Page 33 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

EIGHTEEN

LILIAN

T he warehouse feels hollow, echoing with unspoken words and buried truths.

I wander through its concrete corridors, searching for Aries, needing to make sure he’s okay after what just happened.

The confrontation with Arson was brutal—necessary, maybe, but brutal all the same.

I check the common areas first—the makeshift kitchen, the security room with its wall of monitors, and the cramped living space we’ve been sharing.

No sign of him. It’s only when I pass by a heavy metal door left slightly ajar that I hear it—the soft, rhythmic sound of someone trying to control their breathing.

He sits on a broken chair, back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest like a child trying to make himself smaller.

The position makes him look vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before—not the confident Hayes heir or the angry captive, but just a man overwhelmed by truths he’s spent years denying.

“Aries?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to startle him.

His head jerks up, eyes wide and unfocused for a moment before recognition settles in. “Lilian.” He straightens, trying to compose himself, to rebuild the walls I’ve just witnessed crumbling. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” I step into the room, fighting back a shiver at how cold and empty it feels. God, how did he survive months in a space just like this without losing his mind? “I was worried.”

“I’m fine.” The lie is so obvious it would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. “Just needed some space to think.”

“Here?” I gesture to the empty, decrepit room, not hiding my disbelief. “In this place?”

He shrugs, the movement stiff and uncomfortable. “Seemed fitting.”

I move closer, sitting on the rickety chair beside him, careful not to crowd him. The last thing he needs right now is to feel trapped.

And careful I don’t topple on my ass as the chair wiggles ominously.

“What happened back there…” I start, not really sure where I’m going with this. “The things Arson said?—”

“Are true.” He cuts me off, voice flat. “Every word.”

Well, shit. I hadn’t expected him to just come out and admit it like that. I’d prepared myself for the usual deflection, the careful reframing, the subtle shifting of blame.

“You remember?” I ask, studying his face.

“Not…consciously. Not until now.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that way that always makes him look younger. “But hearing him tell it, it was like…like watching a movie I’d seen before but forgotten. Like the memories were there all along, just buried.”

“You were a kid, Aries,” I remind him, because it seems important that someone say it. “Fourteen years old.”

“So was he.” His gaze meets mine, raw with self-loathing. “And he didn’t freeze. He didn’t let someone else take the blame for what he did.”

I reach for his hand, half expecting him to pull away. He doesn’t, but his fingers remain limp in mine, neither accepting nor rejecting the comfort.

“I killed her,” he whispers, the words so quiet I have to lean closer to hear them. “My mother. I killed her with my stupidity, my showing off. And then I let them blame Arson for it. Let them lock him away. Let them convince me it was his fault, not mine.”

“You didn’t kill her,” I counter, squeezing his hand. “It was an accident. A horrible, messed-up accident.”

“That I caused.” He pulls his hand away, shifting to put more distance between us. “And then I made it worse by being a coward. By going along with the lies.”

“You were in shock. Traumatized.”

“Stop.” His voice hardens, a flash of the old Aries breaking through the vulnerability. “Don’t make excuses for me. Not for this.”

I fall silent, recognizing that my attempts to comfort are only pushing him further away. For a moment, we sit in the quiet of the cell, the weight of the revelations pressing down on us both.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” he says finally, staring straight ahead at the blank concrete wall. “Or your forgiveness. Or your…whatever this is between us.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” I reply, a firmness entering my voice that seems to surprise him. “My feelings, my forgiveness—they’re mine to give, not yours to reject.”

He glances at me, confusion mixing with the guilt in his eyes. “How can you even look at me after what you heard? After what I did?”

“Because I see you, Aries. All of you. Not just the mistake you made as a kid, but the man you’ve become. The good and the bad, the strength and the weakness. All of it.”

“The man I’ve become,” he repeats with a bitter laugh. “The perfect Hayes heir. The dutiful son. The coward who let his brother suffer for his crimes.”

“Also the guy who’s trying to protect me now,” I counter. “Who survived months of captivity without breaking. Who’s finally facing the truth he’s denied for so long.”

He shakes his head, not ready to accept any version of himself that isn’t completely awful. “You should go. Be with Arson. At least he’s honest about who he is.”

“No.” The word comes out stronger than I intended, echoing slightly in the concrete space. “I’m not going to let you push me away. Not anymore.”

“Lilian—”

“No,” I repeat, moving closer despite his attempt to create distance. “I’ve spent my entire life being controlled, being told what to do, who to be, how to feel. By my mother, by doctors, by everyone who thought they knew what was best for me. I’m done with that. Done with people deciding for me.”

Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, at the steel in my voice. I’ve never been one to push back, to stand my ground. The perfect, fragile daughter, following the rules, taking her meds, and accepting the limitations placed on her.

Not anymore.

“I choose who I care about,” I continue, holding his gaze. “I choose who gets my forgiveness, my understanding, my—” I hesitate, not quite ready to name the other feeling swirling inside me. “And right now, I’m choosing to be here. With you. Whether you think you deserve it or not.”

For a moment, I think he might keep arguing, might keep trying to push me away out of some misplaced sense of nobility or self-punishment. Instead, his shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him.

“I don’t understand you,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to understand me,” I reply. “Just accept that I’m not going anywhere.”

Tentatively, I reach for his hand again.

This time, his fingers curl around mine, holding on like I’m a lifeline in a storm.

A shadow falls across the floor, and I look up to find Arson standing in the doorway, his expression hard as he takes in the scene before him—Aries and me, sitting close, hands intertwined.

“Well, isn’t this touching?” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “The prodigal son, repenting his sins.”

Aries tenses beside me but doesn’t rise to the bait. I shoot Arson a warning look, silently pleading with him not to push things further.

He ignores it, of course. “No matter what I do, no matter what I reveal, you always go back to him, don’t you?” The accusation is directed at me, sharp with something that might be jealousy or might be simple resentment. “The golden child. The chosen one.”

“That’s not what this is—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a dismissive gesture.

“Save it. I don’t need your explanations or your pity.” His gaze shifts to Aries, cold and calculating. “Enjoying the accommodations, Brother? I can always lock the door again if you’re feeling nostalgic. It’s not quite the same, but I could make it work.”

Aries rises slowly, his hand slipping from mine. “I deserved worse than that cell,” he says quietly. “We both know that. And I know you think I had it good being on the outside, but you don’t know my side of the story. What happened after you left.”

The simple acknowledgment seems to throw Arson off balance, as if he were prepared for denial, argument, or anything but acceptance.

“It’ll have to wait. We have work to do,” he says after a moment, defaulting to practicality when emotions become too complicated. He waves his phone between us. “The backers are getting impatient.”

“What does that mean for us?” I ask, standing as well, trying to defuse the tension vibrating between the twins.

“It means we need to move faster. Figure out what your mother is planning before she can implement it. Or take both her and Richard down and hope the backers leave us alone after that.” He glances between us, something like disgust flashing across his features.

“If you two can tear yourselves away from this little therapy session, that is.”

“Arson,” I say, not hiding the plea in my voice. “Come on. This isn’t helping anyone.”

For a moment, I think he might relent, might set aside the antagonism long enough for us to work together. Then his expression hardens again, walls slamming back into place.

“Meet me in the main room when you’re done playing confessor,” he says, turning to leave. “Some of us are actually trying to solve this mess.”

He stalks away, footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving a chill in his wake.

Aries watches him go, then turns to me with a resigned expression. “He’s right about one thing. We do need to focus on what’s happening now, not on the past.”

“The past is part of what’s happening now,” I counter. “It’s all connected somehow—the boathouse, my mother, the backers, all of it.”

“Maybe.” He runs a hand through his hair again, composure gradually returning. “But right now, we need information more than we need reconciliation.”

Before I can respond, he’s moving toward the door, away from the moment we’d shared. “I’m going to check some contacts, see if I can find out anything about what Patricia might be planning.”

“Aries—”

“It’s okay, Lilian,” he says, pausing in the doorway. “Really. I just... need some time to process everything. To figure out what to do with it all.”

I want to argue, to insist that we finish the conversation, but I recognize the need for space when I see it. “Okay. But we’re not done talking about this.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “No, I don’t suppose we are.”

Then he’s gone, too, leaving me alone in the empty room. The irony doesn’t escape me—he sought it out for solitude, and now I’m the one left here, alone with my thoughts.

I sink back into the chair, suddenly exhausted by the emotional whiplash of the past few hours. The revelations about the boathouse, Aries’s guilt, Arson’s rage, the complicated tangle of feelings between all of us—it’s a lot to process.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. The screen shows an unknown number, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it. But curiosity wins out.

“Hello?”

“Miss Hayes.” The voice is smooth, cultured, vaguely familiar—the older of the two men who took me, who funded Arson’s revenge. My pulse spikes with fear, but I force myself to keep it together.

“What do you want?” I ask, surprised by how steady I sound.

“To help you, believe it or not.” He sounds almost amused. “You’re running out of time and spinning your wheels rather…inefficiently.”

“Why would you help us?” I don’t bother hiding my suspicion. “When you went through so much to kidnap me before? Didn’t you just contact Arson, too? Hedging your bets?”

“A necessary complication,” he says dismissively. “But one that’s become a distraction from our primary objectives. Best to resolve it quickly so we can return to the original plan.”

Something about his voice niggles at me, some familiarity I can’t quite place. Like I’ve heard it before, long ago.

“What do you suggest, then?” I ask, playing along while trying to place the voice.

“Your father’s will,” he says simply. “I suggest you look into the specifics of your father’s will. The original document, not the summary your mother provided when you turned eighteen. Since it seems you didn’t read the paperwork thoroughly.”

My breath catches. “How do you know about that?”

“I make it my business to know things, Miss Hayes. Especially things people would prefer to keep hidden.”

A chill runs down my spine despite the blandness of his tone. “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”

“As I said, this is a distraction from our main purpose. The sooner it’s resolved, the sooner we can proceed with what really matters.” He pauses, and I can almost hear the calculating smile in his voice. “Consider it a professional courtesy.”

“Professional courtesy,” I repeat, not bothering to hide my disbelief. “From the people who kidnapped me and threatened me.”

“Business,” he counters smoothly. “Nothing personal, I assure you. Well, not for me, at any rate. For others involved, it’s very personal indeed.”

Before I can question him further, he continues, “Do look into the will, Miss Hayes. Time is running short, and I’d hate to see the Hayes women’s little power struggle derail everything we’ve worked toward.”

The line goes dead before I can respond, leaving me staring at the phone in confusion and unease. The Hayes women’s power struggle? What does that mean? And how would my father’s will help?

I stand, pocketing the phone, a new determination settling over me. Whatever game these men are playing, whatever their connection to my mother and the Hayes family, I need answers. And it seems my father’s will might hold at least some of them.

Now I just need to figure out how to get my hands on it.