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)
Except I’m not a problem to be handled. I’m not weak or fragile. I’ve simply stepped into a role they assigned me to fulfill whatever agenda they’ve chosen.
Maybe that’s what happened to Arson?
I press my hand against the scar hidden beneath my blouse, focusing on the steady beat of my heart. What if I can help Arson? Or Aries? What if he’s not crazy or psychotic? What if the reason he wants revenge is valid? All these thoughts open a new space in my mind. If I can make Arson see reason, then maybe I can save Aries.
I close my notebook and start to pack up my belongings. It’s too soon to return to the warehouse. He would expect it, which makes asking Aries anything further out of the question.
I could talk to Lee, his best friend, but he might alert Arson, and that could be an issue if I have nothing to offer him. I need information, something to prove that I know more about whatever is going on than he thinks.
After years of everyone treating my condition like a death sentence, it might finally prove fatal—not from physical weakness, but from tangling with a murderous doppelgänger. So before he can get his hands on me, I’m going to go to the one place I doubt he’ll show his face: the Hayes estate.
My mother seems pleasantly surprised when I arrive at home and tell her I’m staying for the weekend. Three days. That’s how long I have to try to piece this jigsaw puzzle together.
The walls of this mansion hold so many secrets, it shouldn’t be too much work now that I know what I’m hunting. For now, I snuggle in the library with a book. It’s always so warm and inviting when the fire crackles in the hearth. There’s a secret alcove in the far corner of the windowsill I used to hide away in at night when I was a kid—my favorite spot in the whole mansion. I curl against the nest of pillows I make in the sill, a blanket over my legs and a cup of tea on the side table. The book in my lap barely holds my attention, though.
I feel safe here, which is a bit of an illusion. Arson could show up here anytime, but I’m hoping he doesn’t. I’m counting on it because Aries has always hated this place more than even me. Mother will ask questions if he pops by unannounced and she spots him. Maybe my knowing the truth will keep him at a distance for a while. Is that what I want? I hate that some traitorous part of my body still wants him.
No. It’s not Arson who made my body hum. It’s always been Aries. It will always be him. The door to the library creaks as it opens, but I don’t stir from my cozy nest. Members of the staff slip in and out of here all the time, most often without saying a single word.
I assume they’re keeping tabs on me at the request of my mother, but I’ve never bothered asking. It would only embarrass us both.
After a moment, there’s a subtle shift in the air temperature, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Looking up from the book, I find Arson standing in the doorway. His presence makes everything seem smaller.
Shit.
For one moment, I can’t believe he’s really here, and then reality slaps me in the face, and shock gives way to fear.
What the hell is he doing here? He wears my stepbrother’s face like a mask, so perfect, it almost fools me.
Almost. He shuts the door quietly behind him, eyes locked on mine. I jump from the seat, needing to put as much distance between us as possible.
“Relax,” he says, like it’s a joke. “No need to run.”
My legs go stiff. “What are you doing here? Back to threaten me again?” I hate how my voice shakes. From fear? Arousal? A heady mix of both makes my knees weak.
“Because it’s my house as much as it is yours,” he replies, walking in like he owns the place. He moves with lazy precision—too calm, too measured. A panther stretching its legs. There’s something coiled in his limbs, in his tone. It shoots my heart against the cage of my ribs like a trapped bird.
“This isn’t your house. You don’t belong here. Now tell me what you want.”
His smile is the gleaming edge of a razor blade. “To talk.”
I don’t like that. Don’t like how eerily similar he and Aries look. How it feels like I’m talking to Aries, when my brain knows that I’m not. “What is there to talk about? Unless you want to explain to me why you locked up your twin brother and impersonated him for weeks, we have nothing to talk about.”