25 #2
"And then when I finally—finally—find someone who makes me want to be something other than the monster you created, you destroy it." My voice is shaking now. Raw. "You threatened a seven-year-old child. You forced Aurora to break her own heart. You proved every single lesson you ever taught me."
"Evander—" she gasps.
"You were right." I lean in closer. "Attachment is weakness. Caring is vulnerability. Love is a weapon. I learned those lessons perfectly, Mother. I am exactly what you made me."
I pause. Let the words sink in.
"But you made a mistake. You thought if you destroyed my attachment to Aurora, I'd go back to being the obedient heir. The controlled, emotionless architect you've been grooming."
My hand tightens further. Her face is starting to flush. Oxygen deprivation.
"You were wrong. You didn't destroy my attachment. You just redirected it."
Her eyes are panicking now. Genuine fear.
"I don't care about Laurent Global anymore," I continue.
My voice is perfectly calm now. Cold. "I don't care about the empire, the legacy, the succession.
I don't care about being your heir or maintaining the family image or any of the things you spent twenty-one years conditioning me to prioritize. "
I lean in until my mouth is right next to her ear.
"I care about Aurora Lane. And you just declared war on the only thing I give a fuck about. So congratulations, Mother. You created a monster. Now you get to see what happens when that monster stops caring about your rules."
Behind me, I hear movement. The security guards finally deciding to intervene.
The office door slams open. Heavy footsteps on expensive carpet.
I don't let go of my mother's throat. Don't even turn around.
A massive hand grabs my shoulder. Tries to pull me back.
I'm about to turn, about to fight, when there's a sound—wet, choked, horrible.
The hand on my shoulder goes limp. Falls away.
I turn my head just enough to see.
The security guard—six feet four inches of ex-military muscle—is collapsing. His hands are clutching his throat where a metal fountain pen is buried to the hilt, blood spurting between his fingers in arterial bursts.
He hits the pristine white carpet. Convulses once. Twice.
And goes still.
The blood spreads across the white carpet in a perfect crimson bloom. Beautiful and horrifying in equal measure.
I turn fully now, releasing my mother's throat. She collapses against the window, gasping, one hand clutching her bruised throat.
And I see him.
Landon Ashford.
Standing over the dead security guard with his hand still outstretched from the stabbing motion. His expensive suit is immaculate. Not a drop of blood on him. His face is perfectly calm. Pleasant, even.
Like he didn't just execute a man with a fountain pen.
The second security guard has frozen in the doorway. His hand is on his weapon but he's not drawing it. Just staring at the body. At Landon. At the blood spreading across the carpet.
"I'd leave if I were you," Landon says pleasantly. His voice is exactly the same as always—polite, warm, the kind of tone you'd use to offer someone tea. "Unless you'd like to join your colleague."
The guard backs out of the room. Slowly. His face is pale. Shocked.
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence except for my mother's labored breathing and the wet sound of blood soaking into expensive carpet.
I'm staring at Landon. We all are—me, Tristan, Lucius. Completely frozen. Mesmerized.
Because this is Landon Ashford. The golden boy. The saint. The one who keeps us grounded, who pulls us back from the edge, who represents everything good and controlled and civilized about our fucked-up little circle.
And he just killed a man without hesitation. Without remorse. Without even a flicker of emotion crossing his perfect, pleasant face.
"Landon," Tristan says quietly. His voice is careful. Cautious. "What did you just do?"
Landon looks down at the body. Then at the fountain pen still clutched in the dead man's throat. Then at us.
And he smiles.
Not his usual warm, charming smile. Something else. Something darker. Empty. The kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes because there's nothing behind the eyes to reach.
"I removed a problem," he says simply.
He steps over the body—careful not to get blood on his expensive shoes—and walks toward my mother who's still gasping against the window.
She sees him coming. Tries to push herself upright. Tries to look commanding despite the bruises already forming on her throat.
Landon crouches down in front of her. Perfectly balanced. Perfectly controlled. His hands rest loosely on his knees.
And he looks at her with those empty, dead eyes.
"Aunt Laurent," he says pleasantly. The title is deliberate—we've all called each other's parents "Aunt" and "Uncle" since we were children. A reminder of how intertwined our families are. "I think there's something you need to understand."
My mother opens her mouth. Closes it. She's genuinely terrified now. I can see it in her eyes—the realization that she's not in control anymore.
"You, my parents, Tristan's parents, Lucius's parents—you all made the same mistake," Landon continues.
His tone is conversational. Like he's discussing the weather.
"You thought you were raising obedient hunting dogs.
Well-trained. Well-controlled. Ready to inherit your empires and maintain your legacies. "
He tilts his head. The movement is precise. Deliberate.
"You never realized you were raising monsters."
The word hangs in the air. Heavy. Final.
"Evander is a monster because you drowned his brother to teach him that caring about people gets them killed.
" Landon's voice doesn't change. Stays perfectly pleasant.
"Tristan is a monster because his parents taught him that manipulation is the only form of communication that matters.
Lucius is a monster because his family showed him that violence is how you solve problems."
He pauses.
"And I'm a monster because I watched all of you create them and learned exactly what I needed to become to survive in your world."
My mother is shaking now. Her hands pressed flat against the window behind her. No escape.
"I would have killed you when I was a kid," Landon says quietly. "When you drowned Matthias. When you made Evander watch. I was eight years old and I stood in that pool house thinking about all the ways I could make your death look like an accident."
The confession is delivered with the same pleasant tone. Like he's sharing a fond memory.
"I didn't do it because I wasn't sure yet if Evander would survive without you. If killing you would break him completely or make him stronger." Landon leans in closer. "But now I know. He's stronger. He doesn't need you. And that means you're not protected anymore."
He reaches out. Gently—almost tenderly—brushes a strand of hair away from my mother's face.
The gesture is so at odds with the dead body bleeding out ten feet away that it makes my skin crawl.
"So here's what's going to happen, Aunt Laurent.
" His smile widens. That terrible, empty smile that makes something cold slide down my spine.
"You're going to leave Evander alone. You're going to leave Aurora alone.
You're going to leave Liam alone. You're going to pretend this conversation never happened. "
"And if I don't?" My mother's voice is hoarse. Damaged from my hand on her throat.
"Then tomorrow's headlines will feature your death." Landon says it so simply. So matter-of-factly. "Evander won't give a shit. And I will be the reason for it."
The threat hangs in the air. Absolute. Undeniable.
My mother looks past Landon to me. Desperate. Pleading.
"Evander—your friend is threatening to kill me. Are you going to just stand there—"
"Yes," I say quietly.
Her eyes go wide.
"You threatened Aurora," I continue. My voice is completely calm. "You forced her to break her own heart to protect her brother. You proved that everything you taught me about attachment and vulnerability was designed to keep me under your control."
I step forward. Crouch down next to Landon so we're both at eye level with her.
"So yes, Mother. I'm going to stand here while my best friend threatens to murder you. Because you created this. You made me into something that doesn't care about your life more than I care about Aurora's happiness."
I pause. Let that sink in.
"Touch her again—threaten her, manipulate her, even look at her wrong—and Landon won't need to kill you. I'll do it myself."
The look on her face is something I've never seen before. Pure, absolute terror. Not the controlled fear she shows to intimidate business rivals. Real fear.
Fear of her own son.
Good.
Landon stands. Brushes imaginary dust off his slacks. Looks down at my mother with that same pleasant, empty smile.
"I'm so glad we understand each other, Aunt Laurent." His tone is warm. Friendly. "Family is so important, don't you think? We should all work together to make sure everyone stays safe and happy."
He extends his hand toward her. Offering to help her up.
She stares at his hand like it's a snake. Doesn't take it.
He shrugs. Lets his hand fall back to his side. "Suit yourself."
He turns. Walks toward the door. Steps over the dead security guard without looking down.
Tristan and Lucius follow. Both of them moving in complete silence, their faces carefully neutral.
I stand. Look down at my mother one last time.
She's pressed against the window. Bruises forming on her throat. Terror in her eyes. Everything she spent my childhood cultivating—that absolute, unshakable authority—completely shattered.
"Clean this up," I say quietly. Gesturing to the body. "And remember what he said. You created monsters. Now you get to live with them."
I walk toward the door. My expensive shoes make soft sounds on the blood-soaked carpet.
At the threshold, I pause. Look back.
"Oh, and Mother? I quit. Laurent Global can burn for all I care. I'm done being your heir."