Chapter 27 I can't breathe. Not because of my blown-out-of-proportion heart condition, but because my mother-the woman who raised me, who tucked me in at night, who held my hand through doctor visits-is pointing a gun at me with murder in her eyes. Fear constricts my breath, slowly slithering up my spine like a snake. My mouth goes dry, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. The taste of copper floods my senses-I've bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out everything except my mother's voice and the click of the safety being released on her gun. I could cower-no one would blame me right now-but I don't. I force myself to stand straight. To not show it. Not with everything hanging in the balance. Not with Arson and Aries watching. I've spent my entire life being the fragile one, the broken one, the one who needs protection. Not today. Not now when it matters most. God, Arson and Aries. How can it end like this? After everything they've been through-the separation, the torture, the years of planning-it can't all come down to this moment in a crappy college common room with my psychopath mother waving a gun around. The unfairness of it hits me hard, making my knees want to buckle. All I can think about is getting them out of here. Both of them. Safe. The thought pounds through me with each heartbeat: get them out, get them out, get them out. These two men who've survived so much already, who've clawed their way back from hell-they can't die here. I won't let them. It feels like the room is closing in on me, the walls shrinking with each passing second. The heat from the fireplace is now stifling, sweat beading at my temples, at the nape of my neck, and trickling down between my shoulder blades. I can smell the acrid tang of my own fear sweat. Time stretches and contracts, seconds feeling like hours as my mother's finger tenses on the trigger. Drew steps forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Mrs. Hayes," he says carefully, "maybe I can help. I have connections with the State Attorney General. We could work something out." His voice sounds far away, like he's speaking underwater. Everything has taken on a dreamlike quality, reality bending at the edges. Is this what shock feels like? The edges of my vision blur, darkness creeping in. I dig my fingernails into my palms, the sharp pain bringing me back to the present. I can't check out now. I need to stay alert, stay ready. My mother's eyes flick to Drew, dismissive. The look she gives him-like he's something she found stuck to the bottom of her designer shoe-makes my stomach clench. I've seen that look so many times growing up. It's the look that precedes cruelty. "Shut up, boy. This doesn't concern you." Her voice drips with contempt, each syllable a tiny blade. "No," Hector says firmly. "There will be no negotiation." His voice is steel wrapped in velvet, smooth but unyielding. "You walk out with me, Patricia, and I might let Richard live. For now. That's the only concession I'm willing to make." Mother laughs, the sound brittle and sharp as breaking glass. It's a sound I haven't heard often-her real laugh, not the carefully modulated social titter she uses at charity events. This laugh comes from somewhere dark and twisted, a place I never wanted to know existed inside her. "Let Richard live? Hilarious of you to think I care what happens to him." Her gaze shifts to my stepfather, contempt etched into every line of her face. The mask is completely gone now, revealing the stranger beneath. "Weak, pathetic Richard. Couldn't see what was happening right under his nose for years." Richard flinches, the words hitting him with each syllable. He looks smaller somehow, diminished, as if the truth of what my mother has done has physically shrunk him. His shoulders curve inward, his eyes hollow. For the first time, I feel something like pity for him. He's as much a victim as any of us, in his way-blind, yes, but deliberately kept that way. "Patricia," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "please. Don't do this." It's strange to hear him beg. Richard Hayes, titan of industry, reduced to pleading. His voice trembles, thick with grief and betrayal. I allow myself a reprieve, to see him not as the distant, cold stepfather I've known, but as a man whose entire world has just imploded. Who's discovered that the last decade of his life was built on lies and manipulation, that the woman he thought he knew was a murderer who killed his first wife. "Don't do this?" she repeats, mockery dripping from each syllable. "It's a bit late for that, wouldn't you say? Years too late." She turns back to me, something shifting in her expression. The mask slips completely, revealing something I've never seen before-pure, undiluted hatred. This isn't my mother anymore. This is a stranger wearing her face. The transformation is so complete, so terrifying, that I have to fight the urge to step back. To run. To hide. I'm done running. Done hiding. Done being afraid. "Lilian," she hisses. "What an ungrateful little bitch you turned out to be, huh?" I open my mouth to speak, but she's not finished. "I did all of this for you. To give you the best life possible. A beautiful home, a last name that would open doors for you, and an endless future. I wanted you to have the perfect life, and this is how you repay me?" Each word is a slap, stinging and sharp. My throat tightens, emotion threatening to choke me. Despite everything-despite the lies, the manipulation, the drugging-some childish part of me still craves her approval. Still wants her to be the mother I thought she was. The betrayal cuts deeper than I thought possible, reopening wounds I didn't even know I had. I swallow hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "Repay you? How can you act like the victim in all of this? For years, you drugged me and used fabricated medical conditions to keep me in a box, your box. You made me believe I was broken. That I was weak." My voice comes out stronger than I expected, steadier. The truth gives me strength I didn't know I possessed. "I made you better," she snaps. "Improved you. Without me, you'd be nothing. Just another timid girl trying to make her way in the world." I recoil as if she's struck me. The casual cruelty, the dismissal of my entire existence outside of her control-it's breathtaking in its totality. This is the truth of how she sees me-not as a daughter, not as a person, but as a possession. A project. A means to an end. Time seems to freeze as she raises the gun higher, her aim steadying. Her finger tightens on the trigger, her eyes cold and empty. "None of that matters now, though. If I'm going down, I'm taking my little whore of a daughter with me." The words hang in the air for a heartbeat, two. I can't move, can't breathe, can't think. I'm frozen, a rabbit caught in headlights, as I stare down the barrel of the gun. My own mother's gun, aimed at my heart. I don't see Aries move, but he does. One moment, he's at the edge of the room, and the next, he's launching himself at my mother like a force of nature, all coiled muscle and barely contained rage. Everything happens so fast-a blur of motion, a cry of surprise from my mother, the gun swinging wildly, then one, two, gunshots that split the sound in the room with a deafening crack. What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion. A massive explosion of flames shoots upward from the fireplace, the force of it knocking everyone backward. The acrid smell of accelerant fills the air-that bullet hit something it shouldn't have. Heat blasts across my face, singeing my eyebrows, as flames race across the carpet with unnatural speed. And then there's screaming. God, the screaming. My mother is engulfed in flames, her perfect silk blouse transformed into a shroud of fire. Aries, too-his arm, his side, patches of flame eating away at his clothes, at his skin. I lunge forward instinctively, reaching for him, but Arson is there first, grabbing a throw blanket from the couch and beating at the flames on his brother's body, dragging him toward the door. "Help her!" I scream, turning toward my mother, but strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back. "No!" Hector shouts in my ear. "It's too late! We need to get out!" It's only then I notice Richard on the floor, no one moving to save him either. Did he get knocked out with the blast? "But Richard!" I scream, trying to get someone's attention. But everyone is too busy trying to save themselves. The room is rapidly filling with thick black smoke as flames climb the curtains and engulf the bookshelves. Everyone races toward the door-Drew, Lee, Sebastian,, Hector's men. No one moves to help my mother. No one moves to help Richard. No one looks back. Outside, on the porch, the cold air hits my lungs like a hammer from the inside out after the searing heat inside. I gasp, choking on smoke, tears streaming down my face. My throat feels raw, whether from screaming or from the smoke, I can't tell. My skin prickles with heat, too close to the flames for too long. Aries breaks away from Arson, his shirt half burned away, angry red welts already forming on his skin. The burns look painful-blistering, weeping-but he moves as if he doesn't feel them, driven by some purpose greater than pain. He turns back toward the door, his face a mask of determination. "Is anyone else in there?" he demands, looking at Lee. His voice is hoarse, roughened by smoke, but still commanding. Even injured, even in chaos, something about him demands attention and exudes control. Lee shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes, face streaked with soot. "No, I cleared it out last night when things got hot. Made sure everyone stayed with friends." Relief flashes across Aries's face, so brief I almost miss it. "Richard," I gasp out. "Good," he says grimly, closing the door firmly as he deliberately meets my eyes. The screaming inside intensifies, rising to an inhuman pitch that makes my stomach turn. It doesn't even sound like my mother anymore-just pure agony given voice. A sound that will haunt my nightmares for years to come. I sob, lunging for the door, unable to process what's happening. She's a monster, yes. A murderer. But she's still-she's still⁠- "Mom!" I cry, fingers scrabbling at the doorknob. The metal is hot, burning my skin, but I don't care. "MOM!" It's pure instinct, this need to save her despite everything. The rational part of my brain knows it's too late, knows she's beyond help, knows what she's done-but the child in me, the part that still remembers bedtime stories and Band-Aids on scraped knees, can't accept what's happening. Aries catches me, lifting me bodily off my feet. His strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me away from the door despite my struggles. "No, Lilian. No." His voice in my ear is gentle despite the firmness of his grip. I fight against him anyway, kicking, twisting, desperate to get back to the door, to my mother, to stop what can't be stopped. "We can't just-we can't-" I can't form a coherent thought, my mind fracturing under the weight of what's happening. Sobs tear from my throat, raw and primal, emotions I can't even name overwhelming me. Aries carries me down the porch steps, his arms like steel bands around me despite his injuries. I can feel the heat of his burns against my skin, but he doesn't loosen his hold, doesn't show any sign that he's in pain. Behind us, I can see the fire growing through the windows, consuming the Mill House from the inside out. Black smoke billows from every opening, flames licking at the curtains, at the wooden window frames. "Jesus Christ," Drew breathes, watching in horrified fascination. "I'll talk to the cops. Take care of that angle when they arrive." His face is pale beneath a streak of soot, eyes wide with shock. Next to him, Sebastian looks like he might be sick, hand pressed over his mouth. Arson turns to Drew, his face set in hard lines. Unlike the rest of us, he seems completely composed, for once, untouched by the chaos around him. His clothes are singed, his face smudged with ash, but there's a calm calculation in his eyes that's almost frightening. "This wasn't part of the plan." "Arson will take care of the damages," Aries says, his voice strained. "He is, after all, the new COO of Hayes Enterprises." Something in his tone makes me look up through my tears. There's a smug satisfaction there, at odds with the chaos around us. A sense that, somehow, this was all part of some larger plan. Arson steps toward us, his expression darkening. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Aries smiles thinly. "The paperwork Father signed this morning. You're the new COO, brother. Not me. And since it seems he's gone with our stepmother in this terrible accident, well..." "What?" Arson takes another threatening step toward his twin, wincing in sympathy as he catches sight of Aries's burns. The injuries appear worse in the bright outdoor light-angry, red, and blistering patches of skin, already peeling away. He needs medical attention, but his focus is entirely on his brother. "You did this...forced this confrontation for power?" Arson's voice is dangerously low, vibrating with barely controlled rage. "No," Aries shakes his head, unruffled by his brother's anger. "I did it for you. The paperwork lists A. Hayes as COO-not Aries, but Arson. Father didn't read carefully enough when he signed it. I signed it under your name." He says it so casually, as if discussing the weather rather than a manipulative power play that resulted in death and destruction. The contrast between his calm demeanor and the chaos around us is jarring, unsettling. My legs give out, and I sink to the ground, overwhelmed by everything-the smoke, the screams that have now stopped (oh God, they've stopped, what does that mean?), the revelation that Aries has been playing a deeper game all along. My knees hit the damp grass, the cold seeping through my jeans, but I barely feel it. I'm numb, disconnected, floating outside my body. Arson's attention immediately shifts from his brother to me. Something softens in his expression, anger giving way to concern. He crouches down and scoops me into his arms. "Shhh," he murmurs, his mouth against my hair. "I've got you." I press my face into his chest, inhaling his scent-smoke and sweat and something uniquely him beneath it all. His skin is too hot where it touches mine, fevered from the heat of the fire, but he doesn't put me down, doesn't let go. Sirens wail in the distance, growing closer as the fire overtakes the bottom floor of the Mill House. The old building is going up faster than seems possible, flames shooting from every window now, the heat so intense we're forced to move farther back across the lawn. The crackling of the fire is deafening, punctuated by the sound of glass shattering as windows explode from the heat. Arson holds me against his chest. Aries steps up to us, his skin hot and raw where I reach for him, but he doesn't flinch away. Doesn't show any sign that he's in pain, though he must be in agony. "Shh," he murmurs into my hair, lips gentle against my temple. "It's over. It's done." And he wraps his arms around us both. The tenderness in his voice breaks something in me. The tears come harder now, my body shaking with the force of them. Great, heaving sobs that feel like they're being torn from some deep, primal place inside me. I cry for everything-for the mother I thought I had and never did, for the years of lies and manipulation, for Arson and Aries and all they've suffered, for myself and the childhood I never got to have. "She was awful," I sob, the words catching in my throat. "She was a monster. But did she deserve to die like that? To burn alive?" The question hangs between us, heavy with all its implications. The moral weight of what just happened, of what we just allowed to happen. "Yes," Arson says simply, no hesitation in his voice. "She did." The certainty in his tone should be frightening but is somehow comforting instead. Black and white in a world that's been nothing but shades of gray for as long as I can remember. His conviction is like an anchor in a storm. "She did, and Richard too." Hector says, stepping up. "We need to talk, Lilian. About the family, about the money your father left you, and many other things. I'll be in touch. For now, I'll let you all heal. I got what I wanted." I can't argue with Arson or Hector. In fact, I can't find it in myself to disagree. It doesn't matter what I have to say or think because the grief is there anyway, tangled up with relief and horror and guilt. She raised me. She was the only mother I knew. And I just watched her burn to death. The knowledge settles in my chest like a physical weight, heavy and immovable. The three of us huddle together as the firefighters arrive, their trucks screeching to a halt, hoses unwinding. They shout orders to each other, their voices carrying across the lawn. Students have gathered now, drawn by the commotion, a ring of shocked faces watching as the Mill House burns. Lee, Drew, and Sebastian hover at the edge of our group, witnesses to something they can't possibly understand. The paramedics and police arrive next, immediately zeroing in on Aries's injuries. They try to separate us, to get him onto a stretcher, but he refuses to let go of me. Drew draws the cops away easily with his good ol boy charm. "We stay together," Aries says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Treat me here." We all sit on the grass, watching as the firefighters battle the blaze. It's a losing fight-the Mill House is old, the wood dry, the fire too established. All they can do is try to keep it from spreading to the grounds. "It will be okay," Arson whispers against my temple, his lips surprisingly gentle. "It will all be okay." I want to believe him. Want to trust that there's a way forward after all of this. The nightmare is over-my mother, Patricia, Hayes Enterprises, the lies and manipulation-all of it consumed in the cleansing fire. How do we move forward? How do we build something new from these ashes? I look at Aries, at the determination in his eyes despite the pain he must be feeling. At Arson, his expression is thoughtful as he watches the firefighters work. These two men, identical in appearance but so different in temperament, both damaged by what they've endured, both survivors in their own way. Maybe that's how we get through this. Together. All three of us, broken but not destroyed, carrying each other through whatever comes next. The grief, the aftermath, the rebuilding. I don't know if it's possible. Don't know if the scars we all carry will ever truly heal. The weight of everything that's happened sits heavy on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My mother is dead. Burned alive before my eyes. The woman who raised me, who tucked me in at night, who taught me to read and tie my shoes and navigate social situations-gone, in the most horrific way imaginable. And part of me is relieved. What kind of person does that make me? But as Arson's arms tighten around me, as Aries's hand finds mine in the grass, I feel something unfamiliar bloom in my chest. Hope. Small and fragile, but there. A tiny flame, different from the inferno consuming the Mill House. Something that can warm without destroying. Something that can light our way forward. The morning sun shines brightly overhead, casting harsh light across the campus lawn. Students gather at a distance, watching in horrified fascination as the Mill House burns. None of them understand what they're really seeing-not just a building on fire, but the end of one story and the beginning of another. Our story. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together. Me, Arson, Aries. Three broken pieces that somehow fit together to make something whole. Something stronger than we could ever be apart. "I love you," I whisper, not even sure which one of them I'm speaking to. Both, maybe. All of us. Arson's lips press against my forehead. "We know," he says simply. "We love you, too." For now, at this moment, with the past literally going up in flames behind us, that's enough. It has to be.