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We both breathe heavily, on the precipice of something.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Stop,” Jolie says. “Don’t let this happen. Don’t let Leopold win.”

But her brother isn’t listening.

Clement takes a step forward, so close to me now. His chest heaves. His jaw’s tight.

He swings. A punch.

Whack!

Straight into my nose.

And the instinctive anger in me releases.

I punch back.

Whack!

Clement stumbles. He’s bleeding from his nostrils.

So am I.

It’s too late now.

Jolie gasps.

Clement glares at me.

“I will tell you this, brother,” he whispers as his chin becomes streaked with bright red blood. “I once trusted you more than anyone else on this earth. I would’ve done anything for you. But now? I am going to kill you. Right here. Right now.”

43

JOLIE

It’s the thing I’ve feared the most in my life, and it’s happening right now, in front of my eyes.

My brother and the man I care about most... fighting.

With bloody noses, the boys swing at each other, their fists flying through the air with the skill of practiced boxers. This spat... this destruction of a lifetime of brotherly love? It’s gone beyond words.

And I’m so scared. I’m frozen to the spot in the middle of the art gallery.

It happened so fast.

I know my brother. I know his possessiveness. I’ve seen the way he was obsessed with Elise and how he was actually ready to kill Silas Anguish for her. I understand all too well that this fight between two men who are both as stubborn as each other could quickly devolve into something much, much worse.

Because neither of them will back down. Neither of them can hold back.

Both brawl with everything they’ve got. Fabien throws a well-aimed punch, but Clement ducks at the last possible second. My brother then rushes Fabien, slamming him against a wall. Against a painting which tears from the force of the throw. In the far corner of the gallery, a glass sculpture topples over from its plinth, smashing across the gallery floor.

My hands raise to my mouth.

I hate it. Precious artwork is being destroyed for two men’s egos.

They swing at each other. More punches land.