Page 59 of Coal Hearts

A new pain.

A pain in my chest.

A pain of feeling something other than straight-up perversion.

A pain that’d begun the moment my tongue touched hers—

“Henri.” Victor’s fingers snapped in front of my face. “Are you with us, or are you drowning?”

I blinked and shook away my useless thoughts. “Drowning?” I glowered at Ily standing sandwiched between Victor and Roland.

She refused to look at me. Her lips still a potent shade of red from mine. The faintest rash from my five o’clock shadow decorated her flawless face.

Fuck yes, I was drowning.

In wrongness. Rightness. Darkness.

Victor grinned. “Drowning beneath the truth.” He patted my shoulder. “Know what I think? I think you’re finally realising that this is real. This place is real. You don’t have to fight anymore. You can finally be yourself after a lifetime of hiding.”

I hated that he was right.

That the shackles I’d wrapped myself in, ever since my first dirty wet dream, had come loose. Loose enough to dabble with the idea of...what if?

What if I let go?

What if I embraced who I truly was instead of always running?

Hiding my unwilling revelation, I forced a grin. “It’s definitely proving to be an experience.”

“And there’s plenty more to come, don’t you worry.” Victor cocked his chin. “Look around. See for yourself. I asked what you thought of my home. You didn’t answer.”

Raising my stare, I froze.

I stood in the centre of unapologetic grandeur. Splendour that didn’t come from money but obscene fucking wealth.

Up until recently, I’d never stepped foot in the world of the rich. I’d lived in a small two-bedroom house with my mother in Devon. Quaint streets, greasy fish-and-chip shops, and loud-mouthed tourists were the main flavour of our seaside town. I’d never really known why my mother chose that village as hers. Her answers were vague, her avoidance of where we came from and why we had no family far too rehearsed.

Sometimes, I’d have dreams of a different house. One with high ceilings, intricate architraves, and expensive furnishings. I remembered being forbidden to touch anything, to stay quiet and unseen, but there’d been others as well. Other children. Several other children I couldn’t recall.

That’d always bothered me. I felt as if I should remember them. I’d been haunted by the forgotten past until the day our teacher asked us to do a family tree. Our task was to interview our relatives and find out their life stories. Most of my fellow students groaned and rolled their eyes, having spent their days suffering through dinner at Grandma’s and playing with annoying cousins. I pretended to be pissed off like them, but secretly, I couldn’t control my excitement.

I’d gone home.

I’d shown the assignment to my mother.

I’d sat by her feet with my pen poised and notepad eager for my history, but she’d merely bent over and said, “Some people have many, and some only have themselves. We just have each other.”

I’d frowned. She had to have had people. She existed, didn’t she? Who made her? What faceless grandparents raised her? What man helped create me?

She kept those secrets until her dying day, using her last breath to whisper the truth that led me to finding a small fortune in her bank account, donated to her by a Quincy Mercer II.

An unknown man who shared my blood.

A brother from the father I’d never met.

I’d chosen him over suicide, hoping he could explain why I was the way I was, but...stepping foot into my half-brother’s mansion had been my downfall.

The moment I met him, I’d physically stumbled. Not because he was the first kin I’d been allowed to know but because his face held parts of mine. Even our eyes were similar, regardless that the colours were not. His were green and mine were grey, yet it wasn’t the tint that drew me but the shadows beneath. Shadows that answered mine so strongly, so viciously I swear he’d been moments away from killing me.