feel everything—his mouth, his breath, the sharp drag of his stubble, the brutal devotion in the way he kisses me like he needs this to survive.
“Fuck,” he groans into the curve of my neck. “You feel that? That’s me owning every fucking sound you make.”
He flicks his tongue into my mouth again, then sucks my own tongue into his mouth so hard I gasp his name like a prayer when he releases me. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice a wreck. “Say my name. Let me hear how pretty it sounds when you beg me to make you come.”
“Aries,” I breathe. “Please—don’t stop. Please. Please.” I grind against him harder, his thigh taking all my weight as I try to get the friction I need. So fucking close.
Someone shouts my name outside, and we both freeze. My eyes fly open, and I meet his gaze, unable to look away from the utter devastation on his face.
“No,” I whisper, but it’s too late. He’s already sliding away, my wobbly legs barely holding my weight. “Aries…” I call out to him, knowing that this will end badly.
“Don’t,” he snaps, the word sharp as a slap. “Don’t fucking say my name like that.”
I flinch, all the pleasure fleeing as my stomach starts to twist into knots. His voice isn’t steady—it’s fractured.
Cracking open under the weight of something too twisted to name.
“You shouldn’t have let me,” he growls, eyes locked on me like I’m the devil herself. “You should’ve fucking screamed. Hit me. Fought me off. Anything.”
I swallow, shame curdling in my chest. “Why would I do that? I want you. Want this. Us.”
He looks at me like he hates me—no, like he hates himself for needing me.
“This what you wanted? To tempt me to the point of breaking? To see what would happen if my control shattered?” he rasps, stepping closer. “Well, congratulations. You’ve finally fucking ruined me.” He grabs the side table and hurls it across the room.
Wood and glass explode against the wall. I scream, stumbling back, instinct telling me danger is imminent. “Still think I’m your fucking fantasy?” he shouts. “Still think you’re the exception to all the broken shit inside me?”
He stalks toward me, and I back away until the back of the sofa leaves me with nowhere else to go. I’ve never been afraid of Aries, not once, but I’ve also never seen him like this. He doesn’t touch me, but then again, he doesn’t have to. His presence is a weapon—coiled rage and heat and something darker than lust. The kind of darkness you don’t crawl out of.
“You don’t belong to me, Lilian. You belong to anyone who wants you bad enough to wait for you to open your legs. That’s all it took, wasn’t it?”
I gasp. “That’s not true?—”
He cuts me off, his eyes dead. “Don’t lie to yourself. I only had to breathe on you, and you crumbled. You think this makes you special?” His voice drops, becoming quiet and cruel. “I’ve fucked whores with more self-control than you.” My heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest. Why would he say that? Then he turns his back on me like I’m trash. Like he’s done with the conversation. “Get out.”
“Please…”
“I said GET THE FUCK OUT,” he bellows, his voice a storm that tears through the room. For half a second, I hesitate, thinking maybe I can fix this, but then I catch a glimpse of the soulless look in his hazel eyes, and I know there is no coming back from this.
With tears on my cheeks and my body aching from his touch, I run away, slamming the door behind me. But even as I put distance between us, I know no matter how far I run, the truth still follows me. He didn’t hurt me because he didn’t care.
He hurt me because he does, and he’d rather destroy me than admit the truth.