Chapter 25 The Mill House common room feels too small for all the tension it's currently holding. No, I can't let them take me home. Who knows what they will do to me. I cough once, drop to my knee, forcing the guard to release my arm. I risk a glance, and he looks panicked. Good. I cough again. "I need...I need my inhaler." It takes nothing to wheeze out a breath. To fake what I've been forced to endure for years. "I can't...breathe. Just give me a minute." I move toward the fireplace as though I need a little air. What I really need is space to think. Richard paces by the fireplace like a caged animal while my mother drops to the edge of the leather sofa, not a wrinkle in her cream silk blouse despite the morning's chaos. The guards at least look worried. One minute, I was asleep between Arson and Aries, safe and warm and wanted. The next, I was being dragged from bed, Richard Hayes's security goons handling me like I'm made of glass while my mother watched with cold, calculating eyes. And Aries, standing in that doorway like a statue, his face a perfect mask of nothing. I refuse to believe it. Refuse to accept that after everything-after the forest, after our promises, after what we shared-he would just hand us over like this. There has to be another explanation. A plan I'm not seeing yet. From somewhere upstairs, I hear a floorboard creak. Drew, Lee, and Sebastian are up there, hiding. I'd caught a glimpse of Sebastian's wide eyes peering over the banister when they first marched us downstairs before one of Richard's security guys had spotted him and he'd ducked back into hiding. I hope they stay put. The last thing we need is for more people to be caught in this mess. Luckily, they got rid of the usual groups of people who move in and out of here. I shift to the fireplace and flick the switch to warm up the cold room, my gaze darting to the staircase, wondering if our friends are listening, piecing together fragments of a story they couldn't possibly understand. How strange this must seem to them-Richard Hayes himself storming into the Mill House at dawn, security team in tow, demanding to see his son. Arson shifts like he might bolt, but I know he wouldn't leave me here. His hands are zip-tied in front of him, and he looks disheveled but defiant. He's still wearing yesterday's clothes, rumpled from sleep. Our eyes meet across the room, and I see it there-the same certainty I feel. This isn't over. Whatever game is being played, we're not the only ones with cards left. "Sit," Richard orders, and I watch as Arson nods to the chair across from him and then takes the other. The guards take up positions outside, blocking the exit. "Where's Aries?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "He'll join us shortly," Richard says dismissively. "First, we need to discuss the documents you stole." My heart skips a beat. Of course that's what this is about. The evidence. The paper trail of all their crimes. "I didn't steal anything," I say, the lie coming easily. "They were already stolen. I just found them." Mother makes a sound of disapproval. "Semantics, Lilian. Where are they now?" I shrug, feigning a nonchalance I don't feel. "I don't know what you're talking about." Richard's jaw tightens. "Don't play games with me, young lady. Aries told us everything. About the files you found in the attic. About how you've been helping Arson with his...vendetta." I press a hand to my chest dramatically, letting my breathing hitch just enough to be noticeable. "I need my inhaler," I say, voice deliberately faint. "I can't breathe." The effect is immediate. Mother's expression shifts from irritation to concern-not for me, but for her perfect, fragile charity case. Let me play it up a bit more. "Where is it?" she asks, already moving toward me. "In your purse?" I shake my head, forcing my breathing to become more labored. "Up...upstairs. In Aries's room." Mother glances at Richard, who nods curtly. "Go get it. We can't have her collapsing on us." Perfect. Just what I was hoping for. As soon as she's gone up the stairs, I let my breathing ease, sitting up straighter. Richard's eyes narrow suspiciously. "You're faking," he says flatly. I smile thinly. "Years of practice." Arson watches me with newfound appreciation, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Clever girl." Richard slams his fist against the mantel. The fire crackling below him is a jaunty contrast to the anger simmering off him. "Enough! I want those files, Lilian. Now. Before this escalates further." "Or what?" I challenge, feeling bolder now that Mother isn't here to maintain the pretense of my frailty. "You'll lock me away, too? Add me to your collection of inconvenient family members? I know that's not what you want. Please. Listen to me...to us." "Don't tempt me," Richard growls, and for the first time, I glimpse the monster beneath the polished businessman exterior. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And if getting you the help you need means things go back to normal...well, I'm happy to do just that." "Oh, I think I know perfectly well what you are capable of," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. "I've read the files, Richard. All of them. The experimental treatments. The payoffs to doctors and judges. The other children you helped 'treat' to neutralize business rivals. But it was never your grand plan to begin with-it was all her. You can still do some semblance of the right thing here." Something flickers in his eyes-uncertainty, maybe even fear. Good. He should be afraid. "You're bluffing," he says, but there's less conviction in his voice now. "Am I?" I raise an eyebrow. "Ask Arson. He was there. He saw what you did. To him and to others. I'm not saying you shouldn't pay for that, but I'm starting to realize she might be worse than you." Richard's gaze shifts to his son, and something passes between them-decades of hatred compressed into a single look. "You always were too smart for your own good. A trait you and your mother share." Richard says to Arson, almost conversationally. "The difference between the two of you is that at least she knew how to get out of her own way." There it is. The opening we've been waiting for. "Funny you should mention her," Arson says, leaning forward despite his bound hands. "I've been thinking a lot about that day at the boathouse. About how convenient her death was for you." Richard's face pales slightly. "What are you talking about? Convenient?" "Mother was a champion swimmer in high school," Arson continues, his voice deceptively calm. "Did you know that, Lilian? State champion three years running. Yet somehow she drowned in a boathouse barely ten feet deep. No current. No reason she couldn't have surfaced." I didn't know this. He'd told me about his mother's death but never any of the background details pertaining to the police records. "It was an accident," Richard says stiffly. "She hit her head when she dove in to save Sophia." "That's what was assumed, but did she?" Arson tilts his head, studying his father like he's a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. "The autopsy report said otherwise. No head trauma. Just...drowning. Almost like she couldn't swim. Almost like something was preventing her from saving herself. When I hunted for the doctor who had done the autopsy, I discovered he'd passed away not long after the incident. He either has really bad luck or..." The room grows unbearably tense, the accusation hanging in the air, its soft smoke from the fireplace filtering it. I barely dare to breathe, watching Richard's face carefully for any reaction that might confirm what Arson is suggesting. I'm surprised to see genuine pain wash over Richard's features, his composure cracking for the first time. "How dare you," he whispers, voice raw with emotion. "How dare you suggest I had anything to do with your mother's death? I loved my wife more than anything in this world." Before Arson or I can respond, my mother returns with my inhaler. She pauses on the threshold, clearly sensing the tension in the room. "What's going on?" she asks, eyes darting between us. "Nothing," Richard says shortly. "Just more wild accusations." Mother approaches cautiously, holding out the inhaler. I take it, wondering if I should continue the charade or drop it entirely. Arson makes the decision for me. "We were just discussing my mother's untimely death," he says pleasantly, as if commenting on the weather. "Specifically, whether someone might have slipped her something that made it impossible for her to swim that day." Mother freezes, her hand still outstretched, and something flickers across her face-not surprise, not shock, but something more calculating. Knowledge. She knows something. "That's absurd," she says finally, but her voice lacks conviction. "It was a tragic accident. Nothing more." Arson watches her closely, missing nothing. "You know, don't you, Patricia? You know what happened to her." "I know you're disturbed," she replies coldly. "I know you're trying to distract us from the real issue-the confidential medical files you and Lilian stole." It's too late. I've seen it now too-that flicker of awareness, of complicity. Mother knows exactly what Arson is talking about, and she's terrified. Richard is staring at my mother, something shifting in his expression. "Patricia?" he says, and there's a question in the single word that makes my skin crawl. "What is he talking about?" "Nothing," she insists, but her voice has lost its usual smooth control. "He's manipulating you, Richard. Don't let him deflect from the problem at hand." Aries appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath, eyes wild as they scan the room and land on me. "What did I miss?" he asks, trying for casualness but missing by a mile. "Perfect timing," Arson says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Did you know Patrica had something to do with our mother's drowning?" Aries's gaze sharpens and focuses on Mother with new intensity. "What?" "Don't listen to him," Mother says quickly-too quickly. "He's trying to manipulate you, Aries. To drive a wedge between us." Richard takes a step toward her, his expression hardening. "Patricia, what is going on? It's clear you know something about my wife's death?" "Richard, please," she says, reaching for his arm. "You can't possibly believe⁠-" He shrugs off her touch. "Tell me!!" I've never seen my mother cornered before. She's always so composed, so in control. That image is long gone with four pairs of eyes drilling into her. Like a rope, she's unraveling at the edges. There is no escaping the truth. "It was a long time ago," she says finally, straightening her spine. "Ancient history. We have more pressing matters to deal with right now." "It's not ancient history, not to me," Richard says, his voice deadly quiet. "Not when it comes to my wife." There's a muffled thump that can be heard from upstairs, followed by urgent whispers. Mother's head snaps up, her eyes narrowing. "Who else is here?" she demands. "Just some of Aries's old dormmates," I say quickly. "It's a public campus, you know." Aries moves farther into the room, positioning himself between Mother and the staircase. "Let's focus on what matters. Patricia, what were you saying about our mother's death?" "I wasn't saying anything," she snaps. "I have nothing to say. It was an accident. Stop accusing me of something that I had nothing to do with." "The autopsy report says otherwise," Arson counters. "No head trauma. No indication of anything, not that the boat hit her when she went into the water. Just...drowning. A champion swimmer who somehow couldn't save herself in ten feet of water?" Richard's face has gone ashen. "She...she hit her head...yes." It sounds more like he's trying to convince himself now. "Right, and who was the first person to come and find you, Father?" The room goes so still I can hear the old grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. Richard turns slowly to face my mother, his expression a mixture of dawning horror and disbelief. "Patricia." Her name is barely audible. "You were there that day. You said you went looking for her before she went down to the boathouse." Mother's mask slips completely, revealing something cold and calculating. "Goodness. Fine. She was going to ruin everything," she says, her voice oddly detached. "She found the files, Richard. The trial data. The side effects Hayes Pharma was covering up. We had an argument, and she told me she was going to go public with the information." The color drains from Richard's face. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying your precious wife was going to destroy everything we built," Mother continues, her voice taking on a fervent quality that makes my skin crawl. "So I did what needed to be done." "You killed her," Arson says, the words hanging in the air like a physical presence. Mother doesn't deny it. "I protected our interests. Our future. She was going to take the boys, Richard. Take them away from us." "From us?" Richard repeats, his voice hollow with disbelief. "She was my wife. The boys were our sons. There was no us, Patricia." "There would have been," she insists, a desperate edge creeping into her voice. "Once she was gone. We could be together. Build the company. Raise the boys as our own." "Jesus Christ," Richard whispers, staggering back as if physically struck. "You're insane...you killed her because you wanted what she had?" "I did it for you," Mother says, reaching for him again. "For us. For Hayes Enterprises. She was going to ruin everything." Richard recoils from her touch like it burns. "How?" he demands, voice cracking. "How did you do it?" "It was easy," she says, and the casualness of her tone sends ice through my veins. "A little something in her tea before she went down to the boathouse. Something from the lab. It causes temporary paralysis of the limbs. All I had to do was follow her down and wait for it to take effect. Even I couldn't have planned that she'd jump into the water, or that the kids would be down there. I really didn't do anything. She did it all herself." The room goes deathly quiet. I can't breathe, can't think, can't process the cold calculation in my mother's voice. This woman raised me. Tucked me in at night. Held my hand during doctor's appointments. All while hiding a monster beneath her perfect facade. "You watched her drown," Arson says, his voice eerily calm. "Your friend. The mother of the children you claimed to love, but that's not the worst. The worst part is, you let us watch her drown. You let her kids watch her die." "It was a necessary evil," she repeats, but there's a frantic quality to her now, her usual composure fracturing under the weight of her confession. "I figured the trauma would keep you in line. I couldn't risk any of you destroying things further." "You're mad!" Richard pulls his cell phone from his pocket. "I...I can't-I need to⁠-" Mother whips a small handgun out of a purse on her hip, stopping his movements. "I think we need to have a more private conversation," she says smoothly, her composure fully restored. "Where did you get that?" Richard asks, staring at the gun with disbelief. "I've always had it," she replies with a small shrug. "A woman in my position needs protection. Now, where were we?" "You were confessing to murder," Arson says coldly. "To drowning our mother." Mother's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I wasn't confessing. I was...hypothesizing. And this conversation is over." She levels the gun at Richard. "You've disappointed me, Richard. After everything I've done for you. For this family." "Patricia," he says, voice low with pain and anger. "Put the gun down. More death isn't going to solve anything." "It solves the immediate problem," she replies, gaze flicking between all of us. "It gives us time to think, to plan our next move. Don't act the martyr. We've worked together on any number of projects over the years. If I go down, then I'll conveniently start talking, and you'll be just as guilty in all of it as I am. Maybe more so, since it was your money that set it all up." Arson flexes his hands as he snaps his zip ties, one loop hanging broken off the other, his expression dangerously calm. No one notices. "There is no next move," he says. "The sham is over. You already confessed. The only place you're going is a mental hospital." "Confessed?" Mother tilts her head slightly. "I don't recall confessing to anything. I merely suggested a scenario. Explored a possibility." "We all heard you," I say, fury building inside me. "You admitted to drugging her." "Did I?" Her voice is light, almost amused. "How would that sound to an outsider, I wonder? The troubled twin with delusions of persecution, his codependent stepsister with her own mental health issues, both making wild accusations against a respected philanthropist?" Richard makes a move toward her. "This is madness, Patricia. Please, you can't possibly think you'll get away with this." "Get away with what?" she asks innocently. "I haven't done anything wrong. I've only tried to protect my family-including my disturbed stepson, who clearly needs to return to proper care." I want to interject, to speak up for Arson, but there's no point. It's clear that she is past sanity. The calculated look in her eyes terrifies me. She's already spinning a new narrative, already plotting how to turn this situation to her advantage. "No one will believe you," Aries says, moving to stand beside his brother. "Not this time." "Won't they?" Mother smiles, the expression never reaching her eyes. "The Hayes family is one of the most respected in the country. Hayes Enterprises employs thousands. And I've spent years building my reputation as a champion for children with mental health issues." She gestures with the gun toward Arson. "Who would they believe? Me, or the young man who spent years in psychiatric care? The young man who apparently escaped, assumed his brother's identity, and has been living a dangerous delusion?" A knock on the hall interrupts us. Mother's eyes narrow, then she calls out in a voice suddenly tremulous with emotion, "Who is there?" Drew pokes his head down, followed by Lee and Sebastian. They take in the scene-Richard looking shell-shocked, Arson coiled like a snake, Mother standing near the door, me frozen in place-and stop dead in their tracks. "What the-" Drew starts, but Mother cuts him off. "Thank goodness you're here," she says, her voice transformed, thick with tears and worry. "There's been a terrible situation. My stepson Arson has been making wild accusations." The boys stare at her, then at us, clearly trying to make sense of the tableau. "What's going on?" Sebastian asks, his gaze lingering on Arson ready to pounce. "My stepson Arson"-she gestures toward him with the gun, making the boys flinch-"has been struggling with some serious delusions. He became aggressive, and I had to take precautions to protect my family." It's masterful, the way she shifts the narrative. The way she becomes the concerned mother, the protective wife, the reluctant defender-all in the space of seconds. "That's not what happened," I say, finding my voice at last. "She's lying. She confessed to murdering their mother. To locking Arson away for years. To⁠-" "Lilian, sweetheart," Mother interrupts, her voice dripping with concern, "you're confused. The stress has triggered an episode. You know how fragile your condition is." Drew's eyes dart between us, his eyebrows raised, uncertainty etched into his features, but there's a shrewdness there too. There's no way he couldn't have been listening? "Aries?" he asks, looking at his friend for clarification. But I can see the calculation in his eyes there too. He knows damn well what's happening here. But before Aries can answer, Mother speaks again, her voice carrying just the right note of command. "Boys, we need to call the police. We need to get Arson proper help before he hurts someone." "Don't listen to her," Arson says, his voice tight with controlled fury. "She's manipulating you. She's been manipulating all of us for years." Sebastian takes a small step forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Mrs. Hayes, maybe you should put the gun down so we can talk about this?" "The gun stays with me," she says, her smile tight but determined. "Until Arson is properly restrained. He's dangerous when he's like this." Lee looks from Mother to Richard, then back again. "I'm calling the police," he says firmly, pulling out his phone. Then he makes meaningful eye contact with Aries and steps aside. Mother doesn't try to stop him. Instead, she smiles faintly, as if everything is proceeding exactly as she planned. "Good. We need to get this situation under control." The way she says it-so confident, so certain-sends a chill down my spine. Because even now, with everything falling apart around her, she's thinking ahead. Planning. Manipulating. "Right," Sebastian agrees. "We'll get everything under control, don't worry." "While we wait," she continues smoothly, "perhaps you boys could help Richard to the sofa? He's had quite a shock." Drew and Lee move toward Richard, who looks both pained and bewildered at the sudden shift in dynamics. As they settle him on the couch, Mother maintains her position by the door, gun held casually but deliberately visible. "And Arson," she says, her voice hardening slightly, "why don't you sit down, too? Over there." She gestures to a chair well away from any of us, isolated. He doesn't move. "No." Mother's smile tightens. "Always so difficult. So...contrary. Even as a child, you resisted every attempt to help you." "Help me?" Arson laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. "Is that what you call it? Locking me away for years? Torturing me with experimental drugs and treatments?" "You see?" Mother says to Drew and the others, as if Arson has just proven her point. "These paranoid delusions. It's heartbreaking, really. We tried for so long to get him proper treatment." Lee finishes his call, looking uneasy. "Security is on their way. The ambulance, too." "Thank you," Mother says warmly, as if he's done her a great favor. "You boys have been so helpful. Such good friends to Aries." The way she says it-separating Aries from Arson, reinforcing the division-is subtle but unmistakable. She's already building her narrative, brick by careful brick. "Mrs. Hayes," Drew says cautiously, "what exactly happened here? Before we came in?" "A terrible misunderstanding," she replies without missing a beat. "Arson has been... unstable since his escape from the treatment facility. He's been impersonating Aries, living his life, even stealing his clothes and identity." The ease with which she lies is breathtaking. The conviction in her voice, the sorrow in her eyes-all of it perfectly calibrated to evoke sympathy, to create doubt. "That's bullshit," Aries says flatly. Finally breaking his silence. "She's lying. About all of it." "I'm sorry,"Richard says softly. "For everything. For not seeing. For not knowing." I don't know what to say to that. Sorry doesn't erase ten years of Arson's torture. Sorry doesn't undo a lifetime of manipulation and control. Sorry doesn't bring back the mother his sons lost. The pain in his eyes is real. The shock and betrayal. Whatever he did or didn't know, the revelation of his wife's murder at Patricia's hands has broken something fundamental in him. "She had us all fooled," I say finally, offering what little comfort I can. "All of us." He sighs, and I settle back, waiting for the inevitable. Until something I don't expect happens. It's not the police who walks in-it's Arson's backers. My kidnappers. "Hello, Patricia. Still spinning lies, I see," the older man says.