8. Arson
Arson
T his newfound information puts a wrench in my fucking plans. I slam the warehouse door behind me, still feeling the phantom touch of her skin against my fingertips. Little Lilian with her doll-like face and pretty blue eyes. The one person I never intended on touching has now become the most prized possession.
I should’ve done more research, should’ve thoroughly examined who Lilian was to my dear brother besides apparently...a stepsister. Maybe if I had, I would’ve seen her and Aries’s interest in each other. Then I could’ve devised a better thought-out plan on how to use her against him. Dammit.
I prowl through the darkened warehouse, kicking aside a stray box.
The sound reverberates through the cavernous space, punctuating my fury. It’s sad how much time I’ve spent planning this. Years of cataloging every detail about my twin brother—the golden child, the chosen one. I’ve watched him, studied him, learned to mimic his walk and talk, and even the way he signs his name. I can forge his signature so perfectly that not even banking software can tell the difference.
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.”
I squat down, meeting him at eye level through the gap.
Oh Aries . You need to learn to lie better.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. If they are associated with you in any way, they’re just as guilty in my eyes.” I study his face— my face —searching for some hint of remorse, maybe a sliver of regret. Nothing. Not even a little bit. “I will say I’m a little taken aback by her. The relationship you two...share...seemed way more clinical via my initial surveillance.”
When he doesn’t respond, I shake my head and turn to leave. I stop in my tracks when he speaks. “If you hurt her?—”
I cut him off with a laugh. “What are you going to do, huh? You’re not exactly in a position to make threats, Brother .”
Aries blinks, shock and horror in his eyes. I tug the mask off my head, revealing myself to him, officially. It’s not a revelation. He knew it was me, no doubt, and fairly quickly.
If he didn’t, well, surprise, he does now. I can’t keep my identity a secret forever, nor would I want to.
“Ar-Arson?” His voice shakes, and it feels good to get even this much of a reaction out of him. To look into his eyes, to see him realize who has him locked up, who is ruining his carefully bought world.
“The one and only.” I grin like the evil villain I am. “Now that I have your attention, I need to know a little more about our innocent stepsister. I’m even prepared to make a deal with you. Otherwise, I might just have to orchestrate an accident.”
I know I’ve struck gold when he flinches so hard his chain rattles. “Don’t you dare touch her. Don’t even look at her.”
“Then make sure she doesn’t see through me.”
Shame creeps into his features when he looks away.
With a curiosity that cannot be ignored, I survey him. “What did you do to her? I’m guessing nothing good if you’re wearing a look of shame like that for the first time in your pathetic life.” He refuses to meet my eyes, as if the truth is too ugly to face. “The way she looks at you. With this deep, unbearable hunger.” I’m taunting him, waiting for the moment he gives in and confirms what I already know. “Wait, you don’t feel the same way about her, do you? That’s what it is, right?”
“It doesn’t matter. Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with us .”
“You keep saying that, but you’re the one in this cell, and I’m the one outside of it, walking around pretending to be you. It wouldn’t take much effort to have her beneath me.”
“Don’t,” he grits out through his teeth.
“Then tell me what you did.” I lean in closer. “Did you fuck her, use her, break her heart, and discard her like garbage? Give me your worst, and remember, I know what you’re capable of.” I shift to keep an eye on his face. His nostrils are flared, and his brows are drawn low and tight. Bingo. “Sorry, did I touch a sore spot? Lilian must’ve done a number on you.”
“Don’t touch her.” Aries’s voice is eerily calm.
“Did you fuck her?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you want me to know if she’s a virgin so I can ensure she’s prepared properly? Got to know if I can fuck her hard and fast or if I’ll need to take my time.”
“She’s not yours to claim!” He surges up off the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line, anger rushing off him. Nail into the coffin. There is no way he isn’t interested in her. No, he wants her just as badly as she wants him. Too bad neither of them will get what they want.
“She’s not yours either, and from where I’m standing, it looks like I have a much better chance of claiming her. Sleep well.” I grin and slam the door over the food slot closed.
Let him sit on that for a bit.
My quarters is the only finished section of the warehouse—the one place that’s mine, not designed as part of the revenge. I built it with my own hands—drywall, electrical, plumbing—with skills learned in the institution’s rehabilitation program . Ironically, they taught me how to build while breaking me down.
I strip off the rest of Aries’s clothes and step under the shower’s scalding spray. I need to wash off the stink of his life, his privilege. There won’t be any washing her away.
Lilian. A delicate name for a girl who’s anything but. I can see why my brother was so interested in her. I’m curious to know to what degree? Sex? Making out? She had claimed they kissed, but I don’t get the impression noble Aries let it go any further than that.
I press my forehead against the cool tile, letting water sluice down my back. The scars there are nothing but reminders of restraints, treatments, all of the fights. I’m taken back in time to the nurse who loved to cop a feel, of the other nurse who took my virginity when I wasn’t in a position to say no. It paid off in the end...she did help me get free after all.
My cock hardens despite my attempts to focus. It’s not supposed to be this way. Lilian is a pawn. Another way to hurt Aries. A loaded weapon to be used at my disposal. I tell myself these things, but I don’t believe them. If only I could forget the feel of her waist beneath my hands. The slight catch in her breath when I pulled her close.
It’s only because she thought I was him.
It felt good to be seen, to be wanted, to have someone look at me like they gave a shit. Even if the only person she saw when she looked at me was Aries.
Fuck me.
I shut off the water with unnecessary force. Lilian is a complication I don’t need. Hurrying from the shower, I dry off and get dressed in a pair of sweatpants before I move to my planning table and spread out the surveillance photos.
Aries’s face stares back at me from dozens of angles. He’s the reason we’re here, the target of my revenge, and still, my eyes gravitate to the few images of Lilian I have.
She’s a threat. A fucking complication. She needs to be eliminated so the plan can be carried out without a problem. But the thought of harming her, of hurting her, makes me sick to my stomach. Never mind how angry realizing that makes me.
I try to refocus my attention, staring at the blueprint of Aries’s office at Hayes Industries. The one he, I, haven’t even claimed yet. The one Father hopes Aries will occupy permanently one day. Phase two of the plan involves getting inside and accessing certain files before the old man can destroy them.
Evidence of what they did, not just to me but to others. The safety deposit box key is still in Aries’s desk at the Mill House. I’ll need to retrieve that before anyone notices he’s missing.
Lilian’s pretty blue eyes flash in my mind, along with the hunger there that sparked a raging inferno of emotions that I hadn’t ever felt before. I slam my fist against the table in frustration, the action causing papers to fly everywhere. This isn’t part of the plan. Lilian was supposed to be peripheral damage, collateral in my war against the Hayes family and my brother.
Not...whatever the fuck this is. Someone who sees me. The real me.
Emotions have a habit of causing missteps, and one mistake could cost me everything. I grab a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, remove the top with my teeth and bring it to my lips. The burn does nothing to erase the memory of her scent, that mix of expensive perfume carrying notes of vanilla with hints of caramel. Then there’s the way she felt in my arms during that dance. Fragile but unyielding.
The alcohol hits my empty stomach, spreading warmth through my veins.
Why did I do it? I shouldn’t have touched her. Should have maintained distance like Aries does. Fuck, I’m not as strong as my brother in this category. The temptation was too strong—to take something else that belongs to him, to feel what he denies himself. It’s as clear as day that he’s denying them both. The way she melted into my touch told me everything I needed to know about their dynamic. He keeps her at arm’s length.
Why? What is he afraid of?
My hand moves to the waistband of my sweatpants, slipping beneath. I shouldn’t. It’s a weakness, a distraction. Masturbation is normal. Sex is an outlet, but it becomes something else entirely when you start thinking of someone else while you do it. I remind myself of these things, but it doesn’t work. I’m desperate, fucking needy, and my balls feel like they might explode.
Images of Lilian flood my mind, her eyes watching me, her body pressed against mine, what she might look like without that expensive dress on. I reach for the ball band on my nightstand. It’s a tight rubber ring with metal spikes on the inside. It helps me whenever I need to get off. A mixture of pain and pleasure, sometimes the only way I can get off after years of the institution’s chemical castration drugs.
I slide it on, gritting my teeth at the bite of metal against my sensitive flesh. The pain centers me and reminds me of who I am. Not Aries with his easy privilege and clean conscience. I’m the one they tried to erase, the one who survived their attempts to reprogram me.
My strokes quicken, becoming punishing rather than pleasurable.
In my mind, Lilian watches with those perceptive eyes, seeing the monster they created. Fuck, yes. Look at me. Watch the monster as he falls apart. Would she be scared if she saw me right now? Something in her calls to me, challenges me. If she were here right now, I think she would move closer. I think she would be curious, maybe even want to experience it.
“Who are you?” she asks in my fantasy, her hand replacing mine.
“The brother they tried to bury,” I growl, and then explode, coming with a shuddering gasp, pain and release intertwined as always.
For a moment, the clarity of release is all I can feel, then reality comes crashing back into me. This fixation is dangerous. She’s dangerous.
To the plan. To my focus. To whatever’s left of my sanity.
With a tissue, I clean myself up. How could I be so weak? Ten years of plotting revenge gone to waste. How pathetic am I? Jerking off like a teenager over the first woman who sees me? The ball band has left angry red marks, tiny punctures where the spikes dug in. Good. The pain clears my head, burns away the fog of desire clouding my judgment.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror shows a face identical to Aries’s, except for the hardness in my eyes. The doctors called it flat affect —a common symptom in psychopaths. That’s their label for me. Patient 4721. Antisocial personality disorder with psychopathic tendencies. Dangerous. Untreatable. Better locked away forever.
They never understood that it wasn’t a disorder. It was armor. The only way to survive the cruelest of the cruel is to become one of them. They made me this way.
“Focus,” I tell my reflection.
This isn’t about Lilian. Yes, her appearance in all of this is unexpected, but getting rid of her is easy enough.
Feeling a little calmer, I return to my planning table, this time with clinical detachment. Lilian Hayes. Age twenty. Congenital heart defect—ventricular septal anomaly with pulmonary valve stenosis , according to the medical files I hacked. Not immediately life-threatening if properly managed, which explains how she’s survived this long. Like always, there’s more to it.
The family uses her condition for sympathy and social currency. That’s the Hayes way—exploit everything and everyone. Even their fragile daughter.
I study the surveillance photos with new eyes. Her posture at events—always slightly stooped, playing up the weakness. Weird. I’ve seen her move when she thinks no one’s watching. There’s strength there. Endurance. While Lilian’s heart disorder might have been a problem at one point and time, it’s definitely not as bad as they make it out to be.
Turns out Lilian and I are not so different. Both pawns in the Hayes family’s games. Both pretending to be something we’re not. Even this newfound information doesn’t change that she’s a threat. She recognized me once, so she’ll do it again. If she exposes me before I’m ready, everything falls apart. Ten years of planning wasted.
Options scroll through my mind like a tactical assessment:
1.Eliminate her. Clean. Simple. Effective. The thought doesn’t seem as beneficial as potentially using her, though.
2.Discredit her. Make any accusations seem like the delusions of a sick girl. Possible, but messy. Requires more time than I have.
3.Isolate her. Keep her away from anyone she might talk to until my plan is complete. Doable, but adds complications.
4.Seduce her. Use her attraction to Aries against her, make her complicit. Keep her close. Monitor her.
The last option lingers, appealing in ways that have nothing to do with strategy. Dangerous thinking. I need to be ruthless here. Sentiment is what got me locked up in the first place, that misplaced loyalty to a brother who stood by and watched them take me away. Who didn’t even fucking try. Who never visited or wrote letters. I won’t make that mistake again.
Lilian Hayes needs to be removed from the equation. One way or another.
I reach for the burner phone, and navigate to the contacts. My finger hovers over the contact labeled Cleanup. One call, and professional fixers will make sure Lilian Hayes never interferes with anything again.
Quick. Efficient. Final.
I stare at the screen.
Do it. Push the fucking button. Call them.
Anger rips through me, followed by disgust.
I can’t do it.
Fucking Christ. I put the phone down. This isn’t like me. I’ve never had trouble eliminating obstacles. That orderly who caught me stealing pharmaceuticals at the institution? Died by accident from faulty electrical wiring. The doctor who recognized symptoms of my medication tampering? Anonymous tip about his cocaine habit to the medical board.
Clean. Calculated. Necessary.
If it’s always been so easy, then why does the thought of silencing Lilian feel wrong?
Because she saw you. Not Aries. You. Even if she hasn’t realized it yet.
I pace the length of my quarters, wrestling with options. There’s a third path, neither elimination nor seduction. Control. Keep her close enough to monitor but distant enough to manage. Use her insight rather than silence it.
My brother’s reaction when I mentioned her was revealing. Protective. Concerned. He cares about her more than my surveillance suggested. That makes her valuable leverage.
Decision made, I move to the planning wall. Methodically, I rearrange the photos, creating a new section. Lilian Hayes is no longer peripheral. She’s central now—not just to hurting Aries but to understanding him, to perfecting my portrayal of him. I pin her photo in the center of the new arrangement. Unlike the clinical surveillance shots of others, this one captures something different.
It’s from tonight, taken from the security feeds, as she stood on the terrace, challenging me. Her eyes are alive with intelligence, her posture straight and uncompromising. Nothing like the fragile invalid her family presents to the world.
Around her photo, I arrange string connections to both Aries and me. A triangle of complications. I won’t kill her. Not yet, anyway. She’s too useful right now. Instead, I’ll draw her in. Let her think she’s uncovering my secrets while I uncover hers. I’ll use her knowledge of Aries against him, and her apparent fascination with me against her.
If she becomes too dangerous, I can always revert to the original plan. Cleanup is just a phone call away.
My fingers trace the outline of her face in the photograph. The only person who’s seen the real me in ten years, even if she doesn’t know what she’s seeing.
“Lilian Hayes,” I murmur to the empty room. “How bad do you want Aries? Bad enough that you would sell your soul to the devil?”
I pick up a red marker and circle her image, adding a question mark beside it. Not a target. Not an asset. Something else entirely. A wild card I never expected to find in this game of revenge.