Page 36 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

TWENTY

LILIAN

T he night air hits my face like a slap, cold and clarifying after the suffocating tension inside.

I grip the railing, metal biting into my palms, and just try to breathe.

In, out. In, out. The way the doctor taught me during panic attacks, though this isn’t quite that.

This is something else—a pressure building inside my chest, a feeling of being pulled in too many directions at once.

Below me, the campus stretches out in carefully manicured lawns and winding paths.

Students move between buildings, their laughter floating up to me, oblivious to the drama unfolding above them.

God, I envy their normal problems—tests to study for, relationships to navigate, and futures to plan.

Not life-and-death medical procedures, not twins locked in some eternal revenge cycle, not mysterious backers with cryptic warnings.

Just normal college bullshit. Bullshit I would have killed to be a part of only a few short months ago.

I tilt my head back, searching for stars through the light pollution. Finding constellations used to calm me as a kid—connect the dots, find the pattern, make sense of random points of light. But there’s no pattern to this mess I’m in. No constellation to guide me home.

Home. What a joke. I don’t even know where that is anymore.

The mansion certainly isn’t—it never was, really.

Just a gilded cage my mother built around me.

The warehouse isn’t home either, just a temporary shelter in the storm.

And this place, this college campus where I’ve spent the last three months pretending to be normal? It feels like someone else’s life now.

I’m caught in a web, each strand pulling me in a different direction until I’m stretched so thin I might snap.

The door opens behind me, and I know without looking who it is. Arson moves differently than his brother—more fluid, more predatory. Even their footsteps sound different to me now.

“You okay?” he asks, keeping his distance and giving me space.

“Peachy,” I reply, not turning around. “Just needed some air.”

He moves closer, coming to stand beside me at the railing. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“It’s a lot,” he says, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “All of them in there, the planning, the tension.”

“Yeah.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “‘A lot’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

We stand in silence for a moment, watching the campus below. It’s almost peaceful, almost normal. Almost.

“I’ve never had many people in my life,” Arson says suddenly. “The facility wasn’t big on socialization.”

The admission catches me off guard. Arson doesn’t talk about the Facility willingly. He doesn’t share personal details unless pushed.

“Makes sense,” I say, not sure where he’s going with this.

“What I’m trying to say is...” He hesitates, searching for words. “I understand being overwhelmed by people. By their expectations, their demands. Their constant fucking talking.”

That pulls a genuine laugh from me, small but real. “Yeah. The constant fucking talking.”

“We don’t have to go back in there,” he offers. “We could leave. Find somewhere quiet to regroup.”

“Where else would we go?” I ask, turning to look at him finally. “Back to the warehouse? Another hotel? We’re running out of places to hide, Arson.”

“We could leave town,” he suggests, and I can tell by his expression that he’s only half joking. “Start over somewhere new. Somewhere without Hayes baggage.”

For a brief, wild moment, I let myself imagine it.

Just walking away from all of this—the medical mystery, the family secrets, the revenge plots.

Starting fresh somewhere no one knows the name Hayes or Harlowe.

Somewhere I’m just Lilian and not the fragile daughter or the pawn in someone else’s game.

It’s a beautiful fantasy, but that’s all it is.

“You know we can’t,” I say softly. “Whatever my mother’s planning, whatever these backers want—it doesn’t go away just because we do.”

“Worth a shot.” He shrugs, the casual gesture belied by the intensity in his eyes.

I study his face—so identical to Aries’s in features yet so different in expression.

Aries wears his emotions more openly, even if they are often lies, raw and unfiltered, while Arson keeps his locked down and controlled.

Except when he doesn’t. Except in rare moments like this, when he lets me see beyond the mask.

“Thank you,” I say, surprising myself with the words. “For offering.”

He looks almost embarrassed, turning back to the view. “Just an option. Not a good one, probably.”

“Still.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “It’s nice to know I have options.”

The door opens again, and the moment shatters like glass. Aries steps onto the front steps, his gaze moving between us as he catalogs our proximity, our posture, and our body language.

“Everything okay out here?” he asks, and I can hear the effort it takes to keep his voice neutral. Not to bite out.

“Fine,” I say, moving slightly away from Arson. “Just getting some air.”

“Pizza should be here in a minute,” Aries says, eyes fixed on his brother now. “If you’re hungry.”

“We’ll be in soon,” Arson replies, not moving from his spot beside me.

Aries hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave. “Sebastian thinks he might have a lead on the will. You might want to hear it.”

“Five minutes,” I say, a request for space that sounds more like a plea. “Just give me five minutes to clear my head.”

“Five minutes,” Aries agrees, but he makes no move to leave. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, a silent sentinel. Guarding me? Guarding Arson? Guarding the space between us? I don’t even know anymore.

“Actually,” Arson says, a dangerous edge entering his voice, “I think Lilian asked for some space.”

“She asked for five minutes,” Aries corrects. “She didn’t ask to be alone with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, the pressure in my chest building again. “Can you two not do this right now?”

Neither of them seems to hear me, too focused on their staring contest.

“You don’t decide who she spends time with, Brother,” Arson says, emphasizing the last word like it’s an insult.

“Neither do you,” Aries fires back. “And I’m not the one who dragged her into this mess in the first place.”

“No, you’re just the one who’s spent years pretending she doesn’t exist unless it’s convenient for you. The one who treated her like a dirty secret until I forced your hand.”

“You don’t know the first thing about our relationship,” Aries snarls, taking a step forward.

“I know enough,” Arson says, not backing down. “I know she deserves better than either of us.”

“On that, we finally agree.”

“Congratulations,” Arson sneers. “First honest thing you’ve said all day.”

“That’s rich, coming from you?—”

“STOP IT!” I explode, the words tearing from my throat before I can stop them. “Just stop! Both of you! I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the rope in your endless tug-of-war.”

They both turn to me, identical expressions of surprise on their faces, like they’d forgotten I was even there. And that, somehow, is the final straw.

“I’m not a prize to be won,” I continue, rage making my voice shake.

“I’m not a weapon for you to use against each other.

I’m a person. A whole, separate person with my own shit to deal with.

And I can’t be your referee or your therapist or your fucking emotional support animal while also trying to figure out what the hell my mother is planning to do to me! ”

The words pour out in a torrent, months—years—of bottled frustration finally finding release. I’m trembling now, fingers gripping the railing so hard they’ve gone numb.

“Lilian—” Aries reaches for me.

“Don’t.” I step back, away from both of them. “Just don’t. I need—I need space. Real space. Not five minutes on this stupid step with one or both of you hovering like I might shatter.”

Without waiting for a response, I push past them and down the short steps out to the lawn.

The night air hits me again as I burst into a short jog toward the woods.

Running was never good for me with my health issues, but I don’t slow down.

Can’t slow down. My feet find the path that leads toward the woods at the edge of the Mill grounds.

I hear shouting behind me—they’ve realized I’m gone, are probably arguing about whose fault it is, who should come after me. The thought only makes me move faster, running now, desperate to put distance between myself and the toxic cloud of their combined presence.

The trail disappears into the trees, the campus lights fading behind me as the forest closes in. It's darker here, cooler. The sounds of student life are replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of nightbirds.

I slow down, my lungs burning from the exertion and the lingering effects of my short kidnapping. My body isn’t as strong as my anger, unfortunately.

Behind me, the voices grow louder—they’re following the path, following me. Arguing still, their words are indistinct, but their tones are clear enough. Accusation. Defense. Counter-accusation.

The same cycle, over and over, with no end in sight.

I duck off the main trail, taking a smaller path I discover. It winds deeper into the woods, toward a small clearing with a fallen log that makes a perfect thinking spot. They won’t find me there, not right away. Not until I’m ready to be found.

As their voices fade behind me, replaced by the quiet of the forest, I feel something loosen in my chest. For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—I can breathe without feeling like I’m inhaling shattered glass.

Alone in the darkness, surrounded by trees older than all our petty human dramas, I finally let myself cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears I’ve allowed myself in private moments, but real, messy sobbing that wracks my whole body and leaves me gasping for air.

I cry for everything I’ve lost—the illusion of a normal life, the false security of believing I knew who I was, the comfort of ignorance. I cry for the mother who never was, for the father I barely remember, for the family I thought I had.

I cry for Arson, locked away for years for a crime he didn’t commit. For Aries, carrying the weight of guilt and denial. Even for Richard and Patricia, so warped by ambition and secrets that they lost whatever humanity they might once have possessed.

Most of all, I cry for myself—for the girl who just wanted to belong somewhere, to someone. The girl who’s spent her life being careful, being good, being whatever everyone needed her to be. The girl who’s finally realizing that none of it was ever going to be enough.

When the tears finally stop, leaving me empty and hollowed out, I sit in the silence and wonder what comes next. Where do we go from here? How do we untangle this web without destroying ourselves in the process?

I don’t have answers. Not yet. But as my breathing steadies and my pulse returns to normal, I know one thing with absolute certainty. I’m done being a passive participant in my own life. Done letting others—my mother, the twins, anyone—dictate my choices, my future, my identity.

Whatever happens next, whatever truths we uncover in my father’s will or my mother’s plans, I’m facing it on my terms. Not as the fragile Hayes daughter, not as a pawn in someone else’s game, but as myself.

Just Lilian. Whoever that turns out to be.

In the distance, voices call my name, frantic now rather than angry. They’ve realized I’m really gone, not just sulking nearby. They’re worried, probably imagining the worst—that I’ve been taken again, that I’m hurt, that I’ve done something stupid.

Part of me wants to stay hidden, to let them stew in their fear a little longer. A petty revenge for all the emotional whiplash they’ve put me through.

Footsteps crash through the underbrush, coming closer. Two sets, moving in tandem for once instead of against each other. United, briefly, in their concern for me.

It’s not much. Not nearly enough to fix the damage between them, between all of us. But it’s something. A starting point, maybe.

And right now, that’s all I can ask for.

I settle in and wait until they reach me.

We need to talk, and I need to be prepared to walk away if they can’t get past their differences.

I’m not expecting them to get along, per se, but at the very least, they have to stop putting us all in danger because they can’t focus past their hatred of one another.

Can I walk away from them? Go on my own?

I could run. Leave everything behind and start over.

I have some cash stashed away, not enough to start over completely, but enough to escape.

Would Arson and Aries let me go, or would they come after me?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine as the movement in the trees grows louder.

I guess it’s time to find out if I mean more to them than their animosity.