Page 23 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

THIRTEEN

ARSON

“ T his is bullshit,” my brother says for the third time, pacing the length of the warehouse like a caged animal. The irony isn’t lost on me—him, free but trapped by circumstance; me, the architect of his captivity, now willingly walking back into the lion’s den.

“We’ve been over this,” I reply, adjusting the cuffs of my—his—shirt. It still feels strange to wear clothes that were made for him and tailored to his measurements. Stranger still that they fit me perfectly. “You can’t go. Not looking like that.”

He stops pacing long enough to glare at me, hatred simmering just beneath the surface. It’s the same look he’s given me since the moment he realized who I was—who he was. The brother he thought was long dead came back to destroy everything he thought was his.

“And whose fault is that?” he asks, voice tight with barely controlled rage. “Who kept me locked in a concrete box for months? Who stole my life, my identity?”

“Focus,” I snap, tired of his self-pity. “You want to protect Lilian? Then stick to the plan.”

At the mention of her name, something shifts in his expression—the anger giving way to something more complex, more vulnerable. It makes my skin crawl to see it, to recognize the same emotion I’ve been fighting against since she crashed into my carefully orchestrated revenge.

“I should be the one going with her,” he insists, raking a hand through his hair—thinner than mine now, duller, the physical evidence of his captivity that no amount of borrowed clothing could disguise. “I’m her?—”

“Her what?” I cut him off. “Her stepbrother? Her protector?” I let my lip curl in disdain. “You had years to be those things, brother. Years to claim her, to protect her from them. What stopped you?”

He flinches, the barb hitting its mark. We both know the answer—his cowardice, his compliance, his willingness to play the dutiful Hayes heir even at the expense of his own desires.

“Stop it,” Lilian says from the doorway, her voice quiet but firm. “Both of you. This isn’t helping.”

She looks different today—harder somehow, more determined. She’s dressed simply in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. No makeup, no jewelry, nothing to hide behind. Just Lilian, raw and real and unafraid to show it.

“He started it,” I mutter, falling back into childhood patterns I didn’t know still existed. Another surprising side effect of finding my twin after all these years—the immediate regression to behaviors I thought I’d left behind.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m ending it,” she says, moving into the room. “Arson will come with me as Aries. You’ll monitor from outside, ready to extract us if needed.” She looks between us, daring either of us to challenge her. “That’s the plan. Are we clear?”

My brother’s jaw works silently, the struggle evident in every line of his body. Finally, he nods once, sharply. “Fine. If anything happens to her?—”

“Save the threats.” I interrupt, checking my watch. “We need to leave now if we’re going to make it by four.”

“I need a minute with Aries,” Lilian says, her gaze holding mine. “Alone.”

I want to refuse, to insist we don’t have time, but something in her expression stops me.

I give a curt nod and step out of the room, closing the door behind me but lingering just outside.

Not because I’m jealous—I’m not, I can’t be, jealousy implies an emotional investment I refuse to acknowledge—but because I don’t trust him. Not with her, not with anything.

Their voices are muffled through the door, but I catch snatches of their conversation—her reassurances, his concerns, the soft intimacy in their tones that makes something ugly twist in my chest. Then silence, followed by the sound of movement.

When she emerges, her cheeks are flushed, lips slightly swollen. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened in those private moments. The knowledge burns like acid in my veins.

“Ready?” I ask, voice deliberately flat, emotionless. He’s free now; does that mean she’s chosen him…the one she always wanted?

She nods, a slight furrow between her brows as she studies my expression. “Let’s go.”

The drive to the Hayes mansion is silent, weighed down by unspoken tensions.

I take the familiar route on autopilot, having driven it countless times during my months as Aries.

The irony doesn’t escape me—after all my planning, all my careful manipulation, I’m willingly returning to the heart of the empire I’ve sworn to destroy. All for her.

The mansion appears through the trees as we round the final curve of the private drive—a monstrosity of glass and stone, designed to impress, to intimidate, to announce to the world that the Hayes family is untouchable.

I’ve always hated it. Even though we grew up here, it always felt more like a hotel than a home.

“Remember the plan,” Lilian says as I pull up to the front entrance. “We’re just here to appease my mother and find out what they know.”

“I know how to play Aries,” I remind her, killing the engine. “I’ve been doing it for months.”

“That’s what worries me,” she murmurs, reaching for the door handle.

Before she can exit, I catch her wrist, my grip firmer than intended. “If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you give the signal. No heroics, no improvisations.”

Something softens in her expression. “I will. I promise.”

I release her, suddenly uncomfortable with the tenderness in her gaze.

She shouldn’t look at me that way—like I’m worthy of concern, of care.

Like I’m anything more than the monster who kidnapped her stepbrother and manipulated her into my revenge plot.

It hurts too much to think maybe…she’s done with me.

The front door opens before we reach it, revealing Patricia in all her frosty perfection.

Her blond hair is swept into an immaculate chignon, her cream silk blouse and tailored trousers a study in understated wealth.

She looks more like Lilian’s sister than her mother—the benefits of expensive skincare and strategic Botox.

“Lilian,” she says, relief momentarily softening her features before the mask slips back into place. “Finally. We’ve been worried sick.”

Her gaze shifts to me, a slight narrowing of her eyes the only indication that something doesn’t sit right. “Aries. I didn’t realize you would be joining us.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, slipping into the role as easily as breathing. Aries is deferential but not subservient, affectionate but restrained. The perfect son Patricia always wanted. “Lilian mentioned Dr. Winters was coming. Thought I should be here for her.”

Patricia’s lips thin, displeasure evident despite her attempt to hide it. “That won’t be necessary. This is a private family matter.”

“I am family,” I counter smoothly. “Or have our roles as stepsiblings suddenly changed?”

Patricia studies me for a moment, something calculating in her gaze. “Of course not. But the doctor will need to examine Lilian privately. Medical confidentiality and all that.”

“I’ve seen Lilian at her worst,” I say, my tone deliberately casual. “I doubt there’s anything the good doctor could discover that would shock me.”

Patricia’s nostrils flare slightly—the only sign that my persistence has irritated her. Beside me, Lilian stiffens, whether from embarrassment or anger I can’t tell.

“Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside,” she suggests, her voice tight. “It’s chilly out here.”

Patricia steps back, allowing us to enter the marble-tiled foyer. The house smells of lemon polish and old money. Every surface gleams with the attentions of a staff that Patricia has trained very well to stay out of sight.

“Dr. Winters is waiting in the study,” Patricia says, leading the way through the grand entrance hall. “He’s been most concerned about your missed appointments, Lilian. Your condition requires consistent monitoring.”

“My condition is fine,” Lilian replies, a new edge to her voice that makes me glance at her with surprise. “I’ve been taking my medication as prescribed.”

“Have you?” Patricia asks, skepticism evident. “Then perhaps you can explain why your professors have reported concerns about your behavior? Missed classes, incomplete assignments, erratic attendance?”

“I’ve been busy with research,” Lilian says, the lie smooth and practiced. “You know how I get when I’m focused on a project.”

Patricia makes a noncommittal sound as she opens the heavy double doors to Richard’s study. The room beyond is exactly as I remember it—dark wood paneling, leather-bound books lining the walls, the massive desk dominating the space like an altar to power and control.

Dr. Winters stands as we enter, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the light from the desk lamp. He’s older than I expected, mid-sixties at least, with a carefully cultivated grandfatherly appearance that doesn’t quite mask the clinical assessment in his gaze.

“Lilian,” he says, voice warm with practiced concern. “I’m relieved to see you looking well. Your mother has been quite worried.”

“So I’ve heard,” Lilian replies, remaining near the door rather than approaching. I position myself slightly behind her, a silent sentinel. “But as you can see, I’m fine.”

“Nevertheless,” Dr. Winters says, gesturing to the leather examination couch set up beside the desk, “I’d like to run a few tests. Just to be safe.”

“What kind of tests?” I ask, maintaining my role as the concerned stepbrother.

Dr. Winters glances at me, then at Patricia, clearly expecting her to dismiss me. When she doesn’t—can’t, without creating a scene—he clears his throat. “Standard monitoring. Blood pressure, heart rate, blood samples for analysis.”

“And if I refuse?” Lilian asks, chin lifting slightly in defiance.

The question hangs in the air, a challenge that clearly takes both Patricia and the doctor by surprise. This is not the compliant, fragile Lilian they’re accustomed to handling.