5. Lilian
Lilian
One Month Later
T he sterling silver fork scrapes against the fine bone china as I push the brussels sprouts into a careful arrangement on my plate. The dining room echoes with the subtle symphony of proper Hayes family dining—measured sips of water, precise knife cuts, napkins refolded after each use. Mother sits opposite me, posture perfect despite being technically relaxed at home.
“The salmon is excellent, isn’t it, darling?” she asks, though it’s clear I’ve barely touched it. “I had Mrs. Winters prepare it especially since I know it’s your favorite.”
It’s not my favorite. It’s never been my favorite.
The simple fact is I’ve eaten it without complaint at family dinners for so long that the fiction has become fact in Mother’s carefully curated reality.
“It’s delicious.” My response is automatic while I take a deliberate bite to reinforce the lie. “Please thank Mrs. Winters for me.”
Mother smiles, satisfied with my performance of gratitude. “I still can’t believe my little girl is off to college tomorrow. Oakmount won’t know what hit them.”
The chandelier light catches in her diamond earrings as she tilts her head—a practiced gesture suggesting maternal pride while actually emphasizing expensive jewelry. Image is everything in the Hayes household, even during private family dinners.
“I’m looking forward to my classes,” I say, a generic response.
Eight years in this family have taught me the script.
“Of course you are. Though do remember the social aspects are equally important. The connections you make at Oakmount will serve you for a lifetime.”
The sound of the front door opening interrupts her familiar networking lecture. The footsteps in the hallway are confident and distinctly masculine. My heart beats a little faster before I can control the reaction.
“Richard? Is that you?” Mother calls, though we both know my stepfather never shows up to dinner this early. That’s if he does at all.
“No, it’s me,” a voice responds, sending an immediate flush of heat through my body despite my best efforts. “Just stopping by to get details about the charity gala.”
Aries appears in the dining room doorway, and something inside me simultaneously tightens and unfurls.
He looks different somehow—a subtle shift I can’t immediately place. Outside of the fact that he chopped off his shoulder-length locks to a more professional short style.
His posture is more relaxed than his usual rigid control. He’s wearing a dark button-down I don’t recognize, the sleeves rolled to expose forearms marked with a new watch. Of course it’s not the watch I gave him. The knife of his contempt digs a little deeper.
“Aries,” Mother greets him with practiced warmth. “What a lovely surprise. Join us for dinner?”
His eyes scan the room, passing over me with what seems like deliberate casualness before returning to Mother.
“Can’t stay long. Just need the information Father wanted me to collect.”
“He’s in his study, I believe,” Mother replies. “But surely you can spare a moment to say hello to Lilian? It’s her last night before college.”
His gaze shifts to me then, direct and assessing. Wow. He hasn’t made direct eye contact with me in years. The Aries I know always maintains careful distance and keeps his attention averted enough to avoid fully looking at me but not be seen as rude.
This focused observation makes heat rise in my cheeks.
“Hello, Lilian,” he says, voice carrying a slight, unfamiliar edge. “Ready for Oakmount?”
“Yes,” I manage, hating how breathless I sound. Two years of working to extinguish these feelings, and one unexpected appearance shatters all my progress. “Looking forward to it.”
A smile curves his lips—different somehow from his usual controlled expression. More genuine. More dangerous. “I’m sure you’ll thrive there.”
I study him while pretending not to, cataloging the subtle changes four months of absence have created. His shoulders seem broader, and his stance is more confident. The careful composure that always characterized his movements has been replaced with something more...predatory.
His gaze holds mine a beat longer than the distant politeness he’s maintained since that humiliating night when I was eighteen.
As I take note of the changes, it occurs to me that his eyes seem the most changed—they’re obviously the same hazel color but somehow different. More intense. Less guarded. As if something that was always carefully contained has broken free.
“The salmon is excellent,” I offer, desperately searching for something to extend this unexpected moment. “There’s plenty if you’re hungry.”
“Perhaps another time.” His smile doesn’t reach those altered eyes. He glances at my barely touched plate. “Though if you ask me, it doesn’t look like you’re enjoying it much yourself.” The observation startles me. Aries never notices such things or at least never comments on them.
His polite distance has always included a careful lack of personal observations. This direct acknowledgment of my food aversion feels intimate, making my pulse quicken.
“I had a late lunch,” I lie, then wonder why I’m explaining myself at all.
“Hmm.” The sound carries disbelief, another unexpected deviation from his usual careful neutrality. He moves farther into the room, picking up a crystal paperweight from the sideboard, examining it with unusual interest before setting it down in a slightly different position.
“Aries will be at Oakmount often this semester, Lilian,” Mother interjects, missing the strange undercurrent between us. “Working with your stepfather on the new business program. Perhaps you’ll see each other on campus occasionally?”
My heart leaps traitorously at this information—campus encounters away from family supervision, potential moments without the weight of our parents’ watchful eyes.
“Is that so?” I ask, aiming for casual interest while trying to ignore the flush I feel spreading across my cheeks.
He turns toward me, that unfamiliar smile playing at his lips again. “Indeed. I’ll be there every Tuesday and Thursday, building my contribution to the Hayes legacy, as expected.”
There’s a bite to the last words, a bitterness Aries has never allowed himself to express in front of family. I blink in surprise, but before I can respond, my stepfather’s voice calls from the hallway.
“Aries? Is that you? Come to my office. I have the documents you’ll need for the Henderson meeting.”
And just like that, the moment shatters. Aries—or this new version of him—straightens, composure sliding back into place, though not as completely as before.
“Duty calls,” he says, with what almost sounds like sarcasm. “Always a pleasure, Patricia. Lilian...” He pauses, eyes holding mine with unexpected intensity. “See you on campus.”
The promise in those words—for it feels like a promise rather than a casual goodbye—makes me shiver with equal parts anticipation and unease.
“Of course,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “Looking forward to it.”
He nods once, a sharp, decisive movement so different from his usual carefully deliberate gestures, then turns to follow my stepfather’s summons.
I watch him leave, unable to shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed in him, something beyond the expected evolution of four months’ separation. Either Aries has transformed significantly over the summer or I never truly knew him to begin with.
With him gone, the dining room feels emptier as the door to Father’s study closes with a definitive click. Like always, the men retreat to discuss important matters while the women remain at the table, left to conversation deemed appropriately feminine. The pattern is so familiar that I should be immune to its sting by now.
I’m not.
“Well, that was a nice surprise,” Mother says, delicately patting her lips with her napkin. “Aries looks well, doesn’t he? Your father is trying to talk him into a summer internship on top of his school duties.”
I make a noncommittal sound, taking a sip of water to hide whatever expression might betray my thoughts. Aries didn’t just look well, he looked transformed. Like someone wearing my stepbrother’s face but inhabiting it differently.
“I hope you’re packing appropriate attire for your dorm room,” Mother continues, transitioning seamlessly to her favorite topic: my appearance and its reflection on the family. “I’ve had Marissa press your fall wardrobe and organize it by occasion. The garment bags are labeled.”
“Thank you.” I had specifically asked her not to have the staff pack for me. Another boundary ignored, another decision made without consultation.
“I’ve also taken the liberty of speaking with Professor Winters about your schedule. He assures me the coursework won’t overtax you, given your condition.” She re-folds her napkin. “Though I still think you should have considered remote learning for at least the first semester.”
My condition she speaks of is the heart defect that has defined my existence since birth. The perfect excuse for overprotection, control, and keeping me forever in the role of Fragile Hayes Daughter.
“Dr. Matthews cleared me completely, Mother. My last three scans were perfect.”
“Doctors can be wrong, darling.” She waves away medical expertise with the same certainty she dismisses all opinions contrary to her own. “Remember Cousin Elizabeth? The doctors said her arrhythmia was controlled, and then that dreadful episode happened at summer camp.”
Cousin Elizabeth’s dreadful episode was a panic attack brought on by the same suffocating concern I’ve endured my entire life. Correcting Mother’s medical misconceptions is pointless after twenty years of trying.
“I’ve scheduled monthly appointments with Dr. Reinhart near campus,” she continues, signaling for the server to clear our plates despite my dinner being largely untouched. “And I’ve informed the dormitory supervisor about your medication schedule.”
Humiliation burns in my veins. I can’t even attend college without my medical history preceding me. Of house mothers and resident advisers watching for signs of weakness, monitoring my activities, just to report back to Mother.
“That wasn’t necessary,” I say, unable to entirely keep the edge from my voice. “I’m perfectly capable of managing my own health.”
“Nonsense.” She dismisses my independence with practiced ease. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t ensure proper care for my daughter? Especially with your history.”
The server appears with dessert, a panna cotta with fresh berries, another dish I don’t particularly enjoy but have learned to accept with a grateful smile. Mother launches into elaborate plans for the upcoming semester, which social events I should attend, which students I should befriend, and which professors might provide useful connections for future charitable committee positions.
I nod at appropriate intervals, offering the expected responses while my mind remains fixed on the study door. On Aries. On the strange electricity of our brief interaction.
On Tuesday and Thursday campus visits that suddenly make the prospect of college infinitely more interesting.
“Eight years,” Mother says, admiring her wedding ring in the chandelier light. “Can you believe your father and I will celebrate eight years of marriage next month? It feels like just yesterday we met at that charity thing after his wife’s death.”
“Stepfather,” I correct automatically, though I know she prefers I drop the prefix. Richard Hayes has been Father since the wedding, my actual father relegated to vague memories and occasional child support checks that Mother dismisses as entirely insufficient.
She frowns slightly at my correction but continues undeterred. “I’m trying to convince Richard to take a proper vacation for our anniversary. Perhaps the villa in Santorini. Lord knows he could use the break from work.”
I nod, arranging my features into appropriate interest while pushing the panna cotta around my plate. “That sounds lovely. I’m sure you both deserve the time away.”
“The challenge, of course, is getting him to commit to two full weeks. He insists the Hayes Enterprises merger with Northstar Pharmaceuticals requires his constant attention.” She sighs dramatically. “Men and their work. As if the company would collapse without him for fourteen days.”
“Perhaps a compromise?” I suggest the expected diplomatic response. “A shorter trip but completely disconnected from work? No calls, no emails.”
Mother brightens, patting my hand approvingly. “What a wonderful suggestion, darling. So practical, just like your father. Richard always responds better to compromise than direct opposition.”
I smile and nod, playing my role perfectly while carefully avoiding any mention that Richard Hayes is nothing like my actual father. That particular correction never ends well.
“I’ve already spoken with his assistant about clearing his calendar,” she continues, lowering her voice conspiratorially, though we’re alone in the dining room. “And I’ve had Marissa research private villas with poor internet connectivity. Sometimes technical difficulties are a blessing, don’t you think?”
“Very strategic,” I agree, recognizing the familiar pattern of manipulation she considers wifely duty. The careful orchestration of circumstances to achieve desired outcomes without direct confrontation. The Hayes family way.
“I’m thinking of wearing the blue Valentino to the anniversary dinner,” she muses, already mentally packing. “Though perhaps that’s better saved for the charity gala next week. Speaking of which, you’ll need to confirm your attendance even though you’ll be at school. Your father insists the entire family present a united front for potential investors.”
“I’ve already marked my calendar,” I assure her, though the thought of returning home mere days after escaping to college makes my stomach clench. “Blue would look wonderful on you.”
She beams at the compliment, launching into detailed descriptions of potential outfits, seating arrangements, donation strategies, and which board members might be susceptible to particular conversational topics. I provide all the right responses—appreciative murmurs, thoughtful nods, appropriate questions that demonstrate engagement without actually requiring much thought.
Years of practice have made me an expert at this performance. At being present while my mind wanders elsewhere. At appearing to be the perfect daughter while maintaining a private inner world.
And tonight, that inner world is entirely occupied with Aries. With the subtle changes in his demeanor. With the strange intensity in his gaze that seemed to see past my careful performance in a way he never has before. With the possibility of campus encounters away from Mother’s watchful eye.
For the first time in years, I allow myself to hope that perhaps something has changed between us. That the careful distance he’s maintained might finally be closing. That college might offer not just academic freedom, but emotional liberation as well.
While Mother discusses table settings for the anniversary dinner, my thoughts circle obsessively around those brief moments with Aries. The way his eyes held mine rather than sliding away. The subtle confidence that seemed to radiate from him. The almost predatory grace that replaced his usual careful restraint.
For two years, I’ve tried to extinguish these feelings. Two years of forcing myself to accept the rejection, to rebuild my pride from the ashes of that humiliating night. Two years of telling myself his coldness was kindness, his distance was necessary, and his rejection was final.
Yet one unexpected encounter has reignited everything I thought I’d buried.
What changed during these summer months? Was it the internship, as Mother suggested? Some newfound independence away from Father’s constant oversight? Or something deeper—a fundamental shift in how he sees himself. In how he sees me.
“Lilian? Are you listening, darling?” Mother’s voice cuts through my reverie.
“Sorry,” I say, straightening slightly. “Just thinking about everything I need to finish packing tonight.”
She accepts the excuse with a nod. “As I was saying, the Prescotts will be seated at table three, though Eleanor has been campaigning for table one since the hospital fundraiser last spring...”
I let her voice fade to background noise again, returning to thoughts of Aries. Of campus meetings free from familial supervision. Of conversations not confined to careful pleasantries across dining tables or formal events.
At Oakmount, I won’t be the fragile Hayes daughter with a heart condition. Won’t have Mother arranging my life down to the minute. Won’t have house staff reporting my every movement. For the first time, I’ll have space to breathe, to exist beyond the narrow parameters that have defined me.
And if Aries will be there Tuesdays and Thursdays...
I suppress the dangerous thought before it fully forms. There’s no stopping the flutter in my chest, which has nothing to do with my defective heart. Logic insists I’m setting myself up for disappointment. That whatever I glimpsed in his changed demeanor means nothing. That the rejection from two years ago still stands.
A deeper thought occurs, reckless and filled with hopeful abandonment, whispering that perhaps we’re both evolving beyond the roles assigned to us. That college might offer not just academic opportunity but personal reinvention. Away from this house. Away from Mother’s constant surveillance. Away from Father’s expectations and the Hayes family reputation.
Just the thought of such freedom makes me lightheaded with possibility. The chance to define myself. To make choices not weighted by family legacy or medical history. To explore feelings I’ve been forced to suppress beneath proper behavior and appropriate responses.
“Earth to Lilian,” Mother says with a slight laugh. “You’re positively somewhere else tonight. Excited about school, I suppose?”
I look up, offering the expected smile. “Very excited. I think it’s going to be...transformative.”
The word carries more meaning than Mother could possibly understand. Transformative in ways that have nothing to do with classes or degrees or the connections she values so highly.
Instead, it has everything to do with the man behind that study door, who looked at me for the first time in years like he actually saw me.
And like he wanted to see more.