Page 93 of The Beast's Broken Angel

“No.”

“What happened that night?” My voice dropped. “Really. I know there was a fire. I know they died. But I don’t know how Harrison fits into it.”

He didn’t speak for a long time. Then he sank down beside me, his mouth tight, jaw clenched so hard I thought he’d crack a tooth.

“I was eight. Mum was helping me play Mozart, some soft piece I barely remember now. Dad came home in his suit, for once looking like he belonged there instead of out running the empire. They tucked me in around nine. Jungle Book, as always. Mum did the voices. Dad sat next to the bed with his tablet, like he always did.”

He paused. I didn't say a word.

“A huge crash woke me up around two in the morning. It was too loud to be normal, too violent to be an accident. Someone was breaking into our house. I heard Mum scream, and she never screamed. She was always... composed. Controlled. I knew right then something was wrong.”

Adrian's voice grew quieter, more distant.

“I crept toward their room, avoiding the floorboards that creaked like Dad had taught me during security drills. When I looked through the crack in their door, I saw them—five men in black masks. Professionals. Military movements, expensive equipment. They had Mum on her knees with a wire around her throat, forcing Dad to watch while they tortured him for information.”

His hand unconsciously moved to his scarred throat.

“They wanted account codes, offshore access, client lists. Dad tried to negotiate, tried to buy time. But their leader was cold, efficient. Said they were wiping out our entire bloodline, that leaving witnesses created complications. I tried to run when Dad screamed at me to get out, but one of them caught me—man with cold blue eyes behind his mask. His voice sounded familiar, like someone who'd been in our house before, someone Dad trusted.”

Adrian's jaw clenched, muscle jumping beneath the scar tissue.

“They locked me in Mum's walk-in closet and made me watch through the slats while they finished with Dad. He held out as long as he could, gave them false codes, tried to protect our accounts even while they were killing him. Then they strangled Mum with that wire and shot Dad. Quick, professional. No emotion.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling the tremor he was trying to hide.

“Then they poured accelerant everywhere and lit it. Professional job, meant to look like an electrical fire that started in the master bedroom. I was supposed to die in that closet, burn with all the evidence. The flames came through the door, caught my pajamas, my skin...” He touched his scarred face unconsciously. “The pain was... beyond anything I could understand. I thought I was going to die watching my parents' bedroom become a funeral pyre.”

“But Harrison found you,” I said quietly.

“Harrison found me just before I lost consciousness completely. Pulled me out of the fire, saved my life while everything I'd ever known burned to ash around us. I spent months in hospital, skin grafts, reconstructive surgery. Harrison never left my side, handled everything while I recovered.”

He looked at me then, raw and exposed.

“But what if it wasn't luck he showed up? What if he knew exactly when to arrive? What if he waited outside until the job was done, then came in to play the hero and rescue the heir? What if he planned it?”

Adrian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“I’ve been grateful to him my whole life,” he said quietly. “But now I can’t stop thinking about how perfect the timing was. How fast he stepped in. How easily he took over. If he did plan it... then every time I thanked him, every time I leaned on him, I was loving the man who murdered my parents.”

He didn’t cry. He didn’t have to. The grief sat in his voice like gravel.

“You can’t kill him fast,” I said. “He needs to feel it.”

Adrian nodded. “I want him to know who’s tearing everything down. I want him to see my face while it all burns.”

“What’s the plan?”

“You accept his offer. Pretend you’re scared of me. Play up the possessiveness. Tell him I leave files out after sex. That you think I’m losing control.”

“You want me to act like I’m selling you out?”

“No,” he said, smiling without warmth. “I want you to sell me out. Full commitment.”

“Won’t that make him suspicious if I just... agree?”

“No. Harrison’s ego will eat it up. He thinks everyone’s disposable. That includes you.”

I nodded.