“When my parents died,” he said quietly, “everyone focused on me.”
Tristan’s expression shifted immediately. The change in subject was abrupt enough that he understood at once where this conversation was heading.
Dorian kept his gaze fixed on the fire. “I was the heir, the future Duke, and so I was the one everyone worried about. Heaven knows I gave them plenty to worry about, but Lily… No one ever worried about Lily.”
The room grew quieter around them.
“After our parents were gone, she became the only person who truly mattered. Every decision I made was supposed to protect her. Every scandal I endured, every fight, every miserable investor meeting—everything was for her. I told myself that as long as Lily was happy, I could survive the rest.”
Tristan said nothing. Dorian rarely spoke about Lily. In fifteen years of friendship, he could count the number of times on one hand, and it had been easier that way for the most part.
“I thought she was happy,” Dorian continued. “I convinced myself she was. I spent years becoming exactly what society expected me to become.”
“The charming fool?” Tristan asked quietly.
Dorian let out a laugh. “Exactly. I kept everyone entertained so that everyone kept looking at me. It turned out remarkably effective. No one asks difficult questions if you are busy making them laugh.”
The fire crackled softly between them.
“And while I was doing that, I failed to notice what was happening to her. I missed things. Small things at first, then bigger ones. I kept telling myself I would talk to her the next day.”
Tristan lowered his eyes because he already knew how that ended.
“I always thought there would be more time,” Dorian rasped. “There was not.”
For a moment, neither man spoke.
“I was supposed to protect her. I knew everyone else’s secrets. I could walk into a ballroom and tell you who was lying, who was scheming, who was having an affair, who hated whom, and I somehow failed to see the person sitting across from me at the breakfast table every morning.”
“Dorian—”
“No, it is true. I was the one person who should have seen she was unhappy.”
The confession settled heavily between them.
“You were grieving too.”
“That does not change the outcome.”
Silence returned. Eventually, Dorian lifted his glass again, though he seemed more interested in the fire than the whiskey.
“I think that was when it started. When I decided to start avoiding people. Not physically. Clearly, I continued attending parties. But I stopped letting people matter. I convinced myself it was easier. Safer even, because if nobody mattered, they could not leave me. I know how irrational that sounds, but the truly ridiculous part is that I actually believed it worked.”
“Then Anne arrived,” Tristan offered with a faint smile.
Dorian smiled too, despite himself. “She was furious with me from the beginning. She argued with me constantly. Nothing I said impressed her. Nothing I did intimidated her. Every time I thought I had won an argument, she proved me wrong. Ashford felt dead before she came. The estate functioned, but it did not feel alive.”
His gaze drifted up briefly to the ceiling, toward the rooms above them where Anne was undoubtedly asleep.
“Now she walks into a room, and somehow everyone starts talking. The stablehands argue with her. The trainers pretend not to listen to her before immediately following her advice. The housekeeper has become completely devoted to her.”
“As most sensible people would.”
Dorian’s smile grew. “Everything feels different when she’s near me. The house feels different. The estate feels different. Somehow, she became part of every room without anyone noticing it happening.” His voice lowered. “Ashford feels alive again, and she is the reason for that.”
The admission settled between them.
Neither man spoke for several moments. Until Tristan folded his arms and gave him a look.
