30. Aries
Aries
T he door locks with a definitive click, leaving Lilian trapped with me in this concrete cage. Through the observation window, I watch Arson’s retreating back—shoulders tight with fury, hands clenched into fists.
Predictable. Always so predictably reactive.
Lilian remains pressed against the far wall, as distant from me as the cell allows. Fear radiates from her in palpable waves, and her blue eyes dart between me and the door as if calculating her chances of survival. The bruises from our last encounter have faded to yellowish shadows on her skin, but new ones mark her upper arms where Arson gripped her.
How can he make me out to be the villain when he leaves bruises on her skin?
“Well,” I say, keeping my voice deliberately casual, chains clinking as I settle back onto the cot. “This is certainly unexpected.”
She says nothing, her body tense as a drawn bow, ready to flee despite having nowhere to go. After the cruel way I claimed her, she has a right to be afraid. As terrible as it is, and as much as I wish I could explain myself, I need her to see me as the monster I portrayed myself to be, now more than ever.
The surveillance cameras in the corners of the cell blink their red lights steadily. Arson is watching, analyzing, waiting for me to make a move that confirms his worst suspicions.
I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
“I won’t lie. I didn’t expect there to be problems so soon,” I continue, gesturing to the door with mock sympathy. “Guess that means the honeymoon phase is over.”
Her slight flinch confirms it. So predictable, both of them. So easy to manipulate when you understand their wounds. While my mouth forms cruel words designed for the watching cameras, my mind travels a different path. To the first time I truly saw her—not as my father’s new wife’s daughter, but as Lilian.
Sixteen, fierce despite her supposed fragility, cornering me in the library with trembling determination. “I know you feel it, too,” she’d said, voice stronger than her shaking hands suggested. “This thing between us. I’m not a child, Aries. I know what I want.”
What she couldn’t know was how right she was.
How precisely her words landed. How much restraint it took to push her away, to watch her expression fill with hurt as I coldly suggested therapy for her inappropriate fixation.
I knew I had made the right decision to keep her at arm’s length, to protect her from becoming a pawn in the Hayes family games. My father had already gotten accustomed to using the slightest rare attachment against me too many times.
I wouldn’t give him Lilian as another weapon. Wouldn’t let her become collateral damage in the toxic game of control that defined our family. In turn, I buried my feelings for her beneath a carefully constructed distance. Slowly, I became the cold, unattainable stepbrother she both yearned for and resented.
It hurt like hell, but I knew it would hurt far less than watching her get destroyed from nothing more than her proximity to me. It’s almost funny how the one thing I tried to protect her from is inevitably the one thing that will hurt her. Would I have made the same choice then if I had known this would be the outcome? To have her trapped with the monster I’ve pretended to be, while my twin watches to see which of us will draw first blood?
I’m not sure. Lilian is the only person I’ve never been selfish with. The only person I’ve ever actually wanted to protect.
The cell offers limited tactical advantages—eight by ten feet of concrete, a single cot bolted to the floor, toilet and sink in the corner. The chains restrict my movement to a seven-foot radius from the wall anchor, allowing access to most of the space but not quite reaching the door. Arson designed it that way deliberately. Always the careful strategist.
What he doesn’t know is that I’ve already compromised the chains. Three days of methodical work while pretending to sleep, metal links weakened just enough that a sudden jerk will break them. Not freedom yet, but an advantage he isn’t expecting.
My mind is reeling as I try to devise a plan to escape. Lilian’s position against the far wall puts her just at the edge of my reach—a calculation on her part that I respect. I watch her chest rise and fall with rapid breaths, fear mixed with determination. I bet her heart is beating out of her chest. Her blue eyes remain clear, assessing the space.
Not just afraid. Planning. Thinking.
The cameras cover three angles, with a blind spot near the sink—information I’ve stored for when I need it. The intercom remains active, evidenced by the small green light above the door. Arson will hear everything we say.
Perfect. Let him listen.
I already know what needs to happen. Arson’s jealousy, his fear of being confused with me, and his unexpected attachment to Lilian are all vulnerabilities I can exploit.
The one thing I have against me is time. I need her to lower her guard, just enough, to allow me to get close to her.
“He’ll be back, eventually,” I say, voice conversational as I lean back against the wall. “I bet he’s watching right now, finger hovering over the release button, wondering if he’s signed your death certificate or not.”
Lips pressed together, she remains silent and distrustful. Smart girl.
“I’m a little shocked at how easily you got under his skin, “ I continue, chains rattling as I adjust my position. “I haven’t seen him lose control like that since we were kids. Interesting, considering how little time you’ve spent together.”
There’s a slight shift in her posture—curiosity warring with caution.
Good. Keep her distracted.
“What did you do?” I ask, cocking my head to study her. “Besides calling him by my name, which was admittedly a tactical error of epic proportions.”
“Why do you care?” She breaks the silence, her voice steady despite her obvious fear, another reminder of the strength she hides beneath forced fragility.
I shrug, deliberately casual. “Professional curiosity. It’s not every day someone breaks through my brother’s carefully constructed walls. Especially not someone he intended to use as a weapon against me.”
“I was never a weapon.” Her response has an edge of defiance, and my heart swells when she lifts her chin.
“No? Then what were you? A convenient body? A willing participant in his revenge fantasy? The virgin sacrifice?”
Each question is designed to provoke, to distract her from the slight adjustments I’m making to my position. Each movement brings me incrementally closer to the optimal striking distance, which will inevitably bring Arson’s return.
“Stop with the bullshit. Don’t act like you know anything because you don’t.” Anger coats her words, overcoming her fear.
Perfection. Anger makes people careless. Makes them miss details they’d otherwise notice.
“I know more than you think.” I soften my voice just enough to introduce doubt. “We’re twins, remember? I know him better than anyone. I know exactly what he’s capable of, and all the terrible things that he’s done.”
A calculated approach—simultaneously undermining her trust in Arson while positioning myself as the one with answers.
The one who understands.
All while my fingers continue their barely perceptible work on the weakened chain links.
“Don’t fret. Like I said, he’ll come back for you,” I say, watching her closely. “The question is whether you’ll leave this room in the same condition he left you in.”
The threat hangs between us, deliberate in its ambiguity. I watch as her pulse visibly quickens in her neck, her eyes widen only slightly before she blinks and gains control of her expression.
“Are you going to hurt me?” The directness of her question catches me off guard.
No hysteria. No begging. Just a clear request for information.
Would I? Could I?
The tactical assessment is simple: create enough distress to force Arson’s hand. A scream. Visible blood. Nothing permanently damaging, just enough to trigger his protective instincts. To make him rush in without proper preparation. To create the opening I need.
The execution, however...
I look at her—really look at her—and I don’t even have to think about it.
There’s a painful twist in my chest. The defensive posture that doesn’t quite hide her courage. The intelligence in her eyes even as she calculates her chances against me. The loyalty she still holds for my brother despite his betrayal. The same loyalty she once offered me, before I crushed it with deliberate cruelty.
“I should.” It’s an honest answer that surprises even me. “It would be the most efficient way to handle the situation. Create enough distress to force his hand.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t cower. “But?”
“I find myself...reluctant.” The admission costs me something, revealing more than is strategically sound. Deep down, I want her to know that I won’t hurt her, but I can’t say it. Can’t give myself away. “Despite how rough I was with you.”
Her brow furrows with confusion. “You left me unconscious on the floor. Used me as a distraction and walked away.”
“Oh really… is that what he told you?” I keep my voice neutral, though anger flares at Arson’s manipulation. “Did he show you footage? Selective snippets from his security cameras?”
Uncertainty fills in the cracks of confusion. “I saw it myself. I watched you leave me on the floor, unconscious.”
“Cameras can be deceptive,” I’m careful in my response, aware of the surveillance capturing every word I speak. “Especially when controlled by someone with an agenda.”
While speaking, I shift my position again, this time letting her see as I slide a hand behind my back, manipulating something at my wrist. The subtle click of the first lock releasing is audible only to me, the chain maintaining its appearance of security while actually hanging loose. Her eyes track the movement, narrowing slightly in suspicion or recognition.
She’s observant—more so than either of us initially gave her credit for.
“What are you doing?” she asks quietly.
“Creating options,” I reply, equally soft. “The question is whether you want to be part of them.”
The second lock clicks open against my ankle, the sound concealed by a deliberate cough. The chains still appear secure, draped across my body in the same restrictive pattern. The difference is I could shed them at any given second.
“Why would I trust you?” she asks, the fear in her voice tempered with something else. Curiosity, perhaps, or maybe hope.
“You shouldn’t.” My reply is honest. “But you might want to consider which twin has more reason to lie to you right now.”
I lean forward, the chains arranged to appear secure while actually hanging loose around my limbs. The cameras capture this movement, but from their fixed angles, the subtle deception remains hidden.
“I need your help,” I whisper low enough that the intercom might not catch it clearly. “And you need mine.”
Her eyes narrow, suspicion warring with desperate hope. “What kind of help?”
“I’m going to get us both out of here,” I explain, maintaining casual body language for the cameras while infusing my words with urgent sincerity. “But to escape, we need Arson to open that door first.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes—quickly followed by renewed fear. “You’re going to use me as bait.”
“Yes.” No point in lying about the obvious. “But not in the way you think.”
She takes a small step forward, curiosity overriding caution. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I need it to look convincing, but I don’t actually want to hurt you.” I glance meaningfully at the cameras. “He’s watching. Listening. He needs to believe you’re in danger. That’s the only way this will work.”
“Okay, so you want me to pretend you’re hurting me? Scream on cue?” Disbelief colors her tone.
“No. He’d see through that in an instant.” I shift again, calculating the optimal position for when the door eventually opens. “I need to threaten you convincingly. Need to make him believe I’m about to do something unforgivable.”
Her arms wrap around herself protectively. “And why should I trust that you won’t follow through? After what happened?—”
“I know you’re scared. What happened was…” I choose words carefully for both her and our unseen audience. “Complicated. What you think happened and what actually happened aren’t necessarily the same thing.”
“That’s hard to believe when I saw what I did.”
“I understand that, but consider the possibility that my brother showed you exactly what he wanted you to see.” I hold her gaze steadily. “Selective truths are more convincing than outright lies.”
She studies me, searching for deception. “Even if I believed you, why would I help you escape? All you’re going to do is kill him.”
Is that what I want? To kill my twin? The answer isn’t as clear as it once was.
“I want freedom,” I say finally. “Beyond that...I haven’t decided.”
Her expression suggests she doesn’t believe me, but desperation makes for strange alliances.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I explain quietly, leaning forward as if making threats while actually outlining my plan. “I’m going to start intimidating you. It will look real, sound real. I might grab you, but I won’t actually hurt you.”
“And if I refuse to play along?”
“Then we stay here until Arson decides what to do with us both.” I let that reality sink in. “He’s unstable, Lilian. You’ve seen it yourself. Whatever connection you think you formed with him didn’t stop him from throwing you in here.” She flinches at the reminder of Arson’s betrayal, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she masks it.
“I promise,” I add, the sincerity in my voice surprising even me, “I won’t hurt you. I just… I need you to be with me on what happens next, okay?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I can see from the look in her eyes that she’s in. After a moment, I slip the mask of cruelty into place.
“Time’s up,” I announce loudly, straightening from my position on the cot. The sudden shift in tone makes Lilian flinch. “I’m done playing nice.”
I move toward her with calculated menace, chains dragging across the concrete floor—still appearing secured though ready to be discarded at a moment’s notice. My expression hardens into something cruel, something I’ve perfected over the years.
“Stay back,” she warns, playing her part whether intentionally or not, pressing herself further against the wall.
“Or what?” I laugh, the sound deliberately cold. “He threw you in here. Abandoned you. What makes you think he cares what happens to you now?”
Her eyes dart to the camera in the corner, a silent plea to our unseen observer. Perfect. Keep his attention fixed on her, on the apparent danger and not on my careful positioning.
“He’ll come back,” she says, voice shaking slightly—genuine fear or excellent acting, I can’t tell.
“Maybe.” I take another step toward her, bringing me within arm’s reach of her. “But will he get here in time?”
I lunge, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward me. She gasps, the sound sharp and startled as she collides with my chest. My free hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat.
“Should we give him a show?” I suggest loudly, making sure the intercom catches every word. “Prove to him that I can do better than I did last time.”
Her pulse races wildly under my fingers, her breathing quick and shallow. Despite knowing this is partly performance, genuine fear radiates from her—a reminder of what happened the last time we were this close.
“Please don’t,” she whispers, eyes fixed on mine, searching for confirmation that this is still the plan, that it is still for show.
I give her the slightest nod, invisible to the cameras, before raising my voice again. “Begging won’t help you. It didn’t last time, did it?”
My grip on her hair tightens just enough to appear threatening without actually causing pain. I force her down to her knees, positioning us so her body blocks the camera’s view of my hands—allowing me to loosen my hold while maintaining an illusion of control.
“I wonder if he’s watching,” I continue, voice pitched to carry clearly through the intercom. “Watching me take what he thinks is his. Again .”
I tug at her shirt—a show for the cameras while whispering urgently against her ear, “Make it convincing. Struggle but don’t hurt yourself.”
She responds perfectly, twisting away from my grip with a convincing cry of fear. I let her scramble a few feet away, maintaining the performance while actually maneuvering us both closer to the optimal position near the door.
“There’s nowhere to hide,” I call, voice echoing off concrete walls. “Nowhere to run, Lilian. No one to save you.”
My eyes flick to the observation window, catching the shadow of movement beyond. Almost there. Arson’s restraint is fracturing, just as I predicted.
Time to push him over the edge.
“He wants me to hurt you,” I announce loudly, circling Lilian like a predator. “He wants to see what I’ll do to you. Why else would he put you in here with me? This is your punishment.” I grab her again, rougher than necessary for the performance but careful not to actually hurt her. She yelps—a perfect sound of distress that carries clearly through the intercom.
“Did you hear that, Brother?” I call toward the ceiling, where the cameras capture every movement. “Did you enjoy that sound? Should I make her scream louder for you?”
My hand slides to her throat, applying visible pressure but carefully positioned so her airway remains unobstructed. From the cameras’ angles, it looks like I’m choking her. Lilian plays along brilliantly, hands clutching at my wrist, face contorting with apparent distress.
“Remember last time?” I taunt words aimed directly at Arson now. “How responsive she was to me? How perfectly she took my cock inside her? I bet she’s still thinking about it. Still comparing. I have to say, it felt like heaven when she came, squeezing me like a vise, like she was made for me.” Lilian’s eyes widen at the provocative words, understanding darkening her gaze. She follows my lead, adding her own performance.
“Don’t,” she gasps, the perfect note of desperation in her voice. “Please, not again.”
“Shhh,” I soothe mockingly, loud enough for the intercom. “It’ll hurt a lot less this time if you don’t fight me.”
My free hand moves to the waistband of her pants—a visible threat without actual violation. Just enough to trigger Arson’s possessive rage. Just enough to force his hand.
“Come on, Arson!” I shout, finally dropping all pretense. “Come save your girl! Or are you going to let me have her again while you watch from the shadows? What kind of man throws a woman to the wolves, then hides when she screams?”
I position us carefully as I speak—Lilian partially shielded by my body, both of us angled so I can see the door in my peripheral vision. The chains hang loose, ready to be discarded the moment the lock disengages.
“Last chance, Brother!” I call out, voice taunting. “She’s mine if you don’t want her. Just like everything else in our lives.”
A beep from the door panel—the first indication that security protocols are being overridden. The sound sends adrenaline surging through my system, muscles tensing in preparation.
“Get ready,” I whisper to Lilian, low enough that only she can hear. “When the door opens, stay down. Don’t move until it’s over.”
Fear and determination war in her expression as she gives an almost imperceptible nod. The hydraulics of the door begin their mechanical whine—Arson is coming.
I release her, pushing her gently toward the floor.
“Stay down,” I repeat urgently, already turning toward the entrance, mentally calculating angles, timing, and the required force.
The chains fall away completely now, no longer needed for the illusion. Freedom after weeks of captivity—the sensation is almost dizzying in its intensity.
The door slides open, revealing Arson’s silhouette. His expression is cold fury, body coiled and ready for violence. The moment of truth arrives with the sound of the door locking into its fully open position. Everything narrows to this single point in time—my brother in the doorway, Lilian on the floor behind me, and the narrow window of opportunity opening before me. I launch myself forward, every muscle, every reflex, every ounce of training focused on this one chance at freedom. I should have anticipated the Taser. Should have known Arson wouldn’t enter unprepared, wouldn’t let emotion completely override tactical thinking. The probes hit my chest mid-lunge, electricity instantly seizing my muscles in paralyzing agony.
“Please,” Lilian sobs, her voice small and broken-sounding. “Don’t let him hurt me again.”
I crash to the floor, body convulsing as the current pulses through me. Through watering eyes, I see Arson step carefully over my immobilized form, never taking his eyes off me as he moves to Lilian.
“Get out,” he orders her, voice clipped. “Wait upstairs.”
She hesitates, looking between us with an expression I can’t read through the haze of pain. For a moment, I think she might refuse, might stay—though whether out of concern for me or fear of him, I can’t tell.
“Now, Lilian,” Arson says, softer but no less commanding.
She rises shakily to her feet. My gaze is blurry, making it difficult to see her, but I swear she looks back at me one last time before hurrying through the door. The moment she’s clear, Arson hits the emergency closure button, sealing us alone together in the cell.
The Taser’s effects begin to fade, muscles still twitching but my control gradually returning. I push myself to my knees, laugh breaking through clenched teeth despite the pain.
“Predictable as always, Brother,” I manage, voice rough. “Using a woman as your weakness. Some things never change.”
Arson’s expression remains coldly clinical as he produces new restraints—heavier, more secure than the ones I compromised. “The only predictable one here is you, thinking I wouldn’t be prepared.”
“You weren’t prepared,” I counter, still catching my breath. “You came running the moment you thought she was in danger. Just like I knew you would.”
Something flickers across his features—acknowledgment, perhaps, that I’ve identified a vulnerability he didn’t know he had.
“Hands behind your back,” he orders, ignoring my observation.
I comply. There’s no point resisting with the aftereffects of the Taser still rippling through my system. The new restraints click into place, tight enough to border on painful.
“You care about her,” I say quietly as he secures the ankle cuffs. “More than you want to admit.”
“Shut up.”
“Does she know? Or are you playing the same game I did—keeping her at a distance, telling yourself it’s for her protection?”
His eyes meet mine, identical to my own yet fundamentally different. For a moment, understanding passes between us—recognition of a shared impulse, however differently expressed.
“The difference,” he says finally, checking the new chain connecting wrists to ankles, “is that I’m not lying to myself about what I am.”
The words hit with unexpected precision, striking a truth I’ve buried beneath years of justification. I’ve told myself the distance was protection—for her, from the family’s manipulations. But perhaps it was also protection for me—from vulnerability, from the possibility of caring for someone enough to be destroyed by losing them.
As Arson performs a final check of the restraints, I find myself watching him with new perspective. We are reflections, identical yet reversed. Both keeping Lilian at arm’s length through different methods—his through possession, mine through rejection.
Both, perhaps, equally destructive.
“She deserves better than either of us,” I say as he moves toward the door, words offered not as a weapon but as a simple truth.
He pauses, back to me, shoulders tense. “On that, Brother, we finally agree.”