Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
I nod appropriately, gaze carefully avoiding Lilian, who stands slightly apart from our trio. I can feel her watching me, waiting for an acknowledgment I won’t give.
“You’ve made the family proud,” Father continues, his standard praise always feeling more like confirmation of expectations met than genuine admiration. “First step toward your future at Hayes Enterprises.”
My future.
Already mapped, already planned, already suffocating me beneath its weight.
“These are for you,” Patricia says, producing an elegant arrangement of deep blue hydrangeas and white lilies from behind her back. Along with a fifteen-year-old bourbon. “A small token of our pride in your accomplishment.”
I accept the gifts with appropriate gratitude, though something about the arrangement immediately feels wrong. There’s an unusual heaviness to the blooms, and a faint powdery residue barely visible on some of the petals, making me instinctively hold them away from my face.
“They’re beautiful,” I exclaim, examining the careful composition while trying not to breathe too deeply near them. Allergies get me every fucking year, and I don’t need to be red-eyed at the party tonight. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. When they arrived at the house this morning, I knew they’d be perfect,” Patricia continues, adjusting a slightly wilted bloom. “The blue complements your hazel eyes nicely. Lilian and I kept clear of them, of course. Allergies, you know.”
Despite my caution, a wave of dizziness washes over me as I breathe in their scent. There’s definitely something off—a subtle chemical undertone beneath the natural fragrance. I blink, trying to clear the fuzziness developing at the edges of my vision.
“Congratulations, Aries,” Lilian says, voice soft but steady as she steps forward slightly. “Your speech was really impressive.”
The class-voted speaker address I delivered earlier—words now growing strangely distant in my memory, though I’d rehearsed them for weeks.
“Thank you, Lilian,” I respond, voice deliberately formal, gaze focused just past her shoulder rather than meeting her blue eyes directly. “I appreciate you all coming.”
She shifts, moving into my line of sight in a move that appears casual, but I recognize as deliberate. Seeking the eye contact I’ve denied her consistently at every meeting for years. A necessary cruelty that keeps her at arm’s length.
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” she says, sincerity evident in her tone.
It’s an honest sentiment that should touch me, considering the frigidity of my parents’ own compliments, but I’m increasingly distracted by the strange heaviness in my limbs and the blurring of peripheral details. I shift the flowers farther from my face, a suspicion forming that I can’t quite fully articulate.
I nod acknowledgment but maintain careful distance, shifting to include Father in my response. “Just reflecting the values the family has instilled in me.”
The deflection lands as intended. Father nods approvingly while Lilian’s expression flickers with recognition of the deliberate redirection. Two years of similar exchanges have taught her the pattern—her attempts at connection, my systematic rejection of them.
Still, she persists. “Will you be at the Mill House party tonight? I heard they’re doing a big celebration for all the graduates.”
“Briefly,” I answer, keeping my tone polite but distant, fighting against the increasing difficulty in focusing my thoughts. “Lee’s expecting me.”
Patricia’s hand lands lightly on Lilian’s shoulder. “Don’t monopolize your stepbrother, darling. It’s his special day.”
The reminder of our relationship—stepbrother, stepsister—lands with intended weight. The boundaries Patricia unknowingly reinforces while I struggle to maintain my composure through whatever the hell is going on saves me the trouble of continuing the conversation further.
“You’ll be joining us for the Northstar Foundation gala in a month or so, right?” Patricia says, her tone making it clear this is a statement rather than a question. “The Hendersons have confirmed, along with the Whitneys and Prescotts.”
My mouth feels unusually dry as I respond, “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”
Another performance on the social calendar. Another opportunity for Father to parade his perfect son before business associates and potential investors. The thought should irritate me as it usually does, but the emotion feels distant, muted beneath the increasing fog in my mind.
“Excellent.” Patricia beams, perfectly satisfied with my compliance. “Maintaining these connections is important now that you’re stepping into the business world.”
Father checks his watch—a gesture so predictable I could time it to the second. “We should find the Hendersons before they leave. His daughter’s internship at Goldman could provide valuable insight for Aries.”
The flowers in my hand have become almost unbearably heavy. I need to put them down, and I need to figure out what’s happening to my increasingly uncooperative body.
“Actually,” Patricia interjects, surprising me with an unexpected lifeline, “why don’t we let Aries go celebrate with his classmates. It’s his graduation day, after all.”
Father’s expression flickers with brief annoyance before social expectations override his business instincts. “Yes, of course. Go enjoy yourself with your friends, Son. We’ll see you at the house tomorrow for brunch.”
“Oh,” Patricia scoffs and bats at Father’s arm. “Like he’ll want brunch after a night of celebrating. Let him be.”