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Charlie, serious and almost menacing, lets out a sigh that sounds more like a hiss. “You see the smile, the jokes,” he starts, then pauses, raking a hand through his light brown hair. “But behind closed doors, our family’s old money is a prison. One wrong move, one slip-up in this bloody charade, and it’s game over for Viscount Beaumont.”
“That can’t be true.” I shake my head and he sighs again, this time heavily and with a burden that I couldn’t tell he was carrying.
“Look, my parents, the Earl and Viscountess, are great parents.Whenyou’re being amenable. I’m always amenable. I learned early on that there wasn’t something connected in my brain that most people have. There’s a disconnect. Right, wrong, black, white, it doesn’t mean anything. I do what I want, when I want, and if the consequences come back to bite me on the ass, then I deal with them in the same way. It is what it is. It makes it easier to deal with my parents’ impeccably high standards and living up to what they expect. One fuck up was enough to learn that this is all one big game, and if you play it right, you win.” He shrugs, letting me know that’s the end of the conversation as far as he’s concerned.
Every instinct is telling me to go to him and give him a big hug, but I have no doubt he would push me away right now, so I don’t. I fold my hands in my lap primly and shift my gaze to Ben.
His gaze meets mine steadily. “In a world where intellect is your currency, there’s no room for error. My parents’ expectations are a maze I can’t navigate without losing a piece of myself, and I’m terrified of what happens when I can’t meet them anymore. My father, like Alistair’s, is a Duke, and when he goes, that will fall on me. It’s not a title I want, but that’s the way it goes. There are protocols, etiquette and standardsthat come with being a high-ranking royal. Like Damien said, it’s exhausting and easier just to fall in line than rebel against societal norms. I don’t know if that even makes sense, but it is a heavy cloak, soaked in blood and history, even without the sect.”
Their words hang in the air, thick with emotion, and I feel the weight of their confessions. We sit together, the distance between us shrinking as their stories unravel.
My eyes dart from one haunted face to the next, the shadows of their existence clinging to them like barnacles. “How do you live with it?”
Alistair’s eyes flicker to mine, and I see something painful in their depths that wasn’t there before. “You don’t ‘live’ with it,” he corrects me, his voice hollow. “You just survive. Every day.”
“Survive...”
Damien murmurs, “We each have our own demons, Ever. Sometimes, they’re the only company we keep.” His words are a cold splash of reality, the darkness behind his gaze hinting at nights spent wrestling with thoughts no one else can fathom.
“Yep, those damn demons,” Charlie says, a bitter edge sharpening his usual warmth. He leans back, the facade of the ever-smiling Viscount crumbling as he continues. “They love to dance in our heads, reminding us there’s no escape. Not really. It’s like being on a stage where you’re both the actor and spectator. You see every mistake, feel every misstep.”
“That’s why you act?”
“In part. Escape from reality. Also, who doesn’t love the centre stage?”
I raise my hand with a soft smirk. “Me, you asshole.”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
I sit in silence, my heart twisting for these men—so different, yet so alike in their hidden battles. Their vulnerability is a raw wound in the room, and it dawns on me that their polishedexteriors are little more than shields against a world that never lets them forget their place in it.
“Thank you for trusting me with this part of you.”
Their gazes meet mine, and the knowledge that we’re not just a group of individuals but a gathering of souls stripped bare, seeking solace in shared pain makes me want to help shoulder the burdens they’ve carried alone for far too long.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, as we sit in the aftermath of their confessions. Eventually, knowing the mood has shifted, I reach out, my hand finding Alistair’s, his skin cool and smooth under mine. His fingers lace through mine, a lifeline in the murky waters of shared truths.
“Ever,” Damien starts, his voice low but firm, “whatever shit comes your way, you’re not alone. Not anymore.” He looks at me with those intense eyes, an unspoken vow hanging between us.
Alistair gives a curt nod, the grip on my hand tightening ever so slightly.
“Same goes for you,” I murmur.
Our connection is a silent pact woven through our souls. It’s not just about protection; it’s about understanding, about the ties that bind us in a world where light feels like a distant memory. We’re a unit now, our vulnerability transformed into a shield we wield together against the darkness.
“I’ve always been alone, an outsider with my family’s name as both a shield and a target. But now, your struggles echo mine, and I realise we’re bound by something stronger than chance—we’re a mosaic of broken pieces, creating a new whole. Your battles are mine now. Fuck fate.”
Alistair’s nod is imperceptible, but his eyes blaze with a fire that could scorch the world. “We write our own legacy.”
Damien inches closer. “No one messes with us.”
Charlie cracks his knuckles, a sound that echoes like a warning shot. “Time to show them who they’re dealing with,” he grins, the edge in his smile sharp enough to cut.
“Knowledge is power,” Ben states. “And right now, we have power.”
“So, the question of the day is: what the fuck does Crystal being related to Stanley and to you have to do with this new sect?” Alistair asks, leaning forward and pulling his hand from mine in a move that screams we are done with story time, and it’s back to business.
“I have two theories,” I state, accepting the change in topic to one that has been pushing down on me since I found out this horrendous news. “The first one is, they know I’m supposed to be the queen of KnightsGate’s sect...”
