Adrian had them too but he always handled them better than me. He never cried or ran to our mother for comfort, he just accepted the horrors and moved on with his day. Even as a child he was stronger than me.
Me? I ran crying to Mom. She always wrapped me in a warm embrace, the way she’s cradling me now.
My body sags. I’m a grown-ass man but fuck it. Today has been a nightmare.
“It’s okay, baby,” she says in a soothing tone. “Let it out.”
I sink to my knees, dragging her with me. My chest heaves as everything crashes over me at once—Adrian’s death, Aurelia’s betrayal, Valentine’s condescension. I can’t breathe. I’m being crushed.
“I can’t—” My voice breaks.
“Shh. Yes, you can,” Mom says. Her fingers stroke my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp. The gesture is so familiar it makes my eyes burn with the tears. “You’re stronger than you know. Than any of them know.”
She shifts, pressing her lips close to my ear. Her next words come out in a whisper, soft but sharp as a blade. “He’s wrong, you know. Power isn’t earned.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, twisting until my roots sting. “Power is taken.”
I go still. Through the haze of grief and rage, her words invade my bones like a cancer.
Power is taken.
CHAPTER THREE
JULIAN
Ican’t stop pacing.
Two hours ago, my brother died.
My bare feet sink into the plush carpet with each step, wearing a path between the mahogany dresser and the floor-to-ceiling windows of my mother’s bedroom. The scent of her Chanel perfume hangs in the air, normally comforting but it’s only making me sneeze tonight.
She sits perched on the edge of her bed, a frail silhouette against the backdrop of Seattle’s skyline. The city lights through the gauzy curtains cast strange shadows on her face, making her appear both ethereal and haunted, while her black hair falls in disheveled short waves.
“Julian.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “You’ll wear down the carpet.”
I grunt in response, running my hands through my hair, flicking away loose strands.Like I care about the carpet.
Two hours. It’s been two hours since my brother was shot. About an hour and a half since the disobedient guards took him somewhere. Valentine won’t tell me where, only says he’s “preparing him” for the funeral.
That fucker is really testing my last nerve.
I glance down at my shaking hands. Before they took Adrian away I almost… Christ. My hands still remember the feel of Aurelia’s throat beneath them, and the way her pulse raced against my palms. The terror in those green eyes I used to lose myself in.
“You took him from me.”
But now that the shock has settled and I’ve had time for reality to set in, I keep thinking:Did she? Did she really shoot him?
The thought stops me mid-stride. Something doesn’t add up. Aurelia wanted revenge for her mother—I get that. I even helped her with it. But neither Adrian nor I had anything to do with what happened at those parties. Aurelia is a few years younger than us, so we would’ve been toddlers when her mother died. Then we all grew up together, the three of us against everything.
No—she wouldn’t have shot Adrian as part of her revenge plan.
Unless…
My jaw clenches as another possibility surfaces. “Maybe Adrian confronted her,” I mumble to myself.
My mother catches my words and glances at me, pulling her exhausted gaze from the window. “What, dear?”
I clear my throat and talk louder. “Aurelia. Why did she do it? You think Adrian confronted her?”
“About what?”